Boethiah
Dark Messiah
[Theme]
We are eminence awoken, believers with purpose; primeval.
They call themselves a force of nature, we have weathered storms. We will do so again.
Boethiah sheltered herself within the heart of a starship drifting silently across the sea of stars. There's a galaxy at large, untamed and unconquerable. Clockwork pawns fall into place, ticking along until they tock no more. Blood has been shed across countless worlds, the debris of fleets still float aimlessly in the deep black.
The Primeval isn't a nation--nor is it an army, a fleet, a race, a culture. It is an immense weight, an axiom. Those who ignore it will still feel the coils wrap around them, until they are decamped of a final breath; a final note of their existence.
Catalys was gone. Her fleet stolen, but inside his heart is the deep-seated reality sowed within by her predecessor long ago. When the time comes she shall reap, and once more he will walk their path.
Of course, there remains a certain futility in the will of men. They have their wicked desires, and no matter how many times they make those mistakes--or how often they justify it, they still feel sick in the end. For Catalys, he is a traitor, he lives to betray and serve. A constant battle within his own will that cannot declare a winner. It is endless, it is brutal, and he will not walk away from those mistakes. He will not even be granted the privilege of crawling.
He will do what he must. Pay the ultimate price. Bear the sins of every last error, and blood will not suffice.
"Maijora..."
We are eminence awoken, believers with purpose; primeval.
They call themselves a force of nature, we have weathered storms. We will do so again.
Boethiah sheltered herself within the heart of a starship drifting silently across the sea of stars. There's a galaxy at large, untamed and unconquerable. Clockwork pawns fall into place, ticking along until they tock no more. Blood has been shed across countless worlds, the debris of fleets still float aimlessly in the deep black.
The Primeval isn't a nation--nor is it an army, a fleet, a race, a culture. It is an immense weight, an axiom. Those who ignore it will still feel the coils wrap around them, until they are decamped of a final breath; a final note of their existence.
Catalys was gone. Her fleet stolen, but inside his heart is the deep-seated reality sowed within by her predecessor long ago. When the time comes she shall reap, and once more he will walk their path.
Of course, there remains a certain futility in the will of men. They have their wicked desires, and no matter how many times they make those mistakes--or how often they justify it, they still feel sick in the end. For Catalys, he is a traitor, he lives to betray and serve. A constant battle within his own will that cannot declare a winner. It is endless, it is brutal, and he will not walk away from those mistakes. He will not even be granted the privilege of crawling.
He will do what he must. Pay the ultimate price. Bear the sins of every last error, and blood will not suffice.
"Maijora..."