D O M I N U S
"I have to go back."
Although the words were formed by his lips, they did not seem to be born of his will. Although it was clearly his own voice that was heard...it was clearly not the former Knight who was speaking. Once again, Ishmael Verd found himself within the confines of his sanctuary: a place where he could be alone with his thoughts. It was not an extravagant getaway by any stretch of the imagination, but rather a place to escape the reality of Imperium life. Of course, serving the Imperium was not a terrible thing...but sometimes a man needed to step back and reflect.
So, Ishmael once again seated himself in an isolated corner of his vessel. His subordinates were well aware not to disturb their superior when he departed for the bridge; especially not after a Hyperspace dive. This was his chance...his opportunity to shut out the world and actually think.
As such, the armored warrior waited until the whine of the Hyperdrive reached a fever pitch. It gathered might from the core of the vessel, charging over the course of several moments. Then, just as the mechanical symphony reached a climax, the Corvette lurched forward. It became more than a space-worthy vessel in that instant: transforming into a javelin meant to pierce the veil of time and distance itself. Upon making the leap and penetrating deep into Hyperspace, the room settled down into a constant hum.
And Ishmael disturbed this silence by settling down upon the floor.
His armor, a modest array of durasteel arranged on his person, clattered at the movement; yet heralded the final disturbance that the sanctuary would face. Finally, Ishmael could concentrate...and thus did weary eyes draw to a close. The mind of the Inquisitor was opened: all barriers cast aside so that the Force may enter. In doing so, he left himself vulnerable to the ambient presence...and could scarce brace himself for its arrival. It filled him. Like an empty chalice facing an ocean, it filled him with its presence until it spilled over.
He was aware. He could see.
At once, the events of days played before his mind's eye: as if presented at a rapid speed by an unseen projector. These events rolled side-by-side with happenings that occurred...ages ago. A mix of recent history with deep past, all in harmony before the Inquisitor's eyes. He searched through these memories, diving headfirst into the good and the bad. For you see, only through looking into the past can one find guidance for the future.
It was the very thought of guidance that caused a certain memory to become priority over the rest: one of a place long-abandoned. The Imperial Institute. Long ago, a certain man attempted to create a power over an isolated world. That man, known for playing god, soon tasted his mortality quite heavily. His aspirations saw defeat: his goals saw ruin...and the name Paecia faded again into obscurity. Very few would recall the momentary triumphs that were made upon the distant world...
But Ishmael remembered.
This was an opportunity. No matter how much it did not sit right to plot a course for a world marred by his "father's" mistakes...it had to be done. There were resources there. Secrets too. Things that the Imperium could use to propel themselves into an era of Galactic Order. As a servant of this momentous undertaking, the Inquisitor had no choice but to act. And thus did he speak: his revelation uttered without consciously being aware. He then abandoned the sweet embrace of the Force, pushing himself into the waking world. It was time to change course.
[ "Navigator. There's been a change in plan, we are going to Paecia." ]
It was raining.
The heavens above seemed to despair at the coming of "Ravager" to the broken world. There was no sound, save for the crunch of charred earth underneath his boots. There was no noise, save for the waters crashing down his cloak. The son of Metus had returned...but rather than Herald more devastation, he brought change. The fallout following the departure of his sire had all but tore the world to shreds. There was no splendor to be found here, only ash and death. But there was hope. An iron tower that Ishmael drew ever closer to. The Institute was within his grasp.
[ "Be ready. We don't know if there are survivors waiting for us." ] he said, warning his subordinates over the comm. They, a squad of Stormtroopers, quietly sounded their affirmation before the Inquisitor continued. He reached out and shoved the dual doors open, causing a massive din to erupt within the entrance hall. For the first time in so long, the Institute had been disturbed.
[member="Eris Malreaux"]
Although the words were formed by his lips, they did not seem to be born of his will. Although it was clearly his own voice that was heard...it was clearly not the former Knight who was speaking. Once again, Ishmael Verd found himself within the confines of his sanctuary: a place where he could be alone with his thoughts. It was not an extravagant getaway by any stretch of the imagination, but rather a place to escape the reality of Imperium life. Of course, serving the Imperium was not a terrible thing...but sometimes a man needed to step back and reflect.
So, Ishmael once again seated himself in an isolated corner of his vessel. His subordinates were well aware not to disturb their superior when he departed for the bridge; especially not after a Hyperspace dive. This was his chance...his opportunity to shut out the world and actually think.
As such, the armored warrior waited until the whine of the Hyperdrive reached a fever pitch. It gathered might from the core of the vessel, charging over the course of several moments. Then, just as the mechanical symphony reached a climax, the Corvette lurched forward. It became more than a space-worthy vessel in that instant: transforming into a javelin meant to pierce the veil of time and distance itself. Upon making the leap and penetrating deep into Hyperspace, the room settled down into a constant hum.
And Ishmael disturbed this silence by settling down upon the floor.
His armor, a modest array of durasteel arranged on his person, clattered at the movement; yet heralded the final disturbance that the sanctuary would face. Finally, Ishmael could concentrate...and thus did weary eyes draw to a close. The mind of the Inquisitor was opened: all barriers cast aside so that the Force may enter. In doing so, he left himself vulnerable to the ambient presence...and could scarce brace himself for its arrival. It filled him. Like an empty chalice facing an ocean, it filled him with its presence until it spilled over.
He was aware. He could see.
At once, the events of days played before his mind's eye: as if presented at a rapid speed by an unseen projector. These events rolled side-by-side with happenings that occurred...ages ago. A mix of recent history with deep past, all in harmony before the Inquisitor's eyes. He searched through these memories, diving headfirst into the good and the bad. For you see, only through looking into the past can one find guidance for the future.
It was the very thought of guidance that caused a certain memory to become priority over the rest: one of a place long-abandoned. The Imperial Institute. Long ago, a certain man attempted to create a power over an isolated world. That man, known for playing god, soon tasted his mortality quite heavily. His aspirations saw defeat: his goals saw ruin...and the name Paecia faded again into obscurity. Very few would recall the momentary triumphs that were made upon the distant world...
But Ishmael remembered.
This was an opportunity. No matter how much it did not sit right to plot a course for a world marred by his "father's" mistakes...it had to be done. There were resources there. Secrets too. Things that the Imperium could use to propel themselves into an era of Galactic Order. As a servant of this momentous undertaking, the Inquisitor had no choice but to act. And thus did he speak: his revelation uttered without consciously being aware. He then abandoned the sweet embrace of the Force, pushing himself into the waking world. It was time to change course.
[ "Navigator. There's been a change in plan, we are going to Paecia." ]
***
It was raining.
The heavens above seemed to despair at the coming of "Ravager" to the broken world. There was no sound, save for the crunch of charred earth underneath his boots. There was no noise, save for the waters crashing down his cloak. The son of Metus had returned...but rather than Herald more devastation, he brought change. The fallout following the departure of his sire had all but tore the world to shreds. There was no splendor to be found here, only ash and death. But there was hope. An iron tower that Ishmael drew ever closer to. The Institute was within his grasp.
[ "Be ready. We don't know if there are survivors waiting for us." ] he said, warning his subordinates over the comm. They, a squad of Stormtroopers, quietly sounded their affirmation before the Inquisitor continued. He reached out and shoved the dual doors open, causing a massive din to erupt within the entrance hall. For the first time in so long, the Institute had been disturbed.
[member="Eris Malreaux"]
