Karl Valten
Aug 19th, 2008, 09:56:29 PM
So this is what it felt to have the power to end worlds at the tip of one’s finger tips. Grand Inquisitor Valten gently traced a finger along the chill transparisteel separating him from the icy void beyond; and with such a splendid view to accompany such a raw show of force. Alone where one could watch the mesmerizing flames dance across a doomed world below. The Inquisitors hand’s rose in front of him, twitching in rhythm as if directing an elaborate orchestra.
Yes, Valten could imagine the glory felt by such an architect of destruction, taste the satisfaction of deadly perfection. It was all such a tantalizing feeling that he could almost begin to perceive how a commander of these great warships felt from their place high above their inferiors, a hero on his dais for all to praise.
Abruptly the Inquisitor’s hands halted, his eyes hardening with a sort of disgust. There was no refinement to this so called art-of-war. The more he empathized, the more he despised the arrogance behind the pomp and chivalry. Noblemen? Barbaric simpletons with delusions of grandeur seem more accurate a description.
Hands falling to his sides, Valten panned his gaze across the bright pinpricks of endless stars. Alas, he supposed, it was necessary. Each must play his part in the vast machinery that was the Imperium, the soldier in his trench, to the officer on his pedestal, to the Inquisitor in his shadows.
And such was the reason for his appearance in such a strange place for an Inquisitor. Not one had dared question Valten’s entry on the bridge of the warship, no one even protested as he ascended to the command deck, and none mustered the courage to approach and interrupt his peculiar meditations.
Because for one of them to ever meet an Inquisitor was a rarity that would typically end in the disappearance of fellow ship mate. But for the Grand Inquisitor to appear in person was thought to be an impossible terror. Not a soul on the bridge wished to contemplate the meaning of the unexpected visit or wonder why he had not made a single demand as of yet.
Yes, Valten could imagine the glory felt by such an architect of destruction, taste the satisfaction of deadly perfection. It was all such a tantalizing feeling that he could almost begin to perceive how a commander of these great warships felt from their place high above their inferiors, a hero on his dais for all to praise.
Abruptly the Inquisitor’s hands halted, his eyes hardening with a sort of disgust. There was no refinement to this so called art-of-war. The more he empathized, the more he despised the arrogance behind the pomp and chivalry. Noblemen? Barbaric simpletons with delusions of grandeur seem more accurate a description.
Hands falling to his sides, Valten panned his gaze across the bright pinpricks of endless stars. Alas, he supposed, it was necessary. Each must play his part in the vast machinery that was the Imperium, the soldier in his trench, to the officer on his pedestal, to the Inquisitor in his shadows.
And such was the reason for his appearance in such a strange place for an Inquisitor. Not one had dared question Valten’s entry on the bridge of the warship, no one even protested as he ascended to the command deck, and none mustered the courage to approach and interrupt his peculiar meditations.
Because for one of them to ever meet an Inquisitor was a rarity that would typically end in the disappearance of fellow ship mate. But for the Grand Inquisitor to appear in person was thought to be an impossible terror. Not a soul on the bridge wished to contemplate the meaning of the unexpected visit or wonder why he had not made a single demand as of yet.