Night Lords

[Hasoroth]

Dull reverberations shudder through the dimly lit corridors as the Midas engages its forward lance batteries. Red light flickers intermittently, bathing the bare walls in a sickly ambience. The smell of incense is thick and almost visible, a cloying fog that settles in the deepest recesses of the ship.

 

Home.

 

A dozen portholes built into the starboard side of the corridor wink open and the crimson light is driven away by a planet that resembles a crackling orb of electricity. It is a winter world I know, and the objects I identify passionately as arcs of lightning are actually the staggeringly tall mountains of Plato IV. It is a hive world, a disgusting conglomeration of insect-like human beings who toil endlessly. I was born on a death-world. Every movement I made was measured for fear of consumption by a velocidon or betrayal from a blade-mate. I am thankful to have grown free, under a sky. Death was a constant companion, but I chose the manner of my passing. These vermin are soulless, they make no choices. The ship fires again.

 

Midas is the name of an ancient king, a myth from pre-Imperial Terra. Everything the noble touched turned to gold in front of his pleased eyes. Pleasure turned to horror as he realized what a curse his