Hasoroth Posted November 30, 2009 Share Posted November 30, 2009 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 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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