Tuesday, 3 July 2012
+++ The Serpentine Conclave +++
+++_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ - _ _ _...+++
+++ Serpentine Conclave +++
+++ End minus 127 days +++
+++ voting +++
It always troubled me. That despite such complexity, such incomprehensible nuance and richness, the solution should be so finite. The irony of what was at stake and the pettiness of this grandiose play.
An honor guard of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers stood attention both sides of the narrow entrance way to the Librarium. I could feel their eyes gazing behind the opaque visors. How they stared at the hour-glass in its infamous splendor, such was it’s reputation, my reputation. I towered over most of them, but then such comparison meant nothing for a man who had walked with gods.
The two female newborns hovered into the auditorium, their vast smoke colored wings barely clearing the high double doorway. In unison the floating cherubs announced my arrival and the litany of my titles in their impossible juvenile voice like every other morning before. Thank Emperor for my seniority. I only had to suffer two more Lord Inquisitors announced after me.
All told, 17 Inquisitors, three of them full Ordos Lords; an Ambassador from Mars; Master Ormas, representative of Lords of Terra; And Venerable Judge Ascars of Arbites made up the conclave. The third such ordeal debating more or less the same subject - the fate of a system and ramifications of apocalyptic scale. With the various retinues, more than three hundred beings filled the ancient hall at the heart of the ship. The Fulcrum, of the Black fleet. Only Silas had turned up alone. That arrogant freak. Usually the most dangerous mind in a system, but today there were a handful of stakeholders for that title around.
There was Lord Demo, heir of Lord Frostschein, and all the blueblood ceremony that came with it. The Terrans did do their traditions well. Inquisitor Alberasac and the aliens. Justus, Riekens and Magdalena Von Mendell, Some Inquisitors I used to consider friends, and a few who in the end might stand as allies. Or die.
I had brought Jargassor for his ever observant intellect, and to not worry about compiling a report. The four Masks were mostly for show, but one could never predict when the brotherhood needed to earn their pay. I chose to wear full plate on this day, and Janae was standing on my shoulder, it’s head turning to impossible degrees as it too soaked in every single detail of this dress party. Four more cherubs carried my hammer, might as well do my part for the fireworks.
With seven jarring impacts from Judge Ascars’ mace the day started.
The small fleet of Inquisitorial vessels, Rogue Trader ships and other space faring equipment was hiding in the astroid field. The smaller vessels hid beneath Fulcrum’s gigantic mass. The ancient Black Ship baring the blunt of smaller astroids to shield the smaller craft. A violent stone splinter the size of a Baneblade had already cost the Conclave Inquisitor Rybikov and his ship, some 700 people all told. But the need for secrecy was paramount.
A decision was finally reached. To call it a vote would be criminal to Inquisitorial intricacies - but that perhaps best describes it bluntly, for I have no time to go in to details.
I was utterly exhausted. Full three months the Conclave had argued, lethal minds trying to oust the others - with the stakes so high and the never ending peril of the astroid field omnipresent. Only what was to come would test us harder. For those of us Inquisitors operating on Rhisienne, the perilous and clandestine journey back would further test our character.
I decided to call my ace. I ached for it’s beauty, and needed a brief respite. We rendezvoused in secrecy that made the conclave look like an Imperial parade.
The filament sail unfolded like nothing else I could compare it with. How something so vast could be so light, so agile, so fast. The slender craft was visible but a for a brief moment out of it’s stealth field as it swallowed the small cutter that had taken us to the Conclave. We raised the sail and swept away without a sound.
Words are powerful. They perhaps engage the imagination more richly and interactively than lines and color.
These past few years, I've used writing as a creative tool and a way to enjoy the projects a little more. In some ways, my process has sifted into a series of discussions and visions in my head and as pages documents. Wider threads and precise details. It is then always a joy when parts are glued together, and the vision and discussions sift. This is also a point where it is easier for a few other people to become a part of the discussion. A conversion is finished and the stories influence the mood and lighting of the paint job - heavily. They drive it.
There's been a clear sift to "from a narrative vision to models", rather than "from models/parts to additive fluff."