Intergalactic Summit

Red Cabochon in the Court of that now Boreal king (who, by his own hand, drove those unworthy from lost Terminus to a vanished Trantor's comforting embrace; that gorged strumpet, from whose sides we vanquished serenade our vanquishers in a symphony of interminable lamentation), I've had truck with some of those at the intersection of your sanguine design and the future of our weirding ways.

Kador is lost, so skillfully have the distant Ixian sorcerer's succubi infiltrated chambers and seduced the Heir's every dream. His is a cautionary tale. Even the mightiest fortress serves as no ally if its walls keep at bay every earthly friend as well as foe, for those who have so isolated themselves become possessions of their own fears and that which need pass through no intervening space.

Some time ago, I took possession of a Sister from the Order which stands in conspicuous opposition to our own.

As a creature of hospitality (verily, a Knight Hospitaller), I have showered her with affection. No whim goes unanswered, such are the skills of those well-trained youths who I have charged with attending her requests - each more imperious than the one issued before.

Kor-Azor trembles on the precipice, she tells us in her ecstatic moments; while pious Ardishapur shall be neither help nor hinderance, such is the way of those who believe God's way is to save, rather than to receive those who recognize they do not require saving. Tash-Murkon, the engine of the Empire, shall build and build regardless of who sits upon any Throne.

Which brings us back around to the subject at hand.

The currents of Fate shall require sacrifice to change our Universe and restart the Reclaiming. Those less hospitable youths who march purposefully through the cloisters of Sarum's golden towers understand as much, and many are eager to pay whatever cost the flames of war demand.

Once flowing, molten passion cannot be easily stopped; but it can be redirected.

What is the purpose of Reclaiming the Republic, I ask them in their vulnerable moments. Look at it. The Matari of old - a prize worthy of possession - are not to be found there, but in the wilds beyond. What has been left behind? Nothing. The Republic is not a jewel to be plucked from the velvet night; but a burden, to be discarded.

The Federation, they ask?

It is a gem of paste. Pretty to look at and better than nothing, but no. God should find scant virtue in a Reclaiming of the Federation. Their eyes flutter. The State? Man did not begin in this wretched place, I tell them. Man began in an Antediluvian other place. We Amarr understand these things. There is nothing here the Reclaiming of which would accrue to the glory of God.

We must Reclaim our past.

We must reopen the brilliant origin of our exile, and Reclaim that which cast us out.

In this way, our labyrinthian walk returns, dear Sanguina, to my pampered, contained Sister, and her Sisterhood - which grows increasingly impatient at the apparent inability of our present civilization to unlock the past despite all of our new marvels. Yes, the pampered Sister cries now at the whispered suggestions of her incubi. Yes, the proud young men of a noble House cry at revelations of that which would constitute a True Reclaiming.

In this way, the blood of sacrifice begins to flow. Such is the Beauty of God.

Before taking on the Terrans, don't you think we should wait until your lycanthropic experiments are complete and we've all evolved into apex predators or something? 'Cuz I think we're gonna need all the help we can get to Reclaim them.

In the meantime, we outnumber the Republic 4 to 1. That's not including Khanid. Or the Blood Raiders, with whom we should persue Reunification (as long as they give up their Pleasure Hubs). We need to prove ourselves worthy before God He will aid us in Reclaiming the Terrans -- prove ourselves worhy by deleting the Republic from history.

Go for it, says I!

There's only the biggest dimension tearing, gravity warping, reality defiling leftover space tantrum that we know of, and a (bare *** minimum) twenty thousand year development gap accross the board once you get there, assuming any of the stories about these "Terrans" is anywhere close to true, between you and Paradise, right? What could possibly go wrong?

I'm rather suspicious of people who use more words than necessary to say what they mean, although, in credit, it is shorter than the usual Nohism.

As to the subject matter, I'm unsure wether to laugh, scratch my head in confusion or check for cranial haemorrhaging.