DrStrangelove
Well-Known Member
Here are the opening paragraphs of my attempt at a space opera. Compared to the manusript the formatting is a little off due to the fact that I write dialogue as I would in a play (I have no idea if that works or I should just scrap that entirely), other than that - you can fire away the tungsten batteries of criticism. Not being a native means there may be phrases I find flowery, and you will find absurd 
In the last days of Karnar, as tungsten thundered in the skies, an angel fell to earth.
Ceramic heat shields where their wings, and as they parted from the body, shining orange gave way to a blinding form. Their body was that of a marble statue, their face as unliving as the stone itself. Where their silver armor plates disconnected, bundles of tense muscles bristled from beneath, as if there was no skin to cover the body. As they descended to the ground with a storm of fire, they raised a silver spear, from which a long, purple standard waved in the twilight winds.
Despite their godly nature, the Angel bore the form of a Human, for it was the Human who made them in their image. Perfect in form and total in visage, they were the final realization of the greatest Idea ever to grace the Known Kosmos, the Ur-Idea that raged across the Great Abyss, and where they went, the Idea followed through peace and through war. The Idea called the Empire, the Empire called Porphyr.
As the roaring thunder of their landing shook the castle grounds, the Angel opened their chest cavity, and from within emerged the Human.
***
Enter JOACHIM, FREIHERR EOFOROS
With the internal pumps slowly draining oxidizing fluid from within the amplifier armour’s chest, Joachim woke up with a crimson stream bursting from their lungs. Coughing out the remaining liquid, they pulled out control electrodes from the neck and released the cockpits hatch, slithering from within the machine's abdomen. Out in the open, assault troopers of Porphyr already awaited them with towels and a clean uniform. Rising from the ground, naked body still dripping off the oxidizer, Joachim finally took a deep breath of fresh air.
OFFICER, their voice electronically distorted due to the combat mask
“Welcome to Karnar, Freiherr Eoforos. As above, so below.”
JOACHIM
“We all meet in the Axis.”
One by one, the soldiers gathered in line, raising their hands in a salute, not towards Joachim, but the purple flag held firmly by the amplifier armour. The flag was no ordinary battle standard, as the silver sphynx embroidered upon it was that of Basileos Imperator themselves, the solitary tear dripping from it’s eye one of the oldest and most revered symbols in the Empire. As Joachim returned the greeting, a young soldier started dressing them in the proper undergarments, while another prepared a black, linen thorax breastplate sporting the silver star of the Fleet in the Imperial Presence. Fastening the belt and making sure that everything fit perfectly, the final touch was an honorary, purple semi-caprine symbolizing full immunity only befitting the person of of a diplomat, Basilkios Mandator, Voice to the Idea.
Dressed in the uniform, Joachim felt as if back into their armor, but one far more durable than anything technology could provide. In the uniform, they felt one with Porphyr, and Porphyr was one with them.
OFFICER
“Do not worry at the site of our gear. The atmosphere should be perfectly safe to breath. I understand your body has been prepared?”
JOACHIM
“Anti-microbial shots will suffice?”
OFFICER
“Most certainly.”
JOACHIM
“Good. I am ready to meet the Prophet.”
OFFICER
“I will lead the way.”
***
JOACHIM
“How is the invasion progressing?”
OFFICER
“Fighting in the capital is already at an end. Most of the resistance centers have already been broken.”
JOACHIM
“The Prophets honour guard?”
OFFICER
“The Sacred Band is no more. They withheld the longest.”
JOACHIM
“As Tradition dictates.”
OFFICER
“A shame, really. Good, honest warriors, loyal to the core. Most of us…”
JOACHIM
“Would never stand that long?”
OFFICER
“That is one way to put it, Freiherr. On the other hand, we did stand long enough to break their resistance, orbital support or not. They did fight to the last…”
JOACHIM
“Good. At least some of their values remained true. What about the collateral damage?”
OFFICER
“Several orbital strikes were apparently... miscalculated.”
JOACHIM
“By which you mean…”
OFFICER
“I leave it to your own assessment”
JOACHIM
“If that's the case, I will ask you to fetch me a shuttle when I’m done with the matters at hand.”
OFFICER
“I will, Freiherr Eoforos.”
A long silence commenced as the two closed to the castle grounds, dust storms slowly gathering on the horizon, veiling the red, setting sun. The Prophet’s castle was situated deep into the Karnarian province, an abode as isolated as it’s master. Far from the high imperial standard, the building resembled neither the architecture common to Porphyr’s core nor its outer provinces, clearly founded long before the Empire reached back for the planet. Sharp archways carved in rough, brown stone led through a labyrinthine courtyard devoid of any ornamenta, highly austere for a place clearly intended for some long-gone aristocrat, and now inhabited by a self-proclaimed despot.
OFFICER
“Can I ask you a question, Freiherr?”
JOACHIM
“Of course”
OFFICER
“Do you know anything of the Prophet?”
JOACHIM
“I did… encounter them during my time with the Fleet Magistros. They were their official representative and, later, the strategos themata governing this part of the planet after the second reconquest. We know each other quite well”.
OFFICER
“What... are they like?”,
JOACHIM
“Arrogant, stubborn, full of themselves and too imaginative for their own good, with complete inability to appreciate what they were given.”
As they reached the castle gate, the officer stopped. For a moment Joachim got the unpleasant impression of being cautiously probed , but through the mask doned by the soldier it was impossible to tell.
OFFICER
“As all traitors are, it seems. I will notify the ground forces to delegate a shuttle, Freiherr. I’ve already been provided with your frequency, you will be notified as soon as it arrives. If you will pardon me, I will have to attend to my troops now.”
JOACHIM
“I will contact you as soon as my duties here are finished.”
***
Cold wind whistling amongst the crumbling walls, Joachim stopped to clear their mind and quietly recite the Words, the same Words they painfully rehearsed a hundred times before arrival, the only Words that mattered.
JOACHIM
“By the Tyrian cloak bestowed upon me and with full authority of Basileos Imperator Themselves, I hereby decla…”
Suddenly, both their voice and mind failed them, rejecting the sentence. Was it the castle’s aura that held them from finishing? Was it the slight difference in gravity meddling in their inner sense of stability? Trying to put themselves together and resume the recitation, the diplomat heard a quiet patter coming from the side. Cautiously turning around, they glimpsed a thin, dark silhouette, jumping behind a column. As they slowly stepped towards the courtyard's edge, it occurred to them that the phantasm did not cast any shadow. Before Freiherr managed to call out, they heard a cacophony of grinding gearheads, followed by the high-pitched hiss of opening door. From within, a withered elder emerged, wrapped in a rough, grey robe, silver, geometric accents along it’s folded edges. Their eyes have been subtly emphasized with black ink, as were their inner lips. Entering the courtyard, they unveiled a small orb barely visible in between fingers, and as they waved it in the air, rows of chalices, previously dead, exploded with cold, white fire all around them, illuminating the place in a deathly aura.
With a shallow bow towards Joachim, the elder invited them to the castle, and as they disappeared in its bowels, the courtyard chalices slowly went dark, and as they did, so did the thin phantasm, slowly stepping back into the darkness, fading.
In the last days of Karnar, as tungsten thundered in the skies, an angel fell to earth.
Ceramic heat shields where their wings, and as they parted from the body, shining orange gave way to a blinding form. Their body was that of a marble statue, their face as unliving as the stone itself. Where their silver armor plates disconnected, bundles of tense muscles bristled from beneath, as if there was no skin to cover the body. As they descended to the ground with a storm of fire, they raised a silver spear, from which a long, purple standard waved in the twilight winds.
Despite their godly nature, the Angel bore the form of a Human, for it was the Human who made them in their image. Perfect in form and total in visage, they were the final realization of the greatest Idea ever to grace the Known Kosmos, the Ur-Idea that raged across the Great Abyss, and where they went, the Idea followed through peace and through war. The Idea called the Empire, the Empire called Porphyr.
As the roaring thunder of their landing shook the castle grounds, the Angel opened their chest cavity, and from within emerged the Human.
***
Enter JOACHIM, FREIHERR EOFOROS
With the internal pumps slowly draining oxidizing fluid from within the amplifier armour’s chest, Joachim woke up with a crimson stream bursting from their lungs. Coughing out the remaining liquid, they pulled out control electrodes from the neck and released the cockpits hatch, slithering from within the machine's abdomen. Out in the open, assault troopers of Porphyr already awaited them with towels and a clean uniform. Rising from the ground, naked body still dripping off the oxidizer, Joachim finally took a deep breath of fresh air.
OFFICER, their voice electronically distorted due to the combat mask
“Welcome to Karnar, Freiherr Eoforos. As above, so below.”
JOACHIM
“We all meet in the Axis.”
One by one, the soldiers gathered in line, raising their hands in a salute, not towards Joachim, but the purple flag held firmly by the amplifier armour. The flag was no ordinary battle standard, as the silver sphynx embroidered upon it was that of Basileos Imperator themselves, the solitary tear dripping from it’s eye one of the oldest and most revered symbols in the Empire. As Joachim returned the greeting, a young soldier started dressing them in the proper undergarments, while another prepared a black, linen thorax breastplate sporting the silver star of the Fleet in the Imperial Presence. Fastening the belt and making sure that everything fit perfectly, the final touch was an honorary, purple semi-caprine symbolizing full immunity only befitting the person of of a diplomat, Basilkios Mandator, Voice to the Idea.
Dressed in the uniform, Joachim felt as if back into their armor, but one far more durable than anything technology could provide. In the uniform, they felt one with Porphyr, and Porphyr was one with them.
OFFICER
“Do not worry at the site of our gear. The atmosphere should be perfectly safe to breath. I understand your body has been prepared?”
JOACHIM
“Anti-microbial shots will suffice?”
OFFICER
“Most certainly.”
JOACHIM
“Good. I am ready to meet the Prophet.”
OFFICER
“I will lead the way.”
***
JOACHIM
“How is the invasion progressing?”
OFFICER
“Fighting in the capital is already at an end. Most of the resistance centers have already been broken.”
JOACHIM
“The Prophets honour guard?”
OFFICER
“The Sacred Band is no more. They withheld the longest.”
JOACHIM
“As Tradition dictates.”
OFFICER
“A shame, really. Good, honest warriors, loyal to the core. Most of us…”
JOACHIM
“Would never stand that long?”
OFFICER
“That is one way to put it, Freiherr. On the other hand, we did stand long enough to break their resistance, orbital support or not. They did fight to the last…”
JOACHIM
“Good. At least some of their values remained true. What about the collateral damage?”
OFFICER
“Several orbital strikes were apparently... miscalculated.”
JOACHIM
“By which you mean…”
OFFICER
“I leave it to your own assessment”
JOACHIM
“If that's the case, I will ask you to fetch me a shuttle when I’m done with the matters at hand.”
OFFICER
“I will, Freiherr Eoforos.”
A long silence commenced as the two closed to the castle grounds, dust storms slowly gathering on the horizon, veiling the red, setting sun. The Prophet’s castle was situated deep into the Karnarian province, an abode as isolated as it’s master. Far from the high imperial standard, the building resembled neither the architecture common to Porphyr’s core nor its outer provinces, clearly founded long before the Empire reached back for the planet. Sharp archways carved in rough, brown stone led through a labyrinthine courtyard devoid of any ornamenta, highly austere for a place clearly intended for some long-gone aristocrat, and now inhabited by a self-proclaimed despot.
OFFICER
“Can I ask you a question, Freiherr?”
JOACHIM
“Of course”
OFFICER
“Do you know anything of the Prophet?”
JOACHIM
“I did… encounter them during my time with the Fleet Magistros. They were their official representative and, later, the strategos themata governing this part of the planet after the second reconquest. We know each other quite well”.
OFFICER
“What... are they like?”,
JOACHIM
“Arrogant, stubborn, full of themselves and too imaginative for their own good, with complete inability to appreciate what they were given.”
As they reached the castle gate, the officer stopped. For a moment Joachim got the unpleasant impression of being cautiously probed , but through the mask doned by the soldier it was impossible to tell.
OFFICER
“As all traitors are, it seems. I will notify the ground forces to delegate a shuttle, Freiherr. I’ve already been provided with your frequency, you will be notified as soon as it arrives. If you will pardon me, I will have to attend to my troops now.”
JOACHIM
“I will contact you as soon as my duties here are finished.”
***
Cold wind whistling amongst the crumbling walls, Joachim stopped to clear their mind and quietly recite the Words, the same Words they painfully rehearsed a hundred times before arrival, the only Words that mattered.
JOACHIM
“By the Tyrian cloak bestowed upon me and with full authority of Basileos Imperator Themselves, I hereby decla…”
Suddenly, both their voice and mind failed them, rejecting the sentence. Was it the castle’s aura that held them from finishing? Was it the slight difference in gravity meddling in their inner sense of stability? Trying to put themselves together and resume the recitation, the diplomat heard a quiet patter coming from the side. Cautiously turning around, they glimpsed a thin, dark silhouette, jumping behind a column. As they slowly stepped towards the courtyard's edge, it occurred to them that the phantasm did not cast any shadow. Before Freiherr managed to call out, they heard a cacophony of grinding gearheads, followed by the high-pitched hiss of opening door. From within, a withered elder emerged, wrapped in a rough, grey robe, silver, geometric accents along it’s folded edges. Their eyes have been subtly emphasized with black ink, as were their inner lips. Entering the courtyard, they unveiled a small orb barely visible in between fingers, and as they waved it in the air, rows of chalices, previously dead, exploded with cold, white fire all around them, illuminating the place in a deathly aura.
With a shallow bow towards Joachim, the elder invited them to the castle, and as they disappeared in its bowels, the courtyard chalices slowly went dark, and as they did, so did the thin phantasm, slowly stepping back into the darkness, fading.
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