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Darth Metus

Darth Metus

Member Since 12 Mar 2013
Offline Last Active Today, 08:28 AM

#1858783 Bring Me to Life

Posted by Darth Metus on 12 September 2018 - 12:18 PM

The Devil had been watching.

One would think that a man responsible for the lives of trillions would have not a second to spare for the Sultana. As time moved ever forward, the threat of war arriving on his doorstep seemed to only increase. Therefore, there was not a moment of respite that the man took; and therefore, there was never a word to the Sultana for her dipping performance. One might have assumed...that he simply did not care any longer. One might have even believed that the whispers of his place among the Tribunal were just that - whispers. Rumors. Smoke in the wind. Yet, before the seeds of that deception could truly take root, Cim Salro had been summoned.

Not to the very public offices on Golbah City.

Not to the densely packed Super Star Destroyers.

But to the quiet, isolated, Floating Gardens of Ryloth.

The chime of her voice did not fall upon empty ears as she called out into the stones. The succulent accent echoed soundly between the suspended earth, prompting the crunch of footsteps upon the thirsty ground. In but a moment, the Anzat's eyes would be greeted with an Obsidian sight. It was not the Devil she expected who had come to meet her, but one of his countless agents. His Knights. Under a hood and behind a mask were the agent's features obscured - but stature alone would betray his gender as male. He approached in silence, uttering not a word to the woman as he drew near.

Yet the silence would be broken when he reached for his belt. For a moment, gloved digits graced the hilt of the lightsaber hanging there...before clutching the disc adjacent to its form. The agent held it out, indicating that the Sultana should hearken to what was to come. A simple press of his finger opened the connection and an azure projection erupted into being. The Devil himself, seated upon his throne, burned into being upon the holodisc.

"Greetings, Miss Salro." came the thunderous baritone of his voice. Though his words were simple, the professional kindness that once colored his tone was long gone. There was a flatness there. An edge, born of impatience.

"You have faltered in our bargain. This...simply will not do." Darth Metus shook his head, cementing his disappointment. Cim already understood what Sith were like when they were disappointed. Failure often meant an early demise and an immediate replacement.

"But...I have been listening. Even my brightest star would not be able to fulfill her duties if the one she loved the most was taken away. And yet you carry on. Slowly. But you carry on."

The Sith leaned forward in his seat. Although he was light years away, the weight of his sulfuric gaze was palpable.

"And so I will give you grace, just this once. The decline in your end, I will forgive due to your grief. But that ends today. You will perform as expected - else there will be consequences."

The agent's grasp stiffened about the holodisc. Yet still he said nothing whilst the Devil spoke.

"Now...considering how things have been, I will be taking a much more...hands on approach moving forward. I gift you this agent, who will report to me, but who will also be your mightiest ally. If memory serves, you two know each other quite well."

"Isn't that right, Nydo?"

The connection ceased.

The holodisc fell to the earth, as "Nydo" reached out. There was no malice in his touch. No murderous intent as his fingertips graced her cheek. His form shuddered the instant the warmth of the Sultana met his glove.

"Minx, is this real?"

His voice...it was different. But he would...feel the same. The Devil made certain of that.

Cim Salro

#1854731 Hello! ʕ→ᴥ←ʔ

Posted by Darth Metus on 03 September 2018 - 06:32 PM


#1853588 To Clone Or Not To Clone {CIS}

Posted by Darth Metus on 01 September 2018 - 06:39 PM



The Discussion was more than budgeting a new asset.

Over the course of its history, the Confederacy had been a bastion against a particularly heinous sin: Slavery. By the consensus of her member planets, the forceful oppression of others had been elevated to a Capital Offense - punishable by being devoured within the Geonosian arenas. Therefore, the nation had relied upon automated tools to fulfill their needs on the battlefield. When it came to the Vicelord’s personal opinion, this was the best way forward. Volunteer militias were a wonderful thing. Native citizens taking up arms for their homes was a wonderful thing. But Droids were infinitely better. They required no sleep. They required no benefits. They required nothing but programming and a weapon.

And so, when the discussion made its way to his desk, Darth Metus was the furthest thing from thrilled. In fact, one might call his current mood downright agitated. With the acquisition of Kamino back into the Confederate fold, the question of contribution was raised. The Sith was perfectly fine with the planet paying taxes like everyone else - but there was a personal vendetta against the prospect of a Clone Army. When he was but a wet-behind-the-ears Sithling, he dabbled with the creation of his own subordinate unit. The aptly-named Dreadguard. Ten thousand clones were born by Kaminoan hands and shaped by the machinations of a Yuuzhan Vong. The result was a unit dead to the Force...and apparently dead to orders as well.

They defected, for no other reason than Metus’ refusal to dive headfirst into a frivolous conflict they desired.

Thus, between the inefficiency of organic soldiers and the glorious track record of his own Dreadguard, the Vicelord found himself less than enthused. He was seated behind the Speaker of the day’s event - only a pace or two away from his raven-haired apprentice Adron Malvern. His sulfuric gaze swept across the Citadel, watching as the eager bodies of their compatriots began to fill the booths. A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips - oh how they had become more Republic than the Republic in some regards. No matter. For the most part, the Sith kept his innermost thoughts on the matter to himself. He did not dare divulge his frustrations to the hopeful masses just yet. But there were two who had a literal front row seat to the inferno burning within his skull. Yet, while he could feel that Alora Fae and Srina Talon were near, he did not yet see them.

”Adron.” the baritone of his voice rumbled across the space. ”Have you seen Srina recently? I seem to have lost track of her…”

Adron Malvern | Antoine Rhys | Srina Talon | Alora Fae

#1849860 The Imperial Downfall~CIS Dominion of Kamino

Posted by Darth Metus on 24 August 2018 - 02:09 AM

As always, his concern was always Her.

She was first in his mind. Above the cacophany of battle, he stood as a man clutching what was most precious. Fire stood before the alabaster woman, and thus his icy grasp brought her form closer - as if to shield her from the heat. Ever expanding was the pyre. Ever expanding was the threat. The tremendous beat of his wings, empowered by telekinetic might shrieked forth in response. By this feat, the inferno was washed away - and in its wake was more.

Words. The objective. There was almost lost upon the Wraith, as starlit eyes danced from face to face. The first suggested an end to the conflict. The second raised a hand against the Exarch. The third followed suit. Darkness against his Darkness. A ravenous sensation befell the Sith - a tug upon the existence of his wrath. Heat arched against him, lightning crashing across the expanse.

The Wraith embraced her with his wings. His fury devoted foremost to protect. The energies wormed about her as a cocoon, weathering the storm whilst the the electricity collided. She would feel no harm. Know no sting. Yet the Wraith would bear it all. The storm was not enough to fell it alone - but the siphon. From a Galaxy away, the Sith grit his teeth.

If it were him there, he could fight. If it were him, physically, maintaining the connection, he would have eagerly fed the hunger for longer. Happily kept up the fight. Happily forced his wrath down the gullet of his adversaries. But in this, he could not. He could not risk her wellbeing. Never risk a hair upon her head. Time was not his ally. Through her, he could feed the siphon his own power - stave away the hunger for a moment. Try to end this before succumbing her to vulnerability.

For just a moment, Darth Metus felt all that power meaning nothing.

”You have what we require.” came the thunderous baritone of his voice. ”This does not have to end in blood.”

His teeth were grinding against themselves now.

”This nation, the Confederacy, is mine. End this, provide us what we seek, and you will know no harm.”

He didn’t have many other cards to play. Not yet.

#1849839 They Shoot, We Skor

Posted by Darth Metus on 24 August 2018 - 12:07 AM

The Sith Master of Srina Talon was famished. There was something about spontaneous space whale copulation that really got the stomach growling. Not really. In truth, the last time that Darth Metus had eaten was well before the “festivities” erupted above Skor II. His original intent was to scarf something down when they were within an hour or so of their destination. A meal bar or something to that effect. However, that “plan” was effectively kicked square where the sun doesn’t shine - compliments of the First Order. That was the first surprise of the day, one that thankfully saw both he and his Apprentice emerge relatively unscathed. In fact, the only casualties suffered between the two of them were the droid escort they had brought along for the diplomatic journey.

Other than that, the true casualty was the First Order’s pride.

To be a fly on the wall of their battered and whale...spit...covered ships would have been a gift from the gods. Hell, Darth Metus would have paid good money just to intercept some of the comms. He would have kissed an Australi-okay no, it wasn’t that funny. But still.

So, in honor of the ridiculous come from behind victory earned by the Coalition, there was eating. Strange eating, mind. But eating nonetheless. Now, the good news was, it didn’t matter where in the Galaxy you went, alcohol was the same. That was a currency that even the most remote corners of the universe acknowledged. Despite being on the far side of civilization, the Sith was able to procure a canteen of tihaar from one of the greasier looking locals. His journey had seen him pass Coren Starchaser for a moment, and he did see Jorus Merrill across the room as well. After indulging in a hearty swig (or five) and praying to dear Kad that the owner brushed his teeth this month, he planted his bottom upon a log only a pace off from a modest blaze.

His apprentice was there, seated with her back against the wood. When he settled into place, the alabaster woman was being offered a skewer by one of the Squibs. A glance said that it was cooked. The smell said that it was cooked well. Darth Metus motioned for three of his own. And whilst Srina took a modest nibble of hers, he tore into the meat like a Mandalorian admiral tearing into an Imperial. If Darth Metus had eaten, he would have considered the meat to be above-average at best. But right now? He would have gladly paid the cook child support if they asked.

After chewing through the first skewer, he tossed the wooden remains into the blaze and worked on the other. Punctuating each mouthful with a chug of tihaar. He did pause his onslaught (and swallowed because Srina had a no-talking-while-your-mouth-is-full rule) before nudging her arm with his leg. ”Think we should stick around for a bit after? Or just head back?” he inquired, innocently gauging how much he could get away with drinking tonight.

If he were a decade younger and a decade less Sith-y, he could have gotten used to being around the Coalition. That’s for damn sure.

#1849482 Escalation Protocol | CIS Dominion of Manda (Y,46)

Posted by Darth Metus on 23 August 2018 - 09:10 AM


Objective: Landfall
Location: Orbit to Ground
Post: 5
Tag: Harmony, Kyrinov, Daisy Americus, Srina Talon, Kurayami Bloodborn, Scherezade deWinter, Kurenai Yumi, Azmodan

She had emerged, unscathed.

Darth Metus was beginning to build a theory regarding his dearest friend. Whenever the flames of war threatened to sear their Confederacy, separation was anathema to her wellbeing. Yet, whenever they stood together, she would not harm a hair on her head. This, of course, was not due to the Sith going out of his way to protect his Apprentice - for she was very capable on her own. But it seemed as though just being in proximity to one another was a ward against harm. The Sith thought back on all of the occasions where they had seen battle. Dagobah. Tatooine. Now, Skor II. On Dagobah and Skor II, they had stood together. They had been within arm’s reach the entire time - and the only harm they received were a loss of Magnaguards.

But on Tatooine they fought apart. And he nearly lost her.

Perhaps he just cared too much about the alabaster woman. Perhaps one instance of her being mortally wounded had made Darth Metus a touch over protective. But...when it came to keeping her alive, he would do whatever it took. Thus, when the Confederate Armada thundered into being above Manda, the Sith made certain that they shared the same drop pod. Theirs was among the second wave of Confederate forces being launched to the ground - and to this end, the Armada was going to use an “old play” to ensure their safe arrival to the surface. Some of the drop pods were left empty, to be used as decoys against any walkers that turned their guns skyward. With this, they would, at the very least, increase their odds of getting to ground in one piece.

Darth Metus was the first to step within the pod. He ducked his head low as to not bash it upon the durasteel frame and moved to the very rear of the structure. Practiced motions saw him buckle in a matter of moments. It would only be the Master, his Apprentice, and a handful of Magnaguards going down to the surface in this particular pod. And once the silver-eyed woman joined him, the droids filed in efficiently.

The pod sealed with a thud and a hiss. Fresh oxygen poured into the space as visible vapor. From his position, the Sith had a clear sight of the viewport. A deck engineer was running through a quick check of the pod and then gave a thumbs up to the operator. Shudder. The entire frame settled into place and then…descent seized his stomach. The force of being ejected from the capital ship filled his core with that all-too familiar sensation. It was like going downhill in an airspeeder, but magnified many many fold. Darth Metus’ gaze immediately filled with fire as they began to enter the atmosphere...and a new sensation gripped him. His fingers clutched impatiently at the restraints. He was…Hungry.

He set his gaze upon his Apprentice once more, giving her a confident smile. The few, precious seconds that they had left were filled with a quiet understanding. The river which flowed between them: a bond of their shared thought, emotion, and strengths, ebbed and flowed as it so often did. She could feel his eagerness to get onto the battlefield. But above all, she could feel the satisfaction of being at her side. It had been…ages since they fought together. And though he spoke no words, she knew all that he would have said.

His attention was torn from the alabaster woman when the atmosphere shifted from fiery red to blue. They had broken through unscathed and now thundered towards the surface. By the report and what he had overheard from the deck personnel, their goal was to land within the walls. To help repel the Loyalist forces from a solid position. But, instead of smashing through duracrete…

Darth Metus saw a flash of imperial gray fill the pod before his head smacked back against the Pod. Impact filled his ears with a horrendous screech, as if the structure was tearing through metal. A thunderous boom could be heard from the onlooker. A mighty crack as an Imperial Walker’s frame was torn asunder by their fiery entrance. A second explosion of sound. Yet another lurch. And then...nothing. The Sith opened his eyes. His gaze immediately flying to Srina Talon to ensure her wellbeing. At a glance, she seemed okay. No more rattled than he was. But he could feel the warmth of his own blood oozing down the back of his neck.

His teeth clenched against one another.

Outside, the scene was brutal. A single walker, felled an instant, now laid on its side. The legion of mercenary “stormtroopers” initially scattered at the sight of the fall. But now regrouped. A cadre of them approached the fiery wreckage - blasters raised.

A cacophany of Durasteel caving in upon itself filled the air. A vicious sound of metal screaming in protest as the Force ripped it asunder. A swath of the walker’s remains exploded outward, thundering into the troopers and trampling a number of them in its path. Screams erupted over the comms. The troopers began to open fire into the new abyss which had been torn open. At first...there was nothing to be seen...save the rush of their azure bolts flying into the black.

Yet the darkness was broken by the eruption of crimson. His motion of saber was a deadly melody as it batted away bolt after bolt. Yet with each step, the Sith grew closer and closer. In time, they would see the Demon of the Confederacy set foot upon Manda.

And all he would see were Dead Men.


#1848968 The Imperial Downfall~CIS Dominion of Kamino

Posted by Darth Metus on 22 August 2018 - 03:14 AM


Srina Talon | Anesia Jy’Vun

Srina Talon was never alone.

It had not always been this way. When first they met, she was but a lost young woman. The skies above weeped for her, making each step of her journey agonizing. She was cold. She was hunted. She had nowhere to turn. Yet there was a design beyond her understanding. A silent Will which tugged at the strings of her life with glorious intent. By this unseen guide did she trek the streets of Coruscant - ultimately finding refuge. Her reprieve from the storms of life was not a physical structure, mind. It was not some scaffolding or building that could shrug off the rain. Rather, it was a man who once lived for himself.

And so this Will stitched their very souls together. In but an instant, the man who lived for himself could not bear to see the lost one suffer. In but a moment, the lost woman knew what direction to take. Between them, a bond as vast as the Kaminoan seas had formed. One of emotion. One of thought. One of the Force. With each passing day, their union grew in strength. The lost woman could feel her Master’s power. She could take from the ocean of his might. But above all...she could call.

With but the utterance of simple truths, damnation befell Anesia Jy’vun.

Darth Metus heard the chime of his Apprentice’s voice. Her presence - even a Galaxy away - echoed just as soundly as if she were standing by his side. Yet, her words carried more than an explanation. Her “report” ferried sight and sound. The Sith could feel every step that the alabaster woman took up until now. Every thought. Every emotion. Nothing was ever hidden between the two - especially not when the unknown stood before them. And though he sat upon the command throne of his personal vessel, countless systems’ away…He would stand by her side.


As the final warning escaped the Apprentice’s lips, His power cascaded through their union. A tapestry of midnight erupted into being upon the woman’s chest: darkness, billowing forth as the Obstacle raised her flame. From these dark depths did a twilit hand reach. Growing. Moving. Momentum propelled the Wraith forward until its mammoth form hovered in place before Srina Talon. Yet this...never came without a price. When it was the Master employing this art, his strength eroded from his bones in an instant. So, too, did the fortitude of the alabaster woman wane. Descent would grip her form, for limbs no longer bore the strength to keep her standing tall.

But Darth Metus would never let her fall. She would never dash her foot upon the stone. The twilit hands broke her descent. Though ice to the touch, they cradled her as would a knight his princess. Movement gripped the beast’s form: a trio of starlit eyes bore down upon the flames manifested by the Obstacle. Darth Metus spoke no words to the woman, for the warning of his Apprentice had been more than enough. The Obstacle would see the truth standing before her eyes - power absolute was her adversary. To stand before the Demon of the Confederacy would mean certain doom. For the woman might be able to fell a scientist. She might be able to rend through droids or Knight alike. But how can she best one who devours Death itself?

A Testament to his power was the stretching of wings. Onyx appendages opened to their full length upon his spine, obscuring the view of the front for those who stood behind. Force unrelenting gathered within them, before exploding forth as a massive wingbeat. A wall of telekinetic fury shrieked across the expanse, bearing more than enough strength to unseat an airspeeder at rest. What hope did mere flames stand against such fury?

#1846736 Absolution

Posted by Darth Metus on 17 August 2018 - 09:00 PM

His inquiry was a valid one.

As a creature marred by the lash of betrayal, the Sith was no stranger to deception. All those years ago, when the life he had erected on Krant burned to ash, it was the hands of allies which lit the first flame. Collaborators. Like-minded individuals. Partners. In those days, a younger Darth Metus looked upon those responsible as peers. Some, he had even begun to foster some semblance of trust. But this...ignorance...was truly a testament to how blind he was. Sith were creatures who first fed themselves; and thus, lowering one’s guard was anathema. In the instant that Darth Metus lowered his guard, everything worth having was taken away. Peace of mind was stolen evermore.

It was now impossible for him to look upon circumstances as coincidental. And so he gazed upon the pallid youth, sulfuric eyes blazing with an internal conflict. The overwhelming majority of his being wanted to probe - to know what enemy had enough foresight to send Kyrinov to Krant. Was it the remains of the Galactic Empire? Was it a mercenary from the Mandalorians? Who would have known that he had set his sights on the place once called home? But...fighting an uphill struggle against this reflex was Faith. There was something about this boy...something that gave the Sith Lord enough pause that he did not immediately wipe his presence from the face of Krant.

At first, Darth Metus thought the Taste was the boy acting on his own...but as the seconds rolled ever by, the Deep fought against his instinct. The perversion of his conditioning was growing. He listened instead of interrogating. He took in every minute detail of the young man as he rallied himself against the Sith Lord.

And to this end, his weapon was drawn. The familiar grind of metal upon a sheath filled Darth Metus’ ears. His gaze fell upon the sword wielded confidently by the pallid youth. It stood as a sign of defiance. It existed as an extension of the boy - an answer to the challenge of Darth. Yet he, also, did not strike. He did not move against the Sith whatsoever; despite an inferno erupting about the length of his weapon. The display was enough to draw the lofting of Darth Metus’ brow. He took a well calculated step forward, marking just how much reach the young man had compared to him. Thinking in advance how to respond. How to twist the wrist of his sword hand. How to Dominate.

My name is Kyrinov.

With this answer, the breath of life filled the lungs of the pallid youth. Where once his expression seemed shaken...his world clearly rattled...resolve slowly burned within his eyes. And yet...Darth Metus took no initiative to lay the young man low. The Deep...that persistent weight upon his tongue...seemed only to intensify as he thought of ways to defeat the boy. With every plot came the punishing twang of fresh heat - as if he had swallowed a fresh mouthful of blood. The Deep was telling him…not to purge this Kyrinov from the face of Krant. But why?

And you are?

”I am Darth Metus.” came the thunderous baritone of his voice.

The hilt of his saber raised, along with his sword arm, but it was not pointed in the direction of the pallid youth. He used it to indicate the surrounding Arbor. To indicate Krant itself. ”And all of this belongs to me.”

The saber now pointed directly at the youth. His finger did not yet reignite the weapon.

What are you doing in my domain? Who sent you here?”

Four seconds...the span of a breath...was all the boy would have to respond.


#1845149 The Wolf's Shadow

Posted by Darth Metus on 14 August 2018 - 04:20 PM

<p>Awesome. Pending Secondary Approval. Thanks! Jamie Pyne</p>

#1845014 The Wolf's Shadow

Posted by Darth Metus on 14 August 2018 - 10:16 AM


Please add Stygium to the Materials and I can pass this along.

#1845011 REC-001 "Bakunawa"

Posted by Darth Metus on 14 August 2018 - 10:12 AM

<p>Awesome. Pending Secondary Approval. Thanks! Jamie Pyne</p>

#1845002 The Wolf's Shadow

Posted by Darth Metus on 14 August 2018 - 09:58 AM

<p>Under Review.</p>

#1843019 A180-1 Reconfigurable Blaster Pistol

Posted by Darth Metus on 10 August 2018 - 01:56 PM

<p>Awesome. Pending Secondary Approval. Thanks! Jamie Pyne</p>

#1840981 A Deal with the Devil

Posted by Darth Metus on 06 August 2018 - 07:02 PM

The Wildling obeyed.

With her flesh alive with his marking, the fiery-haired woman did as the Sith Lord bid. She wasted not a moment of his time in collecting the few belongings that she had brought for her evening under the stars. Then, she quietly followed in the wake of the Devil. But Darth Metus could feel her. Everything was happening so quickly. Everything that had transpired challenged the foundations of her world. Over the span of mere minutes, she had born witness to flesh that did not burn. To faces within an inferno. To a storm alive with the Dark Side. And thus, the Devil opened the door: he extended an olive branch so that she might sate her burning curiosity. So that she might begin to trust her Master.

And, as they arrived before the Quill-class Shuttle, the inquiries began to spill from her lips. Her words were as a flood - with each utterance flying forth quicker than the last. The sheer speed of her speech was enough that Darth Metus unleashed a booming chuckle into the nighttime air. But, as promised, he began to answer her questions. Truthfully.

”What am I?” he began, repeating her first question with amusement alive in his voice. ”I am a Sith - a faithful of the Dark Side. And my name is Darth Metus. This was all that he had physically uttered in response to the first question, but what he shared was much more than that. For the Wildling, the words Sith and Dark Side would mean nothing; and thus he wordlessly bestowed upon her a...basic...understanding of what they meant. Through the ebb and flow of their Bond, he shared whispers of what the word Darth meant - that his name alone was a challenge to the very Galaxy. That the power he wielded was the might to fulfill his ambitions. That the Dark Side was not something to be feared, but to be revered. To be heard.

He continued.

”The Force is a divine gift. It is a connection that you are born with. A feature like your hair - it is apart of you. And it is the source of all of the wonders you have seen tonight.” This time, he did not impart a wordless understanding - as the mystery of the Force was something that she would comprehend over time. And, if the Sith was being honest, she would only have a fledgling understanding even at the height of her power. Why? Because the Force did not live and breathe as they did. It was mighty. Its dual nature shaping and twisting the Galaxy through its agents. To truly understand the Force would require many lifetimes...not several minutes.

”The Markings...are a physical symbol that we are one. You are bound to me - and any who looks upon you will see it. I can also use those marks to…” he paused, briefly selecting the best way to put it…”Well, suffice it to say, I will be with you. Always. Even if we are a Galaxy apart, those markings will bring me to you.” More or Less. ”Now, the Force was the tool that enabled me to plunge my hand into the flame. But...It was not I who placed my face into the smoke. The Dark Side willed it - and so it came to be.”

It was the final inquiry which gave the Sith pause. Why had the Wildling been chosen? In truth...Darth Metus now wondered why the Deep had seen fit to place the woman in his path as well. But...when he placed his mind upon this question, his thoughts immediately flew to the alabaster Echani. She came into his world lost, drenched, and pursued. She came into his world no stronger in the Force than a youngling. But over the months that she stood by his side, she became his greatest ally. His dearest friend. His Home. All of these things, because the Deep had willed for visions of his face to infect her mind. All of these things, because Darth Metus was receptive to the whims of the Dark Side.

And so he answered.

”The Dark Side has chosen you for me - and I for you. I do not know, nor do I question, the exact features or strengths that made you the choice to be my Apprentice. But, what I do know is that there is a mighty purpose in your being mine. Together, we will shake the Galaxy.”

He reached out, gingerly trailing the rear of his fingers upon her cheek. ”And while I do not know why you were chosen, know that I will care for you Alora.”

His arm then retreated from her face and they stepped aboard the vessel. The Quill-class Shuttle would be, initially, lit by only dim lights on either side of the floor. But the presence of bodies inside the vessel caused the overheads to kick on. Azure illumination bathed the interior of the ship, revealing a single, executive quarter, a cozy “living” area with a kitchen, and a cockpit. To their left would be the ladder to the cargo hold. ”You can settle into the quarters. There is a refresher as well. I will plot our course in the meantime.” With that said, he briefly strode past the woman in order to address the cockpit’s central cockpit. Deft movements of his fingers began to plot the course: an automated flight to a world he once called home.

Not Ryloth. Not Roon. But Krant.

Alora Fae

#1840801 The Knightmare

Posted by Darth Metus on 06 August 2018 - 01:12 PM

<p>Awesome. Pending Secondary Approval. Thanks! Jamie Pyne</p>