Daxton Bane
Character
An orbalisk scurried across the table surface, dodging clear flasks filled with bubbling elixiers and emitting faint smoky odors over bright blue braziers. Scattered in haphazard matter on the table were all sorts of strange and familiar items, raw ores, powdered sand, animal parts that still moved with some semblence of life, chipped crystals that shined under the light of laboratory’s lights. The creature ducked under the shadow of some thick tomes with cracked leather facings and pages faded from much use.
All around them were the various symphonies of the Sith’s war machine as Daxton made his preparations. The banging sound of a hammer pounding metal, the hiss of red hot metal as it dipped into the cooling oil, the soft crunch as exotic plants and animal parts were crushed and distilled into potent deadly toxins.
Daxton received the coded alert and had set his people in motion. Infiltrators and spies to blend into the target populance, discover the pulse of the enemy and set ground work to disstabilize when the moment was right. Arms dealers and smugglers to move in covert loads of ordinance and weapons, stockpiles for local resistance and resupply if necessary.
Once more the Confederacy would be on the march, and his services would be needed again on the field of battle. Enemies every where we turn, who else to trust if not those who are just as willing as you are to lay it out on the line. While most folk were reluctant to go to war, Daxton had neither the inclination nor the desire for regret.
War.......war never changes. The worlds that became battlegrounds and the enemies who would become his victims might, but those were hardly worth notice in the larger scheme of things. This was what Daxton was meant to do, it was who he was. He would have it no other way.
All around them were the various symphonies of the Sith’s war machine as Daxton made his preparations. The banging sound of a hammer pounding metal, the hiss of red hot metal as it dipped into the cooling oil, the soft crunch as exotic plants and animal parts were crushed and distilled into potent deadly toxins.
Daxton received the coded alert and had set his people in motion. Infiltrators and spies to blend into the target populance, discover the pulse of the enemy and set ground work to disstabilize when the moment was right. Arms dealers and smugglers to move in covert loads of ordinance and weapons, stockpiles for local resistance and resupply if necessary.
Once more the Confederacy would be on the march, and his services would be needed again on the field of battle. Enemies every where we turn, who else to trust if not those who are just as willing as you are to lay it out on the line. While most folk were reluctant to go to war, Daxton had neither the inclination nor the desire for regret.
War.......war never changes. The worlds that became battlegrounds and the enemies who would become his victims might, but those were hardly worth notice in the larger scheme of things. This was what Daxton was meant to do, it was who he was. He would have it no other way.
