Dominion Red War: Marauder's Grave | CIS Dominion of Copperline

[Seraphina Corvinus]

Location: Decoration Station
Tag: Daegon Corvinus | Ashelia Solidor
Wearing Costume (Dark Fairy): Dress | Shoes | Ears | Bauble | + Her Own Wings

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She could feel her beloved smile.

It was rare enough these days that she cherished it regardless of the fact that she could not see it. He had a stern jaw and dark eyes that could be unforgiving, so cruel, but he had never appeared that way to her. Daegon was her heart. Her love; her life. Without him, she would be no more. Everything that made her who she was, everything that brought her joy, pain, and a reason to wake each and every day was contained by one devilish Viceroy. “You should do that more.”

Smile. Laugh. Seraphina missed it.

The slender diathim would never blame her husband for her injuries. She had placed herself in harm's way out of fear for someone they both cared deeply for. Derek was a fast friend, a brother, and there would never be anyone like him. Even if his memories were not quite what they were. He was changed. He was new in some ways and very, very old in others. Still. He was alive.

They were all alive. That was more than some of the Siskeen could say. Certainly—More than some of the poor people of Ryloth could say. It taught her to try and appreciate life. It was precious and curiously short all at the same time. The kind banter that passed between them almost made it feel like old times. She held onto that feeling of normalcy and cherished it.

“When, dear husband, have I ever complained about that?”

The smile that curled along amethyst painted lips would tell him everything he wanted to know. Seraphina let her hands run along some of the decorations that were available after calling out to the meditating woman. She hadn’t responded, so perhaps, she was deep in conversations with those who could no speak. Sera was curious, enough that she wanted to ask, but she had already extended a verbal invitation. It would be up to the mysterious stranger to take it.

She smiled when Daegon approved of her choices for a crystal and she slowly let herself sit down at the crafting table. There seemed to be all sorts of things available. She could only guess at some. The dark-haired royal found some wire and held it up to the bacta mogul to see what color it was. It felt like soft copper. Regardless, she began to twist it in her hands and make a small knotted design. It could hang from the bottom of her lantern with the crystal.

Instinctively—She knew that anything she made would be the opposite of what Daegon found. His tastes had always run dark while she preferred light, cheerful shades, that only seemed to brighten with her focus. When he asked her who she wished to honor her brow came together. There were many people she had reason to thank. Kind, good people, that had been helpful to her.

But they weren’t gone.

“I will make mine for Ryloth.”, she spoke, her chin falling a little bit, for fear he might think it was silly. Seraphina had never seen anything as heartbreaking, as terrifying, as what played on the Holo-Stream. Their enemies filmed their exploits. Using blood and terror to justify their own misdeeds. She…She knew that their nation was imperfect. She knew that her thoughts were borderline hypocrisy. But this was home. This was where her heart belonged. “Will you make your lantern for Derek? For the Siskeen Systems?”

“I think…If we take a holo—He would very much like that.”

 

[Ashryn Shiari]

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Tag: | Mic Gallagher |

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The information, or the lacking there of really, made Ashryn frown. She did not like going into any situation without all of the facts, and right now? There weren't enough of those to make it comfortable for her to proceed. "Thanks anyway," she did at least offer before requesting a snack that she could take with her along the way and paying for it. Food people helped keep her alive, and barkeeps who had snacks too? They earned their credits rather than her snatching things away secretly.

With a sigh, she turned from the bar and instead faced Mic while she removed her mask and then tore the little bag of snacks open. His inquiry was mulled over for an overly long, drawn out amount of time. Part of it was so that Ash could get a few bits of that salty snack working through her system, and part of it was because she was really mulling it over. "I really don't like not knowing what I'm getting into..." she did tell him, almost pouting up at Mic when the words were finally uttered. But again she sighed, snack in one hand while the other fell to rest against her hip.

"But," she started between the bite she had recently taken. "We're already here. And what I hate more than going in without information? Is going home empty handed." A smirk lifted one corner of her mouth, "Come on, let's go see what we can find." she let out, then headed in the direction the pair of them had been pointed in.

 

[Daegon Corvinus]

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Seraphina Corvinus | Ashelia Solidor

"For you, I shall endeavor to do anything," came Daegon's reply.​

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It was true that he did not smile or laugh often, or as often as he used to. The Agent Wars had thrust a weight on the man's shoulders he had not been prepared to carry. It was a heavy load, one which he wanted desperately to share with his wife, but there were some things they were both still adjusting to. The time would come, once again, when his load would be hers as well. Until that time came, Daegon bore it well, yet the signs of the toll it was taking on him here evident, even to the blind.​

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This moment was a reprieve from it all. He could feel it. The Viceroy had not wanted to come, he had not wanted to find himself mixed among the festivities. Their presence still brought whispers from those who surrounded them. What should have remained a private matter between husband and wife was a source of gossip among the Confederate elite. It had been months now since the terrorist attacks which left Seraphina blind and Derek in fighting for his sanity, yet to some it was as though it had happened yesterday. The table where they made their lamps was quiet, and without the gossip. Daegon was thankful for this.​

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"Never... not even when I first brought you to Heaven's Gate..."​

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It had been awkward perhaps, but the Angel of Thyferra had never complained. He could still recall the way the woman melted into his awkward half embrace. It had been the first amount of warmth and affection the two had truly shared with each other in a physical sense. The memory was precious, and one Daegon often thought about with a fondness many thought him uncappable of. It was certainly true that Seraphina saw pieces of him the public did not. Were they to see, his reputation as a stern and shrewd businessman might be in danger.​

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A deep breath filled Daegon's lungs as he quietly assembled his lantern in haste. Sera would need his help with some of the more finer details of piecing hers together. Her echolocation was improving the more she used it, but there were still things she needed help with. Her attire, for instance, though it was exactly something she would have picked for herself, her attendants aided her in dressing. The glittering make-up which tied the costumed look together had been applied by someone else's hands. Still...​

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"Have I mentioned how absolutely beautiful you look today," he asked as the Demon came around his bride to help her finish her lantern.​

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His seraph could protest if she wished, but she was truly beautiful on the inside and out. She still thought of Ryloth, of the Siskeen peoples, and the lives which had been lost during the devastation which the attacks had brought upon them. They had watched what had been broadcast on the Holo-net, the shill organization which had been exploited by the Agents for their anti-CIS propaganda. It had been heartbreaking, even for the Demon to watch. Many said he lacked empathy, and they were mostly correct, yet even the events of Ryloth and Siskeen made him pause still.​

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"I shall," he answered with another smile. It seemed Sera had found another way to pull another from his lips. "And yes, Derek would like that very much, and in some way his brother, Muad as well. I do very much miss our friend, which makes what I am about to say seem selfish, but as much as I miss him, I do not know what I would have done had that bullet been a little more the left when it passed through you."​

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It was a morbid thought, but true, words Daegon had yet to express. Yes, he would remember the Siskeen peoples with his lantern, but with a gratitude that he was not hanging it for The Angel of Thyferra.​

 

[Bastille Rommer]

B U S I N E S S

Tag: Jamilah Rommer

Kairi's wife pained his wife greatly. This, Bastille knew. Even when Jamilah said that she was fine, they both knew that it was a falsehood, a honeyed lie. Bastille's hand squeezed tighter around Jamilahs in a nonverbal sign of support, but he didn't bring up the matter again.

"Are you nervous?" Jamilah asked with a look of sincere concern on his face. Even when she was facing her own personal struggles, she had the capacity to look out for her husband. It was one of the many qualities that Bastille admired about her, and in response, he gave a good-natured chuckle.

"No, mva'Jamilah," he said, feeling her hand warm in his. "I am excited about the opportunities that this meeting could bring. And I expect that the representatives of Copperline will be receptive to my offer." The shuttle shook ever so slightly as it passed from space into Copperline's atmosphere. A small viewport allowed Bastille and Jamilah to look at the golden-browns of endless farmland. "It is no Ra'Katha," Bastille admitted, "But it does have its own beauty," he remarked as the shuttle began preparations to land.

The lights of Copperline's capital city sparkled as locals and Confederacy guests intermingled in the twilight, celebrating the festivities of the Haunting. The shuttle however landed a distance away from the festival, next to the non-ceremonial square building deemed as Copperline's administrative complex. The world was a planet of farmers, not architects, which was manifested clearly in the utilitarian design of the administrative building. Yet, Bastille noted, there were still engravings and statues that denoted that the people of Copperline were proud of their heritage and culture if anything else.

Bastille gave his hand to help his wife down the ramp of the shuttle before two officials, dressed in civilian clothes that had little ornamentation to them other than a pattern of colorful stripes contrasting sharply from the otherwise-dull color pallette of Copperline fashion, running vertically down their chest, walked up to him, stopping a pace away from Bastille and Jamilah. "Greetings, Viceroy Rommer," the central figure dressed in a fancier-patterned set of robes compared to his two attendants said, addressing Bastille. "I am Loth Ulger, Premier of Copperline. We are grateful for your attendance this evening. I trust your trip was without complication?"

Bastille bowed in return, not only a Ra'Kathan but a universal sign of goodwill before extending a hand to shake, which Ulger grasped. "It is my pleasure, Premier Ulger," Bastille responded in a low, rumbling Ra'Kathan accent. "Our trip was, thankfully, seamless."

"I am gratified to hear that," Ulger replied, before turning his eyes to Jamilah. "And you must be his beautiful wife." Ulger bowed low to her. "I am humbled to be in your presence."
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[Jamilah Rommer]

L O C A T I O N | BYOO
T A G S | Bastille Rommer ​

Bastille did not believe her when she said she was fine. She had not expected him to, but he made no mention of it, nor did he attempt to coerce her into an answer. Jamilah was grateful for it. It was hard enough to battle the thoughts in her mind, let alone battle the constant condolences and questions people seemed to have for her. Bastille, at least, was one person that understood. The only consolation he offered was the gentle tightening of his fingers around hers, and that was more than enough.

His bell-like laughter curled her lips up into the first genuine smile they had held since before Kairi’s death. It always pleased her when he was happy, no matter how briefly, even if she could not find the same emotion in herself. “Good.” She flashed him the genuine smile. “I did not expect you to be, but it is good to hear all the same.” The silver jewels adorning her headscarf jingled lightly as she followed up with a graceful nod of her head. “I believe they would be foolish not to be. The future of Ra’Katha only grows stronger.”

They had come so far and learned so much in the last few hundred years, that Jamilah would have been surprised if the representatives refused. She had no mind for politics but even she could see the illustrious opportunities Ra’Katha could offer the galaxy. Bastille would ensure that those who offered to help them on their path to wealth and prosperity would be rewarded greatly, who could pass up an opportunity such as that?

“Truly.” She commented blandly on the beauty of the planet, but there was no authenticity or admiration in her words.

Soon, the shuddering of the ship as it landed roused Jamilah from her slumber. As the sunlight streamed in through the slowly lowering ramp, Jamilah took a moment to center herself. When there were duties to be performed, she was a Queen first and Jamilah second. The thoughts and feelings of her personal life were locked away tightly, where they could cause no harm to Ra’Katha or its people. As the worries of Jamilah melted away in the blazing Copperline sun, the gracious and genteel personality of Ra’Katha’s Queen dominated.

She took the hand that Bastille offered gratefully, lifting the skirts of her dress just an inch to prevent herself from tripping as she made her way down the ramp. They were greeted immediately by a round-faced man who seemed to be in extremely good spirits. Jamilah smiled as he introduced himself to Bastille. She was always in awe of how confident her husband was when he met strangers. For him, the words flowed just as easily as though they were alone together.

It was not long before the Premier turned his attention to Jamilah. Following her husband’s lead with her own show of respect in the form of a practiced curtsy. “Jamilah.” Her honied tone cooed in response. “You are too kind, Premier Ulger.” She offered him a tanned hand, which he took graciously to place a tender kiss upon. “Words have failed to describe the beauty of your planet. It is truly a wonder to behold.”​

 

[Darth Metus]

C O M M U N E​

Tag: Lavria Xedrim, Cordelia Malkavian , Srina Talon , Vytal Noctura

You do not have a pup nip at the ankles of a dragon.

As the Sith explained the purpose of the insect within the bottle, an ethereal whisper wormed into the man's mind. The intrusion was from a familiar presence - that of the Nightmother Vytal Noctura herself. His defensive instincts mellowed at the sound of her voice. In turn, a chuckle fell from the man's lips. Without fire, they cannot know how to slay dragons. The response was polite enough - and was a true reflection of the man's teaching methods. His was a harsh way, one of trials by fire and learning strength in the face of adversity. Those who emerged would be among the greatest in the Galaxy.

Those who failed would be nothing but a memory.

As motion gripped their vessel, it was Lavria Xedrim who answered. The question of who would be the first to succumb to the "sting" of the Droch had only lingered in the vessel for a matter of seconds. Yet she, the youngest and most recent of his students, was eager to learn. The second, a veteran under the tutelage of Isley, had a very valid question. As the bottle was passed, she inquired how the toxins would affect her specifically. Unlike her fellows, Cordelia Malkavian was not a Human. Or Near-Human for that matter. Though her appearance was as Human as the day she was born, a special hunger raged at the back of her throat. It mandated that she feast upon the living - and thus, she had to know if that would cause control to be lost.

"It will sting like Hell." he explained, nodding in Cordelia's direction. "But, it will not affect your...condition."

Lastly, she who knew his innermost thoughts spoke. Srina Talon was as a shadow to her master and every sense. Where he moved, she followed. And, they were bound one to another - like a man is bound to his shadow. The river of thoughts racing between them was eternal. A bond that would never break, and had seen them grow closer than a sire to his daughter. The Echani voiced her question - do they not burrow when they sense flesh? "That they do." he replied, simply. Yet this would not deter his students. This was very much so a test of their will, as it was a moment of instruction. Nevertheless, Srina rolled up her sleeves - announcing devour it is, I am hungry.

Though he'd try his best to hide it, a nugget of pride radiated in his bond. "Let's begin."

Once the bottle had been returned to his grasp, the Sith opened it and placed the Droch into his gloved palm. Dominion was exercised over the beast seamlessly. Such a feeble, non-sentient mind held no hope of denying the Sith Lord. Thus, it would do as bid. Lavria. Cordelia. Srina. Each would experience the insect settling upon their skin. Each would feel the invasion of prongs into their flesh - the burning of the bite. The sapping of their strength. And as the moment occurred, the Sith's voice echoed within their minds. Silent instruction whilst they grit against the sting. Remember well this feeling. The insect would go no further than where the Sith allowed - and thus there was no need to fear rotting flesh or a full burrowing under their skin.

They would only be left with gnarly marks upon their skin as the insect was returned to the bottle. Isley paused in his instruction, reaching above his head for the box of medicinal supplies. There would be enough bacta pouches and bandages to see to their skin - so he passed it Lavria first. Motioning for it to be passed around to her comrades. "Now that you have experienced its sting, you will be able to see as it had. See others - and entities - for what they are: sources of power. Close your eyes, and attempt to perceive me. Not as a person. But see the energies within."

"Once you can see, we will continue."​

 

[Abel Denko]

D E R E L I C T​

Tag: Fauvel Astier , Cazo Thraos, Vaux Gred

How do you fight a Ghost?

Typically speaking, for anything revolving spirits, magick, or any flavor in-between, the Knighthood would reach out to the Solanaceae for guidance. However, as the vessel was currently staring down a hostile ghost ship, reaching out to the nearest Witch for a tutorial was not in the cards. All Abel had at his disposal were his wits and the steadily increasing reflexes of his apprentice. With every second, however, the situation grew more dire. The vessel that was previously tailing them did something that he had never seen before. Amidst blinding lights...it vanished. Only to reappear on their flank. Fauvel was quick to correct their course, sending them towards the friendly vessels that were headed towards them.

Abel's mind raced. This was not a straightforward adversary that martial prowess could best. He had to think outside the box. But how. What. There was nothing aboard that could stop a fething ghost ship.

His lip curled inwards as he took but a moment to think about what to do. He steadied himself, willing the anxiety to silence before giving Fauvel's shoulder a confident squeeze. "Breathe." he reminded, before motioning towards the Freeline. "Try and position us to fly beside the largest ship if you can." It was then that a wild - seriously wild - idea popped into Abel's head. And it all revolved around a single word. Motivation. Pirates wanted money. Thieves wanted money. But what benefit did a ghost ship get from hanging around debris perpetually? What was it after? Perhaps that was the key to making it out of here alive.

He reached for the comm and switched over to the open channel. The nearby friendlies, and hopefully the ghost ship, would be able to hear him. "This is Abel Denko of the Knights Obsidian. Unidentified ship, state your purpose. I repeat." It was a long shot...

Silence.

Silence.

Static.

Garbled at first, a response began to worm across the open channel. A cacophony of noise erupted into being, as if an archaic radio was being tuned to the right frequency. Then, a voice. Muffled. Strained. As if multiple tongues were working in tandem to form the words.

YOU. WILL. NEVER. OWN. US.​

Own? That didn't make a lick of sense. How the hell could someone own a fething apparition? Before Abel could even put a nugget of thought into a response, the vessel's lights burned bright yet again. The Knight tensed, eyes flying to the sensors straightaway. He expected another disappearing act - and boy did they get one. Yet, unlike the last time, the ship did not immediately re-appear. Rather, it simply vanished. A second rolled by. Then another. Then another. Abel felt an uneasy chill race down his spine. "Allied vessels, are you picking up anything on your sensors?' he asked. He then set his gaze on Fauvel, nostrils flaring from a deep exhale.
[
color=steelblue]"Own us? What the hell did they mean?"[/color]​

 

[Vytal Noctura]

"Very good," the Nightmother replied. "The spirits are wise and strong, but a Witch cannot afford to become dependent upon them. We train our bodies so that our minds are not locked within the prison of flesh. We train our hearts so they are not locked within the prison of our own making. We train our minds so that we may see through the veil of misdirection and fear our enemies would seek to use against us. In doing these things, we commune with the spirits. And when we cannot do this, we fashion vessels of power to focus and bolster our own power."

"Our Way is not any one Way. We are one with the world, as it is one with us. Use what is within reach, and do not let petty matters of vanity and ego steer you from it. Nor allow it to consume you." Vytal would gladly take the opportunity to instruct the young Witches (or Warlocks) and their allies. She did not believe in a strict form of how one performed magick, nor in how one communed with spirits. Such things were deeply personal and relied on the weaver's connection with the world. This was, in itself, a dogma, but not one demanding strict adherence to a set of rules -- save one, do not threaten the Balance of Worlds.

And another rule as being a student of the Solanaceae -- share your knowledge.

But to the matter at hand. "Now, focus on the artifact before you. Feel the world around you. Listen to its voice, and those of the spirits that cling to it. What do you hear? What do you feel? Not all spirits possess voices as the Living do. Some commune with raw emotion. Others images or simply a sense of 'knowing' a thing. Listen," she counseled, "but do not strain too far. Remember where you are. Who you are. Lest you become lost in the storm."

Damien Van-Derveld and Telula Vale could benefit from the first hand experience in finding and closing a rift. There was little better than genuine experience, and as a Nightsister Vytal was not afraid of having them wade into the pool. She merely didn't believe in dropping them into the deep end without warning. More Sisters survived if you spoke of taming Rancors than simply dropping them into a Rancor's den hoping for the best.

 

[Bastille Rommer]

B U S I N E S S

Tag: Jamilah Rommer

Bastille was amused by the charm and tact displayed by the Premier; he was every bit courteous as a Ra'Kathan noble. Bowing and planting a kiss on Jamilah's hand, the Premier straightened and smiled at Jamilah's words. "No, your grace, it is you who is too kind. Our world is naught but fields and pastures. Pleasant, perhaps, but not true beauty."

A twinkle in his eye, the Premier turned towards Bastille. "And it is our pastures and fields that have brought you here, no? From our preliminary discussions with our respective ambassadors, I understand that you have an offer to make for our breadbasket." The Kemotar was beginning to get a grasp on the Premier's character, and so far he seemed to be a kind, genial man. That, or he was an exceptionally good politician. Each was rightfully deserving of Bastille's praise.

In reply, he nodded, a smile of addition on his face. "Indeed it is. I believe our planets can benefit and strengthen each other," he said in response.

Premier Ulger did not drop his smile, one that reached his eyes. "I agree. Come, let us settle these terms in more comfortable surroundings," he said, turning away from the platform and towards the administrative complex. Bastille and Jamilah followed.

The room they were lead into was nothing short of decorative. It was well furnished and bespoke of antiquity and fine taste, and three chairs had been arranged in a circular fashion, one for Bastille, one for Jamilah, and one for the Premier. It was a show of comradery, placing everyone in an equal seating position, but Bastille was left bereft at the sign that he would not be able to sit with his wife. A small, even infetismal sacrifice, to be sure, but one that was personal for him.

The Premier sat down with Bastille and Jamilah following suite, Ulger folding his hands in a display of frankness. "Let's be plain. Copperline has a massive amount of crop output annually, and even more, is stored in warehouses from trade backlog. But the problem is that backlog," he said, nodding towards the sky as if to indicate the events that were happening in space. "Our pirate. . . infestation has made shipping a problem, and customers are turning to other agriworlds were their shipments can be guaranteed with safety. Even when Copperline joins the Confederacy, per our agreement, we are men and women of knowledge about space. Deep Space is impossible to be patrolled and swept clear of pirates, thieves, those who would pray on Copperline's produce."

Bastille nodded in return. "That is true. Ra'Katha, in exchange for preference in trade, is willing to sign agreements to utilize a portion of the Ra'Kathan Mercantile Fleet in the defense of Copperline shipping," he said, handing a datacron to the Premier that contained a manifest of the trading fleet. The Premier thanked him, inserting the datacron in a holopad as Bastille continued to talk. "This will be in addition to the refined metals that will be shipped to Copperline for the use in its industry," at which the Premier nodded.

There was a pause in the conversation as the Premier looked through the datacrons contents on his holopad, appearing to read through the lists before he unexpectedly lifted his head and turned towards Jamilah. "Tell me," he asked, "do the people of Ra'Katha have. . . a fighting spirit? Are they people committed to defending themselves, their honor, and others?"
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[Mic Gallagher]

TAG: Ashryn Shiari

The grin on Mic's face stretched two nautical miles as he observed Ash. How was it possible that someone so grumpy about not knowing things could look so cute at the same time while munching on some snack?

Focus Micheal.

She finally relented to go bundu bashing into the creepy Boneyard. He still did not know what in Hoth they were looking for, but hey! At least he wouldn't have to run from blob monsters alone. So he headed into the graveyard of wrecks along with her.

It actually wasn't that creepy. There was still a lot of light and people were fake-haunting one another between the wrecks. Like, why would people do that? Didn't they know there really were spooks doing the rounds? Or did they think that was fake too? Jeez. In his opinion, these people had to be in a Spice haze to do crazy stuff like this.

As they moved deeper between the wrecks, he looked at Ash with raised eyebrows.
"You really think there are spooks about? Or just a bunch of crazy people?" he asked her. Just then, a cold gust extinguished the lanterns around them, throwing them in complete darkness.

Kark.

 

[Ashryn Shiari]

Tag: | Mic Gallagher |

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Ashryn had caught that grin on his face, and had needed to glance at him a second time because of it. She squint at him, which of course didn't look intimidating at all. "What?" she could almost feel some sort of tease coming on. Something about her being a bottomless pit, or having something on her face even. Which then of course made her reach a hand up to wipe her face but nothing came of it. She was clean, and that only made her more suspicious of his grinning at her.

But, they were on the move, and so Ash didn't dwell. Instead she sort of found herself steadily slowly her pace. While the Boneyard really wasn't all that terrifying on it's own, the people trying to get in their fair share of boo-scares, paired with the lighting and the knowledge that there were really ghoulies in here somewhere? It was definitely throwing off her bravado.

"It's all just a story, right?" she found herself answering Mic's question, but was looking around. "I mean, the bartender is part of the show, surely. Meant to set the scene and the mood to freak people out when they come in--"

Ash's breath hitched when the lanterns went out, the rest of her snack fell from her hands, and she reached both of said hands to Mic's arm and not only grabbed hold but reeled herself against his side. This was not what she was built for! She was a damn good thief, but ghosts, ghouls, and people disappearing?! Not her forte! "Maybe empty handed wouldn't be so bad..."

 

[Lavria Xedrim]

TAG: Darth Metus | Cordelia Malkavian | Srina Talon

Drain.

Lavria had heard the stories and had seen it in action before she got roped into this circus. But she had never felt it before. She had never given anyone the chance to use it against her and her former master omitted from teaching it to her in the first place. May he be forever cursed.

So the Zabrak seized the opportunity with vigour and listened as her master told them about the Droch. She already knew about its physiology and what it supposedly caused. What grabbed her attention was the mention of some condition that Cordelia Malkavian apparently suffered from. What could it be that she feared the effects of the Droch more than was necessary? The young Sith was quite intrigued about this.

It was drilled into Lavria the hard way more than a decade ago that fear was only a state of mind and that it could easily be changed. She no longer feared things a master tried to teach her. She knew it would hurt, but what she held onto was what would she gain from it. So she fearlessly held out her hand to receive the first sting of the Droch.

The sensation was horrible - there was no other way to describe it. The intense burn of the sting caused the Zabrak's nose to wrinkle in pain, but what came next was something Lavria was not prepared for. She knew about the Drain in theory, but the feeling was something else. Not only could she feel her physical strength waning, but what truly nauseated her was was the sapping of the Force with it. When her eyes started dimming to a dull gold at the slow loss of life essence, her master's voice resounded in her mind.

Remember well this feeling.

That she would. She despised weakness and this made her feel weak. Luckily, her master withdrew the Droch. She officially hated the ugly critter. They were always a foreign concept for her, something of little concern. Now, it was different. She did not want to experience this again.

Power. That's what I want.

She tasted the beginnings of true power for the second time now and she needed more. She had to have more.

 

[Ascendant Muse]

COPPERLINE

Field's Haunted.

The reports would be enough to make any higher-up's eyebrows raise - yet that would be the testimony crossing their desks. As the investigation occured, a phantom vessel had manifested before Obsidian and CAF Vessels. The engagement, fortunately, did not result in allied casualties. When asked about what they had learned about the specter, those on scene all repeated the same chilling montra: "You will never own us." Since then, the phantom vessel has yet to re-appear...yet the popular theory is that the ship was once a slaver vessel. And that, possibly, it met an early demise due to revolt.

Nonetheless, whilst the Nightmother communed with the lingering sentiments beyond...and whilst celebrations occured within the Boneyard, many within the Confederate population formed the same opinion. Sometimes, it was better to leave well enough alone. Copperline would indeed feature the presence of the Southern Systems...

But they would do their best to steer clear of the haunted fields.

With the completion of the Derelict objective, the Dominion is being submitted for judging. Please feel free to continue your stories!​