The Ziost Affair [The Primeval][PM for late invite]

Boethiah · Oct 12, 2015

Tura · Oct 12, 2015

Her first true meeting among the Primeval. Tura was, of course, nervous as could be in knowing she would finally be meeting many of the high profiled embers of the order. Part of her wanted to not go at all. Her anxious nature still managed to hold it's place in her mind, even after all she endured. Losing her father, slavery, and being liberated by the Primeval only to kill the many responsible for all her troubles with her own hands. All of that and still she was as nervous as a child on their first day to school. Perhaps it was more of how she stood out or more of her not knowing a single soul at this great gathering, but either way she had the nervous pinch in her stomach.

Arriving at the all decorated citadel Tura cautiously walked up to the gates where she was met by the guards. Despite her telling them she was unarmed they still checked her, Tura growing all the more nervous when they patted down her horse-half. With the all cleat she hurried inside, practically going into a gallop if it meant getting away from them. Once inside she found herself out of the firing pan and into the oven as there were far more people than she half expected.

She stood at the entrance awkwardly before trying to make for the table with food and drink. She tried to stay out of people's sight and way, despite catching many an eye as she walked by or made noise with her clopping hooves. Once she came to the table she quietly asked for a drink while finding herself taking handfuls of food to nibble on as she tried to avoid everyone.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

The Traveler · Oct 12, 2015

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

" From the coldest depths of hell to the hottest plains of Mustafar you shall tread before my armor is undonned for the likes of you. Eternity is a long time to suffer" he said the metallic keening of his voice amplifier accenting each word as he stared the guards down. No one alive had seen him without his armor since he took on the moniker and mystery of the Traveler and he intended for it to remain as thus.

" For the sake of your children and the souls of all that come after you, stand aside" gone was the usual mixture of philosophy, poetry and ettitquete and only death remained.

" si...si...sir our orders" The Traveler raised a hand and made a fist to silence the guard, his gasping and wheezing enough of a warning for his companion to step aside and be satisfied with only the multitude of swords, guns and other items of pain and destruction. He released his grip and let the gasping man fall to the floor as he strode by him. The unknown benefactor and the simplicity of his or her request was enough to pique his attention and bring him forward. Though it was interesting that the chosen world was Ziost, in his youth he had trained his disciple and his master had trained him here.

" As the serpent slithers and the fruit blossoms Ziost calls upon the lost and kindred spirited to return to its dark embrace. Eternity is not long enough to suckle upon the nourishment of its hallowed halls. Damnation is that which is reaped when darkness is what is sowed upon the fertile soils of Ziost.".

Rapax · Oct 12, 2015

Naga arrived in Adasta kun's citadel....first time hed be here for a social gathering....had it been under any other circumstances naga would have come here with the intent to level the city to ashes with [member="Enoch Zambrano"] along with it. However this was a simple party...and he had something he wanted to talk to enoch about anyways...so blood will be spilled another time.

Julius Sedaire · Oct 12, 2015

For clothing, imagine a get up similar to Christian Bale's white outfit in 'Equilbrium', including a plain and unassuming saber..

Ijaat strode forward into the ball, somehow looking just as in place in a formal military style coat and breeches of soft white with matching leather gloves gracing his hands. Everything he wore, including the boots on his feet, was pure white, down to the stitching of the garments and the silk ito wrapping the handle of the blade at his side. Much of the sunken and lost look once in his eyes seemed subdued, at least on the surface and in his immediately readable actions. Someone particularly good at sharpening their sense through the Force might have noticed a slight bit of paranoia tinged with rapt attention as he scanned the room with honey colored eyes sharp as any hawk or falcon.

Coming even with the guards, Ijaat bowed respectfully in the way of inclining his neck to them a fraction, which some might take as an insult, and some might know would be appropriate give the man and his history. With little reluctance, he slipped the woven cotton braid that formed a baldric for the saber at his side, crossing across his chest. It was worn for the exact purpose of giving to the guards at this event. It was well crafted, but was plain durasteel, silk, and oak wood. Nothing entirely special at all. The symbolism of such an accomplished swordsman and smith giving up a blade he had made at the door should prove beyond a doubt to any watching eyes of his peaceful intent.

His face, perhaps oddly enough, was uncovered for this excursion, and he had not bothered with even a hood or any mask, even knowing some of the Shapers from the Legion Yun'Do may be hunting him to recapture him. There had been a moment, back a few months ago, when he had resolved to no longer live in shadows and paranoia that had caused his retreat from the galaxy at large. If he were honest, his efforts would never be sufficient to hide himself from such a resourceful enemy if they still hunted him truly, and so he must live his life or resolve to hide in a cave on some backwater for the rest of it, slowly going insane.

With a walk that spoke of years of concentrated effort in sword play, war, and more, that half military clipped march and half languid stroll, the Mandalorian walked up to a bar and rapped his knuckles on it to gain the attention of a handler and smiling a winning, twinkling grin that spoke of his plan to reintroduce himself to the galactic scene in a way that might draw even more attention to himself, he merely told the tender to surprise him.

Rawnie Tal'verda · Oct 12, 2015

Why she was here and why she received the invite was completely beyond Rawnie. She'd had half a mind to ignore the invitation completely.... then her mother found it and insisted she go anyway.
'But Buir,' she had argued, 'It's a formal event. And my armor is clawed and shot to hell'
And her mother had smiled that comically wicked smile of hers and said, 'Rawn, you ain't goin' in armor. Read the invite again.'

Come as you wish. Well, Rawnie wished she could wear her armor! Honestly, Rawnie would rather not have come at all! It was another place with a lot of people she didn't know and who didn't know her. It caused her endless anxiety. Not only that, but why? What was the purpose of inviting her of all people in this galaxy? What did she even have? She was the Alor of a tiny dying clan in the northern wilderness of Mandalore. Big deal!
It all seemed very suspicious...

...And that was why she was going, in the end. Curiosity had gotten the better of her.

'But why do I have to wear a fabric tube?' she had asked her mother, 'This is hardly covering my vulnerable points! Can't I at least have armor up top?'
'Sweet Lady of Luck!" her mother had exclaimed, holding a silver metallic dress, "Rawn! You've never worn a dress, have you!?'

And she hadn't. As she stepped out of the speeder that brought her here, she had to awkwardly adjust the fabric. It was... tiny. Tight. White, but with shiny metallic silver straps. It really didn't leave much to the imagination... How was she supposed to fight in this? If a brawl broke out, she couldn't do anything! Did women actually dress like this? On purpose? Where did they store their weapons?

'Buir, I really don't think this... 'dress' thing is appropriate. My legs and arms are exposed!'
'You can wear a fur shawl over it, Rawn. Here. I even got a real one. When I was your age, all I could get was fake fur. Here. Doesn't that just class it up?'

The answer was No. Absolutely not. The fur shawl was made of grey wolf pelt, and although it did help to cover her up a little, all it did really was make her look like a slightly more expensive escort. Of course, Rawnie had no idea what 'fashion' really was. Her mother swore she wore the same dress four years ago and was the absolute life of the party.
...of course, what she failed to mention was the fact that she'd also been robbing the party.

'But why can;t I just wear my boots? What's wrong with them?'
"What's wrong!?' her mother sounded exasperated now, 'You have dried blood on them, for feths sake! And probably three years worth of mud too. And don't get me started on the heel. And really, Rawn? Brown shoes with white? Not a chance. I'll find you a nice pair of heels.'
'...Heels? But I already have heels. Right here. On the bottoms of my feet...'

Her ankles wobbled dangerously in a pair of strappy white heels. This was the thing she wished she'd argued about a bit more. The dress she could suffer with, but the heels? How was she supposed to walk anywhere? She clung to her husband, [member="Doctor Azure"]. Not because she had any particular need to be all affectionate, but because she simply could not stumble her way through those doors and up those stairs without him. Thank goodness for the mask she wore, because the idea of anyone she knew seeing her like this was appalling. She had... stuff on her face. dark powdery stuff on her eyelids, black liquid lining them, and she had some... red stuff on her lips. It was so unnatural. She felt like her face was just... too much.

"Any chance that this won't be the most painful experience of my life, Lor'ika?" she asked, putting her free hand over the tiny bump of her belly. In a few months, it would grow far more noticeably, but for now, nobody had to know or care. In a few months, she would give birth. And she was convinced that compared to this moment, childbirth would be a walk in the park.

Darth Carnifex · Oct 12, 2015

The chamber was rather large, and filled to the brim with macabre decorations and abstract pieces of art that were offensive to the senses yet marvelous to look at all the same. Servants bumbled about to cater to the needs and wants of every guest that streamed in from the massive entry way to marvel and gawk at the statues dedicated to the obscene deities worshiped by the fanatics in the Primeval, with the greatest being dedicated to Sargon; God of Chaos and Nihilism. A single man stood before the grand edifice, a suit of red, black, and gold silk clung to his muscular body while a black cloak of zeyd-cloth with a scarlet underside was draped over both of his broad shoulders and trailed down to the floor. His hood was left back to showcase his hairless scalp, his burned and scarred features, and his hate-filled eyes to all those who would gaze upon his ruination.

And in his left hand was a drink so graciously given to him by one of the faceless peons that zigged and zagged this way and that way, but they knew well to stay clear of him. Not that he was here to cause trouble and murder a couple of them intentionally, but he had that air of death and destruction around him. It clung to him like thick musk, and was repugnant in it's odor. It smelled like decaying corpses wasting away on a blood-soaked and artillery marked battlefield, or a stagnant dungeon with walls caked with dried blood and other bodily fluids. His ugly face crumbled into a scowl as he took a drink and quickly turned away from the esoteric visage of Sargon and began to simply wander about through the forest of pillars that held up the floor above this one, for once he walked without real direction and purpose; and seemed content to lose himself in the grandiose of it all.

He could sense them though. Those who were like him, and those who were not. The latter of which excited him immensely, and so he waltzed off to make someone's night rather awkward.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

Placeholder 0133 · Oct 12, 2015

Rook really hated parties.

Parties got you drunk. Parties took your credits. Parties stole your wallet the next morning and swore they hadn't. Parties did not respond to the forty-six perfectly reasonable calls you made to their work, personal comm, and their mother the day after.

Perhaps he just had bad luck. Probably not. Whether he wanted to be here or not was irrelevant. He'd been invited -- probably by mistake -- to this gathering. It was an opportunity to spy on these Primeval folk who had opted to raze half of Sullust in their quest for...well, whatever it was they'd wanted. He was having trouble remembering right now.

Of course, he'd dragged [member="Coren Starchaser"] and [member="Spark Finn"] as his plus one's. Plus two's. Irrelevant. He had no plans of attending such a gala all on his own. If he'd been allowed to carry, that would have been a different story. As it was, Rook seriously doubted his ability to fist-fight his way through dozens of well armed guards all on his own. Not that it would come to that. He wasn't here to cause trouble, yet.

Besides, at the very least, he could have a bit of fun. He wore your standard getup for this sort of thing: black pants, black jacket, dress shoes, white undershirt. Certainly not the fanciest, nor the most casual. The lower half of his face was hidden by a black cloth mask. If anyone asked, it was for religious reasons. In reality, he did not wish to be recognized so easily.

He took note of a few things as he stood in line. One, the horse woman [member="Tura"] that had practically run over the guards on her way in was going to provide some form of entertainment tonight. Two, [member="The Traveler"] was not one of the folks he should try and make small talk with. Three, [member="Ijaat Akun"] was a sparkly man in all that white, but the sword suited him. Probably one of the more important types. Could be worth chatting up. Four, he really should have brought a date.

Not that it mattered. Spark and Coren had their couple thing going on, but Rook knew how to cope with it. Consistent pregnancy jokes tended to do the trick. If he began to feel that third wheel chill creeping up his spine, all he needed to do was ask Spark about future progeny, and crack a joke about some woman's behind to Coren. All was well.

"Need to pat you down sir." The guard grumbled.

"Okay. You'll find I'm wholly unarmed."

"Sir, what is this in your pocket?"

"What is what?"

"In your pocket."

"Organic tissue, sir."

The guard blinked. He stared up at Rook with momentary horror, nodded, and waved him on in. The soldier strolled through the doors, chuckling quietly as he turned to wait on his tag-alongs.

Eralam · Oct 12, 2015

Eralam could sympathize for the lady that looked so painfully out of place. Her dress was at least six inches too short and her heels at least three inches too high for her comfort, fashion be damned. He figured that one to be a fighter, not a socialite.

Still, it could be worse. After all, he had shown up naked.

That wasn't the whole story, of course. As a Shard, Eralam relied on a droid body for locomotion. Barring some clever Force use, he couldn't very well travel on his own. Crystals don't tend to have legs, and if you ever see one that walks, it might be time to dial back on the spice. Since he eschewed the use of an HRD for this gathering, it fell to his normal body to carry the glorious burden of the Iron Knight.

Tall, skeletal, and matte black save for the shiny scars that marked him as the survivor of countless battles, Eralam was a hellish sight. His long black cloak trailed behind him, fluttering dramatically in the breeze. It was damned near impossible to find a cloak with just the right amount of flutter. Too little and it would awkwardly wrap around him. Too much and it gave the impression of a sprinter caught in a windstorm. That the tail was in tatters was of no consequence; it only added to the rakishness of the mysterious figure as he ascended the steps and entered the building.

The guards looked like they wanted to say something. There had been a no armor rule, after all, and what was a war droid if not ambulatory armor? But there was nothing to be done for it, so they collected the Iron Knight's pistol belt, complete with his signature Colt and eralam-bladed lightsaber and left it at that.

The room was not yet crowded. The night was still young, and those guests with a more appropriate sense of timing were sure to err on the side of fashionably late.

Eralam was not here to be fashionable. The invite had been something of a surprise, given the low profile he tended to keep. Still, there was no reason an organization as vast as Primeval shouldn't have heard of him, and he suspected that they were as curious about their guests as the guests were of them. That was fine by him. It was high time he stepped out of the shadows, if only for a moment.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

Artemis Vahl'Nyx · Oct 13, 2015

There once was a lassy from Dromund Kaas,
Who served her country 'til her life was lost
And though her schedule took a mighty fall,
She still had the time to go to a ball!

And so the spirit went forth on her way,
To end up on Ziost for a par-tay
Appearing as a lovely young soldier
With medals pinned and a ghostly holster

Inside it one would not find a real gun,
Just a false image for a bit of 'fun'
Being dead meant getting away with things
Like bringing something that she shouldn't bring!
{Will post a full-length entry in a bit. Enjoy this bad poetry in the mean time.}

Danger Arceneau · Oct 13, 2015

If anyone ever wanted to simply blend in, it was a masquerade.

For Danger, this was an opportunity. An opportunity for her to simply blend into the crowd and be a nameless entity. So, in order to do so, the woman would ensure that the tells that would reveal her to be for who she would stay hidden. A simple half black mask would adorn her face. Her hair? The familiar auburn tresses would be carefully tucked away under the curls of a black wig - and it didn't come cheap either. Not to make it look as real as it did.

The girls, well -- her dress was as modest as it could be. Prudish one might even say. While the heart-shaped bodice would hug her curves, the intricate black lace that would cover her decollete up to her throat shadowed even the barest glimpse of cleavage. The dress as a whole was made out of bronze taffeta with black lace trim. Very modest, and perhaps even a bit old-fashioned? Maybe Danger just had a taste for the classics tonight.

A small fan would lightly wave air over her face, and she would simply stand on the sidelines. A wallflower. That was okay though.

Sometimes, it was just fine standing on the sidelines.

[member="Judah Dashiell"]

Doctor Azure · Oct 13, 2015

The male one is what Lor is wearing, obviously.

Lor had heard other guys whine about their women dressing them, or about ugly ties their kids had gotten them, or about their mothers still picking out what they were wearing at ages where the task should've been delegated to the first two. He never, however, had heard anything about a guy's mother-in-law picking out their clothes. As odd as it sounded, the Chiss actually harbored a great deal of respect and affection for Zandra, but then he'd never seen what she considered normal male formal wear...

He'd balked when he saw the ruffly white thing the old pirate had given him to wear, but then he'd came to notice all the little sheathes and hidden pockets in it, and a wry grin came on his face. He was actually quite happy to be wearing it now, seeing as he'd managed to conceal a couple of his pistols, a few knives, and some spare ammo in various spots in the clothing.

Now, he held onto Rawnie and smiled at her, moving his hand down to where hers was touching the small bump that marked the place where their little baby Galaar was going to be in a few months. Although he knew his wife was concerned about not fitting into her armor soon, the feeling of that shape there comforted him a little.

"Except for those shoes Zandra forced you into, I don't think this will be quite as bad as you're worried about, visahot."

[member='Rawnie Tal'verda']

Kenrath · Oct 13, 2015

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"] @Tura @The Traveler [member="Naga Itesak"] [member="Ijaat Akun"] [member="Rawnie Tal'verda"] [member="Darth Vornskr"] @Rook @Eralam @Lady Medax [member="Danger Arceneau"]

Marcus Nichols arrived to the party in his second finest Black suit. His first having not survived the wedding on Mindabaal intact. He used a fake name but did not bother concealing his face. It was rather pointless to do so as he was not concerned with being recognized. Part of him actually hoped one or two of the Jedi he had fought showed up. The experience would be positively delightful.

When he got to the guard taking weapons Marcus opened his suit jacket doing a little spin showing no weapons on him. He even consented to being patted down impressed at the length the guard went. He had not registered a plus one knowing the his beloved [member="Darth Timoris"] was probably off somewhere plotting and planning whatever it was she was planning. He smiled at the thought grabbing a glass of fine wine off of a serving tray as he went by.

Marcus mingled and chatted catching glimpses of who was already there. One or two he recognized and a few more he didn't. It mattered not to him he was just here to see what happened. Most of the parties he went to ended in bloodshed. He was genuinely curious to see how fun or boring one that didn't could be.

Rawnie Tal'verda · Oct 13, 2015

This place was supposed to have crazy high security, and as expected, they'd have t walk through a scanner. Rawnie had her doubts that her Lor'ika would get through with his weapons undetected, but she said nothing. Even if they were confiscated, they'd be returned at the end of the night. The blonde fixed her mask, tripping and stumbling along like a new born bantha.

"It could be worse, I guess," she sighed, "she could have made me pluck my eyebrows."

She hardly had eyebrows as it was, and here her mother was, coming at her with tweezers! Said she could draw them on later! The very idea! The new Tal'verda Alor did not understand it in the least. All this effort to look exactly unlike yourself. Why? What was the reason for it? Even if it helped you find a mate, all the paint and padding and gloss was temporary. In the morning, they would always see you for what you really were.

"Lorane, your job for the night is to catch me if I fall, alright?"

[member="Doctor Azure"]

Vaulkhar · Oct 13, 2015

Vaulkhar stood comfortably within the hall where the party had been thrown. Since meeting [member="Anja Aj'Rou"], he received an invitation to this party and gladly showed up. He was dressed formally, a black suit and white dress shirt fitting his form, a tie hanging from his neck as well. The blind man looked down at his dress shoes, perking a brow. He was bad at these types of events, but the tailor suggested to him did a rather good job at making sure he was dressed nice and spiffy for the party this evening. Looking good and feeling rather happy, the young man peered about the party, searching for anyone he might recognize. As he looked around, he noticed [member="Vengeance"] enter and stared in confusion.

One of the last people Vaulkhar had expected to see was his master. He knew of his relations with the Primeval through his brother, [member="Enoch Zambrano"], but it still surprised him nonetheless. He didn't exactly take Vengeance to be the party-goer, type of guy. Then again, he'd probably think the same thing of the young man. With a simple shrug, he approached his master. As he neared him, Vaulkhar raised a hand and moved to pat his shoulder.

"Didn't think I'd see you here tonight."

Looking upon Vaulkhar, Vengeance would notice the lack of a mask or anything to hide who he is, really.

Kenrath · Oct 13, 2015

Marcus turned as the man approached him with a look of confusion on his face taking a step back from the touch almost as if recoiling.

"I am sorry I don't believe we have met."

He extended a hand out to the man smiling softly trying to shake off the recoiled reaction.

"Marcus Nichols and you are?"

Of course he knew exactly who the man was and it would of course be a really good test for the young Acolyte. To see if he was able to play along without giving too much away.

He chuckled.

"I haven't been to one of the things in a while." "Heard it was going to be a good time." "Admittedly I don't know much about our hosts though."

He paused taking a sip of the wine.

"Do you comes to these parties often?"

[member="Vaulkhar"]

Vaulkhar · Oct 13, 2015

Vaulkhar looked upon [member="Vengeance"] with confusion momentarily, unsure how to go about this confrontation further. After a few seconds ticked by, he simply took Marcus' hand and shook it, shaking his head.

"No, this is my first party hosted on Ziost, by these particular hosts. To be honest, this is my first party in general."

Vaulkhar then took his hand back and turned his attention away from Marcus, focusing it on those around the area. His blindfold was tied around his head, covering his empty gaze from those nearby. Though he could not see by conventional means, the young man still managed to take hold of a glass of wine by a passing server, nodding his thanks to him. Gently swirling it around the glass, he brought it up and sniffed the liquid before downing some. He then lowered the glass and looked back to Marcus.

"Were you invited? If so, do you think these hosts have any ulterior motives beyond a simply party?"

After catching on to the actions of Vengeance, Vaulkhar decided to play along and possibly learn move of this event, but in a more subtle manner.

Kenrath · Oct 13, 2015

Marcus chuckled at [member="Vaulkhar"] with a smile.

"My my your are new to these types of things." "All parties have anterior motives." "Decisions, especially those in matters of state are rarely handled in boardrooms or Senate chambers."

He motioned around the room sipping his wine.

"They are done by handshake in places like this." "Two powerful men..................or women...........meet at parties like this one and dance around topics of politics and war." "They speak without speaking." "Say things without ever saying them." "A handshake over a glass of wine can make or break Empires."

He smiled beginning to walk but not necessarily away from Vaulkhar.

"As far as this particular party and this host." "I don't know it all depends on who shows up and what favors they show up to try and gain."

Vaulkhar · Oct 13, 2015

Vaulkhar followed [member="Vengeance"] along as he began to walk, listening to the conclusion of his explanation of the party. At least his master had caught on to the motives of Vaulkhar, he thought to himself. He considered this entire party, a party held by the Primeval. With his invitation, there was not much explanation of what was going on, but it was rather odd the host or hostess of the party had yet to show his or herself to the guests. With everyone missing weapons, he could not help but consider what could happen if things were to get out of hand. Looking upon Marcus momentarily, he found himself slightly comforted by his master's presence. If things got out of hand, he knew he was in good hands, and hopefully vice versa. Vaulkhar brought his wine up and took a sip once more, swallowing the beverage with a soft sigh.

"I couldn't imagine the intention of the host of this party. I highly doubt those who invited us are seeking some sort of alliance or reason for war." He paused, clearing his throat to get the man's attention. "Such a thing is rather primeval and savage." He continues after a few seconds of letting that sink in. "A higher up, a rather great one for that matter likely wouldn't allow such actions, I'm sure. Unless they were her orders."

After releasing a few small hints on who had organized the party, Vaulkhar once more quieted down and sipped at his wine.

Sirak Kolar · Oct 13, 2015

The dark and brooding nature of the massive hanging decorations set a wonderful atmosphere for all those present, and the first thing Ebon was to notice as he entered the building. Despite his protest, the royal guards at the entrance took the four blades he held, and his armor held in some far off locker. It bothered him, and he felt naked for the first time in years, always holding either a weapon in his midst or armor near by. Despite his lack of direct blades, he still understood the unarmed skills Hasjo had taught him so long ago, and his Ataru would help if a fight broke out. His fits clenched in a vice grip around the empty air around him, his heels offering soft clicks barely audible under the murmuring of the crowd. Their radiant banter offered him slight release from the tension he felt... he was built for war, not for petty balls.

Releasing a soft sigh, Ebon continued into the radiant ball. In his current state, he lacked the credits to afford a fancier set of robes, but his body glove and overlayed robes allowed for some comfort in the relatively contrasted crowds. His imposing size and drastically different look beckoned far too many looks from onlookers, some mumbling at the sight of his form. Ebon offered a subtle growl, his form hunching over to hide what he could. He flared his teeth, his gaze moving to the floor as he wandered through the crowd.

In his mind, he sense the presence of the Host Lord, [member="Anja Aj'Rou"], and the numerous sith that sat in the crowds. They unsettled him, not out of fear, but by principle. Ebon found a position near the food, and began to dig into what he could. After all, such a large form couldn't go without a large fuel source.

The Ziost Affair [The Primeval][PM for late invite]

Dark Messiah

Character

Hyde

Rapax

Guest

Keepin Corellia Weird

Tal'Verda Aliit'buir

Eternal Father

Character

Character

I'll Be Your Lionheart

The Widow

Cobalt Durasteel

Well-Known Member

Tal'Verda Aliit'buir

The Redeemed

Well-Known Member

The Redeemed

Well-Known Member

The Redeemed

Balagoth's Herald

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