Annihilation Clash of Destiny

[Eina L'lerim-Vandiir]

Information

The Light of Ashla, Champion and Avatar of Ashla ​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Stop the ritual
Location: Death Star III
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (weapons) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m

Writing With
Darth Vinaze | Closed
Tags
Heinrich Faust | Darth Solipsis | Ibaris Varanin | Deonis Laythar | Kann | Cesare Demici | Aphon | Da'Razel | Janus Vipsanius | Open​

When Vinaze gave the order for the others to continue the ritual, Eina did not perceive any of it, for she was still a prisoner of her own fear. Again and again, she relived the same visions from her past, when she had been forced to watch helplessly as the souls of others were destroyed; for this had always been her greatest fear. The same scenes returned to her mind, over and over again, as she experienced them anew under Vinaze’s influence. Sometimes, she even saw things she had never truly noticed before, yet had always feared deep down.

It was this: that her loved ones - her husband, her children, her family, her friends, and all who were dear to her - would be utterly annihilated. Naturally, she tried to resist, but when she reached out towards Vinaze’s mind, Eina had to relinquish part of her defences. It was then that she saw those dearest to her being destroyed. Yet later, as her resistance strengthened, only the memories remained. But whether something was merely a memory or a fear did not make it any less agonising.

And so, still trapped within her own fear, she did not hear that the ritual was continuing, nor even Vinaze’s voice ahead of her. She tried to recall what her husband and the others had taught her; most of all, that she was not alone. She did not have to face her fears or her enemies by herself; she did not have to feel helpless. What had happened in the past had already happened, it did not mean that the same would happen again in the future. Eina slowly began to realise that she was not alone, that she did not have to fight alone, that she could rely on others.

Even now, she could have done so; yet deep within her lingered the knowledge that for most of her life she had been “alone”, the one offering support to others. She focused on the dyad between herself and Geiseric; she did not draw any additional power from her husband - only strength from the feeling that he was always there for her, always ready to support and help her. Just as others were: the Valkyrja, the Children of Ashla, and the Crusaders. Eina was not alone... and though she feared the loss of souls, she could fight for them, both alone and alongside others. Thus, she slowly moved towards the light, as though swimming upwards from the depths of water toward the air.

As Vinaze fought as well - though the woman did not know this - the memory walk weakened somewhat, until Vinaze’s voice began to seep back into Eina’s consciousness. When she opened her eyes, it was as if she had broken through the surface of the water. She still saw the dark memories; they still weighed upon her mood and her spirit, yet she could once more perceive the world around her. The woman still could not move, paralysed by the memories pressing upon her... but she could finally speak, and her voice was filled with sorrow.

"You do not understand, Vinaze. Power and strength mean nothing; both can be taken from you, at any time. You still do not understand, life and death do not matter, nor does the dimension you dwell in..." said the woman, raising her head to look directly into Vinaze’s eyes, as if she sought to pierce through to his very soul. "Everyone is immortal, and no one is. True immortality is the soul... for as long as your soul lives, so do you, only the place changes, whether here in the Netherworld or any other realm. But as long as you live within your own fears, terrified of something... you will never truly live, no matter where you are."

It was then that she began to see and sense, through the Force, the wormholes opening; yet even she did not know whether the ritual had succeeded or not. In her mind’s eye, she still saw horrors, but she continued to fight them, struggling to move, and to make the visions finally fade away.

 

[Lilianna L'lerim]

Information

Crown Princess of Aaven, Priestess of Ashla​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Survive
Location: Aboard the Death Star III
Equipment: Noble Attire | Ashlan Rosary || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m

Tags
Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | Tancred L'lerim (as Yorunarr) | Kael Varnok | Open​

I glanced at the man, though I had yet to receive a reply to my words. At least it gave me some time to tend to the wounded. Fortunately, a few medical droids had arrived in the meantime, so I did not have to handle all the injured by myself. As I stitched up a wound, my thoughts wandered when would Tancred arrive, and where was Cesare? I would have been so relieved to have someone I knew by my side. It would have made me feel so much safer. Of course, I was glad the man was here, but I did not know him; we had only just met.

While I worked, I received a reply from Tancred as well. A little sadness filled me when I heard that he still was not saying he was about to arrive. I would have been so happy to hear those words or to see him appear in the doorway. The waiting grew harder and harder, for it had been so long since I had last seen him. I took a deep breath; I had to remain patient, just as I had been every time I waited for him to come home.

~ All right, just be careful! ~ I asked him once more.

I was still not particularly well-versed in the mysteries or practices of the Force, yet even I could feel the strong swirl of the Dark and the Light sides in one direction. Then I noticed something else. Out in space, beyond the window of the infirmary, strange phenomena began to appear. It looked exactly like the wormholes shown in textbooks and holobooks. But how was that even possible? A bad feeling settled over me, especially when I realised I could no longer sense the Dark Side’s disturbance. What was happening here? I did not know, but I could feel panic rising within me.

The tightness in my chest grew stronger, and my heart began to pound faster and faster, so hard it felt as though it was beating in my throat. I suspected it might have been a consequence of the Force disturbance, but I could not know for sure my understanding and knowledge of such matters was far too limited. One thing I did know: I wanted to run, to find somewhere safe. If I could have, I would have called for Cesare, but I did not know where he was, and I did not trust that I could reach him through the Force. That left only my brother.

~ Tancred, something’s happening out there… When will you get here? ~ I asked him again, my voice filled with worry and fear.

Ashla please, give me strength!

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Allies | Mykel Dawson
Opposition | Luvaen Malstadt | Voldran Molf
​

The Dark Ones thrived in war. Some Jedi did, too.

Cora was more akin to a living lament than a warrior. A woman who took up plasma and steel with somber reverence, who moved and cut with sorrowful precision because sometimes, the Force guided you down the path of most resistance for a reason.

In the time she'd spent reading the esoteric power that both lived within and linked all things, there were many answers she did not have.

None were to be found here. Not among the haze of steel and spark, not among the nauseating perfume of fresh blood and singed flesh. There was no fanfare as her opponent was left maimed; only grim focus as their surroundings lurched and shuddered as the lumbering Death Star managed to right itself.

As Luvaen lifted his one remaining arm out to her, Cora knelt among the debris. A wounded beast, when cornered, was at their most dangerous. He'd been responsible for the deaths of two Jedi, and had nearly taken a third.

Cora pressed her gloved hand to the durasteel floor. Her eyes fell closed as picked a thread in the Force, then sent the Light to surge through it. Like a golden string, it vibrated at a frequency discordant to the dark maelstrom of the ritual - aimed directly along her connection with Voldran, trying to distort his concentration and stem the flow of dark energies.

But she was too late. The ritual had reached its zenith. The Force trembled and groaned, like an old ship teetering on the brink of a great collapse.

Cora's brow scrunched as she lifted her hands toward Luvaen. Her lips moved in the shape of a quiet prayer.

The Force exploded outwards, carrying with it the sharp edges of debris. They lanced through the recycled air like the streaking stars that painted hyperspace.

 

[Kyrothian Ravoch]

Wrath of God

Acier Moonbound ​

They were done. Moments after the shove, Ravoch extinguished his crimson blade and clipped it to his belt. A faint frown touched his face as he shook his head. "What a waste." Even though he was not talking to anyone in particular, his voice still boomed across the corridor.

Ace had collapsed the segment of the corridor behind him. Large chunks of broken consoles, floor plates and pipes had created a thick barrier to keep reinforcements out. Steam hissed from ruptured pipes buried in the wreckage. Beyond it, the muffled clamor of Stormtroopers still trying to break through. Ahead of the Sith Lord, Ace had crashed into the wall hard enough for wall panels to buckle and wires to break. Light flickered over the non-Padawan and emergency lightstrips started to turn on, showering him in a dim red. By contrast, Ravoch stood in a part of the corridor that remained relatively intact. Bright lights dominated now that both the red and blue blades had been extinguished.

But Ravoch did not linger in the light. He strode into the darkness where his foe lay, struggling to comprehend what had just transpired. A brief glance was thrown at the arm before Ravoch's eyes settled on the non-Padawan.

Defiance. Despite all that had happened - or perhaps due to it - the ashen-haired Rebel made sure to proclaim that he'd rather die than to join the Sith. Ravoch silenced him mid-syllable. "You have the survival instincts of a domesticated bantha." His words, condescending and harsh, were drenched in authority.

Without hesitation, the Lord knelt. One unarmoured wrist rested on his knee while the other hand cupped the side of his foe’s head, fingers spanning from ear to cheek. Although he was not putting any real force behind the touch, it was abundantly clear that he could push hard for devastating effect if he so desired. "Fortunately for you, death is not an option." His lips parted for a smile - but his eyes remained focused and poised whilst shimmering in a bright yellow hue.

Two pats by the side of Ace's head indicated that it was time to move on. Calm, but determined, his hand shifted away from the Rebel's face to place his throat in a firm grip - the pressure behind it was enough to make it uncomfortable but it wasn't even close to cutting any airways off. The purposes behind the shift became abundantly clear as Ravoch started to rise back up to his feet whilst using the grip to bring Ace up with him. With an almost casual gesture, Ravoch willed the Force to bring him the lost limb and the lightsabre which it held.

"This" he started, waving the limb demonstratively whilst tightening his grip - just enough to make it hard for the non-padawan to interrupt him. "[...] could easily have been avoided. You are overconfident. You lack discipline and you act before you think. Your only saving grace is your great affinity for the Force. That and good instincts." Each and every word was drenched in disappointment - but even his disappointment was clad in a measured tone. This was not gloating - this was a scolding.

Ravoch allowed his words to linger for a while before finally easing his grip around the ashen-haired Rebel's throat. A single finger rose to wag sharply at the boy "Don't speak. Your fate is sealed. We will head back to my ship. There, you will pledge yourself to me" His words were final. With a heavy-handed pat, he ushered the Rebel to start walking. It all seemed too perfect to be true - but something was crawling under his skin - danger was looming. The sooner they could get off, the better.

 

[Srina Talon]

Allies: SO + ME
Direct Tag Because I'm Gonna Hit You In The Face: Subject 1503
Tag: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Elmindra Xitaar [/USER] | Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf | Gerwald Lechner | Lina Ovmar | Aether Verd | Renn Vizsla | Domina Prime | Aselia Verd | Naamino Zuukamano | Haro Aven | Korda Veydran | Siv Kryze | The Lord of Hunger | Onrai | Velda Nar-Donna
Location: Kitel Phard System (Near Atrisia) - [Death Star III]

____________________________________________________

He tore free of her bindings in a violent burst of will, the air snapping around them. Srina watched him recover as if she were memorizing a pattern, each movement noted, each flaw remembered. The more they fought, the more she would learn, the more she would be his undoing. He still believed that brute force could buy him distance, or perhaps even victory. It would not. She was unrelenting when it came to targeting an opponent, singularly focused, and never did anything without purpose.

The bulkhead he wrenched from the wall slowed in its momentum as it neared her, and the pale Empress pushed it back the other way with a thunderous clang. Jaw tight, teeth clenched, she stared at the offending figure with eyes that shifted with deep fire. The more he provoked her, the more the darkness in her being began to express itself. The corridor would seem to lose all light, growing colder and claustrophobic—As if a ship could somehow feel fear.

His sluggish attack was not enough to stop her.

Srina's saber turned downward, cutting through the falling debris that scattered between them. The tendrils of shadow that had wormed their way into his gear were still there, melting into his armor, into him. He was a fool to think that simply taking a few paces back from her trap would set him free. She had seen the curve of his jaw, something that had once pressed against her, and memory flooded forward. It was not all, but it was enough. Srina was now more certain than ever that the Empire had managed to create some abomination. Either that…

Or Aryn Teth had been stripped of all self, memory, and will. That he truly had been hollowed and left a meaningless shell. It was a crueler fate than death. Even if he was deserving.

She could never forgive him, not ever, for what he had done.

The crimson light of her weapon cast her angelic features in brief, flashes of violence, bright and then gone. The sound of her dual-toned voice followed, full of might, like a dragon breathing smoke.

"Bite your heathen tongue…"

There was something final in that, damning, while her words worked their way into places he wouldn't have thought possible. She was not some rank-and-file sycophant who was full of bluster and the arrogance of youth. Srina knew what she was and was not capable of, and this fodder, this tool of the Galactic Empire—Was not a challenge. He was something to play with, moreover, something to distract her.

"We've only just begun…Who ever said I was trying to kill you?"

He began to pour more power into the walls, twisting metal, bending the pressure inward. The floor shuddered underfoot. Srina could feel the weight of it pressing against her armor, her bones, her lungs, while the ship groaned in protest. He was trying, rather predictably, to crush her.

"No."

Her growl was coupled with something unholy, and without warning, she pushed back. The Force inverted, redirecting the pressure outward, but only enough to meet what he had invoked. It would hold the walls of the ship exactly where they needed to be, placing them in another lock, one of will and ability rather than one of blades. The air thinned and warped while his strength fed her own balance. His irritation with himself, his rage, became her leverage. Her power.

This section of the Death Star sang with strain. She advanced through the hallway, slow, as if she were walking freely on solid ground rather than moving through something that was being manipulated to kill her. She was an oddity in this galaxy. An Empress who stood among her male counterparts as an equal, not a trophy, and not reliant on their presence to rule. She had earned her place, through loss, fire, and the hell of an entire civilization falling around her…Her death would not come swiftly.

She would not go quietly or easily into the Mists Beyond. She would not be undone by a sad, forsaken figment of the man she had once loved. He hadn't been strong enough before—He wasn't strong enough now. Nothing had changed.

Her free hand rose, and the shadowy threads that lingered on his person began to squirm like worms seeking to burrow into his flesh. They would melt as they had before, pressing beneath the skin, surrounding his beating heart, to make it feel like it couldn't contract—Jamming the organ as they had jammed his armor. It would be slow, it would bring pain, and he would finally know the truth of how he had left her so many years ago. Alone.

She would stop his heart.

Kraa-na mezu.
​

Just when her hand began to close into a fist—

—Everything exploded. It wasn't her. It certainly wasn't him.

Something outside, a stray shot or a collision, hit the section squarely. The deck split apart, and air became a whirlwind that tried to suck them through the jagged opening. The force of decompression stole the breath from her, even while she triggered the mask in her armor. She caught herself on a piece of raised metal, and her arm wrenched while the air tore at her lungs, eyes, and tried to yank the armor painfully off her form. Everything was a godly pull that felt like it was stretching her body on a rack.

She had to let him go.
​

The grip that she had on her enemy released while the Darkside responded to her call. It wasn't a shout that left her but a sudden burst of activity, a closing of a thousand hands. Metal bent. Screws screamed. Alarms raged—Until the hull sealed under her will. It domed down and crunched, piece by ragged piece, until the sound stopped and her side of the western corridor was sealed. When the air finally stopped, she swung her form back toward a solid part of the deck and landed.

Fingers touched the metal floor to steady herself, and the pain in her ears was unbearable. She stayed down on one knee longer than she should have. The muscles in her arm trembled while her eyes burned with oxygen-starved tears that never fell. When she finally stood, her typically emotionless face curved into a monstrous snarl, and she slammed her bloodied hand on the wall. Again, and again.

Let the ritual of their own begin. Let it begin with her blood…Let it create a net to trap these Faithless cretins in a web of their own making. Let this ship burn. Let it all burn.​

The hits against the wall slowed until she leaned against it, breathing hard. The composure that had momentarily broken found itself once more, and she pressed her opposite shoulder against the wall. Waiting until she found the right spot. Without warning, she wrenched it hard and forced it back into its socket. She was lucky the breach had been small. The Empress straightened, reaching up to brush the stain of bright red blood away from her face.

She could still feel him, and golden eyes darkened. There was nowhere in the galaxy to hide from her.

He would never escape his fate.

"I will find you."​

​

 

[CT-312]

//: Allies: The Sith Order | Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra //:
//: Enemies: Galactic Empire | Dark Forces /:
//: Death Star III //:
//: Attire //:
//: EQUIPMENT: Halcyon Armour| M.I. 'Sunstroke' jetpack| M.I. 'Halo' jump boots | Contact Lenses | Wrist Mounted APG | Ancile Shield | Navi/Barca //:
//: WEAPONS: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LO-18D | M.I. Model 7 shotgun | LO-22S | Sunshot Pistol | M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol //:
//: 40|40 Active Mag : 2 , 1 Backup Mags x LO-KI/22 Standard Slug Round //:
//: ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: 2x Kushute Grenades | Shiva Knife | S.A.N.D. Powder //:
//: 2x Ion Grenade | 2x Flash Grenade | 2x Incendiary Grenade | 2 x Smoke Grenade //:
//: 1 x Arrow head of Absence | Taozin amulet | LK Spider Slicer Droid //:
//: Azure Shard //:
//: Objective III - Clash of Destiny //:
​

CT-312 scanned the chamber. Her visor flickered with a faint blue glow of the HUD. The room had gone still, only the rhythmic mechanical pulse of the Death Star’s internal systems remained. The Scout spotted a grated walkway, different from the floor she was standing on. Beneath the grated floor, a dull radiance pulsed. A heart beat of the machine itself. The engine core. One of the four.

Stepping carefully along the walkway, only the faint scrape of metal under her footsteps was heard. A lifeless body slumped near the railing. CT-312 glanced down at it. Indifferent. She continued walking towards the center. Each pulse vibrated through the catwalk under her boots. Reaching at the edge of the platform, pausing. Looking down.

The heat radiating from the core disoriented the light around it. Above, the droid and others were preoccupied. No eyes were on her. CT-312 crouched low and dropped. THUD. The impact echoed briefly before being swallowed by the hum of the reactor. She kept walking forward cautiously until the entire reactor loomed before her. It felt as if it was alive in its own way.

Her gloved hand reached for the azure shard she had placed into her Halcyon armor. Pulling the gem out, it caught the core’s glow immediately. Its blue gleam flashed against the reactor's light. Turning it over in her palm once. Considering. ‘What if…’ The thought lingered.

CT-312 raised her hand with the shard and slammed it against the reactor’s core containment frame. The impact rang like a chime of glass and thunder as the chamber reacted at once. Lights overhead flickered violently, strobing between white and red. The hum of the core deepened as its tone shifted from a steady vibration to a distorted growl. Energy surged through the conduits, it seemed that the Death Star itself shuddered in protest.

For a moment CT-312 thought she’d broken something. Breathing low and steady through the modulator, the shard now embedded partially into the reactor’s housing pulsed faintly. Stepping closer, visor tilting down toward the azure shard. A modulated voice quiet, barely rose about the hum “Jedi Master Dynas?” A whisper into the machine.

Spoiler: Others

Quinn Varanin Riven Eira Dyn

 

[Darth Caedes]

"Sometimes, yes, it can be like a drug. Intoxicating. Yet that kind of instant gratification can be addictive, too."
—Darth Caedes, ruminations on the Dark Side of the Force​

Chaos swelled around him, a violence of crackling sabers and the wailing chirp of lightning. Acolyte Naamino Zuukamano moved with the alacrity of a Force endowed warrior, his strength (both physical and in the Force) a blunt instrument bent on eradication. Caedes' gaze tracked the zabrak along the line of his advance, a chilly albeit abject approval. There was power there, raw and formative, a credit to Admiral Elmindra Xitaar and her eye for potential. Beneath the refinement of her tutelage, he could become a worthy Sith indeed.

Lightning screamed again, arcing through the dim corridor—first red, then caught by Revna Marr and thrown back in a cascade of unnatural blues and black-purples. Revna herself was steeped in the Dark Side, her voice carrying that odd timbre of both hunger and delight, and something else. The tendrils of her power slithered across the corridor like serpents, devouring what they touched and leaving a prickly ice in their wake. He had seen her command such powers before... yet he had also seen those powers command her, in turn.

As she spoke again, her voice was overtaken by another; twisting, echoing and dual toned.

"How nice of these heretics to provide such a feast."​

Even Caedes' composure thinned for the briefest instant, the molten hue of his eyes cutting toward her. The Void. He felt it wild within her again, beating at the cage bars of her own will and control. A spirit trapped within her. The results of crude sorcery. A parasite which fed on her agency in return for power. His jaw tightened.

"Control it, Revna," he murmured, the warning equal parts command and concern.​

Presently, the wall to their left buckled and collapsed, wrenching beneath the weight of some mighty impact. Through the debris strode the The Lord of Hunger , hulking. Caedes' fingers flexed once at his side, but he did not retrieve his blade. Instead, his eyes narrowed, a thin ember of sardonic recognition lighting in them.

"Still feasting?" he accused, daring to condescend.​

"Then you and I share purpose," Caedes explained.​

The King's head tilted, reptilian, his gaze boring into the other's mask.

"I've felt you in the Force. It would seem our intentions align. Help us end this ritual and perhaps you'll glut yourself on something more worthy than the petty servants and mundane soldiers you're sure to find here."​

Haro's voice cut through the den of battle.

"Lift won't be here for another two minutes," he warned.​

Caedes turned then, his attention cutting back to the youth at his side.

"Two minutes," the King repeated, as if tasting the sound of the number on his tongue.​

"We're on level 465," Haro detailed in the affirmative.​

"We need to get to 500. Any ideas?"​

In battle, two minutes could stretch on for what felt like an eternity. Most fights (especially close-quarters) ended within that time, were the warriors skilled enough. No, that wouldn't do. Particularly not while outnumbered by the enemy and corralled into a narrow hallway outlet. At the very least, they needed a way out. And besides, Caedes admitted to himself sometime days later, he too was high on the Dark Side's wilder intoxication, caught up in the impulsive inclination to rip, rend, and destroy what was not his.

"In two minutes," Caedes hissed, "your little zabrak friend may come to serve me as a Jen'ari corpse in the Afterlife."​

His eyes fell again to Revna, chewing his lip in vacant contemplation.

"No," he said mildly, "we haven't that kind of time."​

Evidently resolved, Caedes stepped up to the edge of the open lift doors and came to an abrupt halt. His toes hung over the sharp edge, allowing him to peer down the massive, multi-lane turbo lift tunnel on into infinity. He stretched with one hand atop the yawning pit and reached out into the Force. It groaned in answer, deep and in the walls. The very metal itself seemed to cry out, buckling and shaking apart. Sheets of cheap insulation and durasteel wall plating tore free from the surrounding lanes and otherwise vestigial areas along the tunnel's interior. Screws popped off along bolted sections, firing like buckshot of a slugthrower. The tunnel shrieked in protest, ear splitting, folding its innards to become footholds. Crawl-space maintenance ladders writhed like live eels one second, then fell into creaking, swaying stillness the next. Jagged platforms tore free to hang along the tunnel's sides, forming a kind of perilous, zigzagging ascent. Caedes curled his fingers to physicalize his intent upon the Force. Nevertheless, he was careful to pull from the infrastructure's free space, that between lift-tracks or else along maintenance catwalks and mesh-metal balconies, avoiding any destruction which would disrupt the track of their own, incoming lift-car.

He smiled. Cruel, yet not without a grim note of humor.

"You've mounted a drexl before," he encouraged, suggestively.​

"We'll catch the lift when it comes up. Can't be too much more difficult, can it," he agreed, unsolicitedly.​

"Cancel the call to this floor and set it to reach our destination on 500."​

"We climb," he ordered, looking back at Haro.​

"You'll manage."​

He'd have to.

Pivoting on one leg, Caedes glanced back in the direction of Revna and Zuukamano, of Deonis Laythar and his sorcerous attendants, and now again, of the gaudy Lord of Hunger, ever an interloper. However, this time, not entirely an unwelcome one.

"This way," he announced to his allies among them, the acolytes and the Lady Marr.​

"Into the lifts!"​

With that, he pushed off the ledge and leaped across the vacant lift-lanes. Black silk fanned and crackled out around him, reacting to the explosive movement. Like a falling leaf, or an aerial dancer, he alighted atop the first impromptu platform across the way (an impossibly long distance to one not gifted with the Force) and turned back to face Haro on the other side. Sounds changed in this enclosed space, all but erasing the earlier noise of battle—or at least casting it to appear far, far away—and replacing it with the ever-present, ominous, and high-pitched whirring of lift-cars traversing their mag-clamped railway spines. The ghostly choir noise made it sound as if one of those cars were always approaching, always just out of sight. Long-hanging metal cables made odd, accompanying warbling noises.

Oh, it'd been awhile since he'd broken in and sabotaged an enemy battle station.
How nostalgic.

Revna Marr Elmindra Xitaar Madrona A’Mia
Haro Aven Naamino Zuukamano
Taeli Raaf Gerwald Lechner Lina Ovmar
Aether Verd Renn Vizsla
Domina Prime Aselia Verd Korda Veydran
Siv Kryze The Lord of Hunger Onrai

Deonis Laythar​