Hawke
The Strategist
@[member="Dranok Lussk"]
A cold wind blew from the northern sky. Hawke's cheeks were reddened by this unnatural anomaly. Dromund Kaas was warm and wet, typically. Perhaps there was a storm moving in. One to be as turbulent as the day before. The girl simply snugged her greatcoat tighter and marched forward like a good soldier should. The citadel rose above her as testate to this nations past glory; and hopefully spoke of that to come. Now what was a navel Captain doing at the Emperor's Palace you may ask? That was a question she didn't entirely know; paying her respects in one way of another was the best answer I can give.
Hawke pressed forth. The stairs were conquered by her jackboots. The doorway was guarded of course. The large royal guards all lined up in a row like it was a ceremony. She had a trump card for getting in though. A tribute to the new Emperor; most likely the first of his reign. A Sith Holocron from the Umbaran Shadow Academy. Recovered by her and the apprentices a few days ago. They knew what it was. Ancient, laced with the Dark Side of the force. Those in tune with the force probably felt it slowly making its was closer to them. No longer protected in its old halls, safe from disturbing anyone but the Umbaran Shadow Assassins who held it. Hawke stuffed the relic back in her pocket. "Take me to the throne room".
Escorted she was, to the broken throne of @[member="Tyrin Ardik"]. She nearly wept at the sight of this hall. Shattered. The guards who brought her here were left to wait despite their barking objections to her advancing steppes. They soon fell silent. Hawke stepped between the twisted gates. Shards of the obsidian throne littered the floor. Blood, ash, scars. Captain Hawke's jackboots stepped through this horrid mess. She stopped but a step before the throne, removing her cap to place across her heart. Softly and quietly she sung a short poem "Emperor my Emperor I have lost you. Shall I take flight to the night. Or rally my strength, and take up my blade. Keep your spirit alive". Tears fell from her for a short time kept in silence. Hawke placed a hand upon the right arm of this broken throne. A jagged stone shard cut through her glove, narrowly missing her fingers. The Sith cycle had sadly continued.
A cold wind blew from the northern sky. Hawke's cheeks were reddened by this unnatural anomaly. Dromund Kaas was warm and wet, typically. Perhaps there was a storm moving in. One to be as turbulent as the day before. The girl simply snugged her greatcoat tighter and marched forward like a good soldier should. The citadel rose above her as testate to this nations past glory; and hopefully spoke of that to come. Now what was a navel Captain doing at the Emperor's Palace you may ask? That was a question she didn't entirely know; paying her respects in one way of another was the best answer I can give.
Hawke pressed forth. The stairs were conquered by her jackboots. The doorway was guarded of course. The large royal guards all lined up in a row like it was a ceremony. She had a trump card for getting in though. A tribute to the new Emperor; most likely the first of his reign. A Sith Holocron from the Umbaran Shadow Academy. Recovered by her and the apprentices a few days ago. They knew what it was. Ancient, laced with the Dark Side of the force. Those in tune with the force probably felt it slowly making its was closer to them. No longer protected in its old halls, safe from disturbing anyone but the Umbaran Shadow Assassins who held it. Hawke stuffed the relic back in her pocket. "Take me to the throne room".
Escorted she was, to the broken throne of @[member="Tyrin Ardik"]. She nearly wept at the sight of this hall. Shattered. The guards who brought her here were left to wait despite their barking objections to her advancing steppes. They soon fell silent. Hawke stepped between the twisted gates. Shards of the obsidian throne littered the floor. Blood, ash, scars. Captain Hawke's jackboots stepped through this horrid mess. She stopped but a step before the throne, removing her cap to place across her heart. Softly and quietly she sung a short poem "Emperor my Emperor I have lost you. Shall I take flight to the night. Or rally my strength, and take up my blade. Keep your spirit alive". Tears fell from her for a short time kept in silence. Hawke placed a hand upon the right arm of this broken throne. A jagged stone shard cut through her glove, narrowly missing her fingers. The Sith cycle had sadly continued.