Velok the Younger
When I Was A Young Warthog
@[member="Nessarose deWinter"]
Independent Starship Coldharbor
Deep Space
The Coldharbor -- a floating bazaar of strange monstrosities, of useless trinkets, of artifacts for breaking worlds and souls. A meeting place, neutral ground for Darksider and Sith factions of all descriptions. Alchemy facilities, some publicly available, others squirrelled away in private corners of the ship. Lodgings both cheap and expensive. When Rave crashed for a night on the Coldharbor, she didn't feel like spending the money for the latter, or the years off her life for the former -- the former offering no guarantee against waking up next to a derriphan or a starweird. So she tossed out a sleeping bag beside the alchemy forge in her shop, between blade blanks of every size and samples of twisted bio-alchemical whatnot that she'd forgotten to give back to the Plague Doctor.
Rave being Rave, she slept like a baby. To the point that, when her front-desk droid unlocked the door and flicked on the 'open' sign, she didn't stir. She only jolted awake, peering blearily through a bead curtain that was far, far more than it seemed, when the door buzzer rang. The forge was right behind the shop, letting customers catch a glimpse of alchemical apparatus, but no more. Her mind caught up with her, and she got a vague sense of the person who'd just come in.
The young woman who stumbled through the bead curtain to greet her newest potential customer was petite, purple-eyed, bruised in the Nightsister way, and wearing about a quarter inch of forge soot both under and over her simple clothes. "Good morning and welcome to Iron Crown Forge," said the droid at the register, beating her to it by about half a second.
"It's all right, Nineex, I've got this one. I'm Rave Merrill." The go-to alchemical contractor and trainer for Dark Masters of all descriptions, maker of the first known non-Moridin Sith Amulets in a few millennia, a High Councilor of the Fringe Confederation, Kaggath winner against a Sith Lord, and probably the best Dark Side healer alive. One way or another, to her situationally mingled annoyance and pleasure, her name was getting around. Most importantly, it generally got her and her wares a bit more respect, and that meant she could often name her price. She thought rather fondly, if briefly, of the time when the last legitimate Emperor of the Sith Empire had traded the Empire's greatest warbeast for her help in making his personal amulet. "What can I make for you?"
Nobody as strong as the girl who'd just entered her shop would ever buy off the rack. Custom or nothing.
Independent Starship Coldharbor
Deep Space
The Coldharbor -- a floating bazaar of strange monstrosities, of useless trinkets, of artifacts for breaking worlds and souls. A meeting place, neutral ground for Darksider and Sith factions of all descriptions. Alchemy facilities, some publicly available, others squirrelled away in private corners of the ship. Lodgings both cheap and expensive. When Rave crashed for a night on the Coldharbor, she didn't feel like spending the money for the latter, or the years off her life for the former -- the former offering no guarantee against waking up next to a derriphan or a starweird. So she tossed out a sleeping bag beside the alchemy forge in her shop, between blade blanks of every size and samples of twisted bio-alchemical whatnot that she'd forgotten to give back to the Plague Doctor.
Rave being Rave, she slept like a baby. To the point that, when her front-desk droid unlocked the door and flicked on the 'open' sign, she didn't stir. She only jolted awake, peering blearily through a bead curtain that was far, far more than it seemed, when the door buzzer rang. The forge was right behind the shop, letting customers catch a glimpse of alchemical apparatus, but no more. Her mind caught up with her, and she got a vague sense of the person who'd just come in.
The young woman who stumbled through the bead curtain to greet her newest potential customer was petite, purple-eyed, bruised in the Nightsister way, and wearing about a quarter inch of forge soot both under and over her simple clothes. "Good morning and welcome to Iron Crown Forge," said the droid at the register, beating her to it by about half a second.
"It's all right, Nineex, I've got this one. I'm Rave Merrill." The go-to alchemical contractor and trainer for Dark Masters of all descriptions, maker of the first known non-Moridin Sith Amulets in a few millennia, a High Councilor of the Fringe Confederation, Kaggath winner against a Sith Lord, and probably the best Dark Side healer alive. One way or another, to her situationally mingled annoyance and pleasure, her name was getting around. Most importantly, it generally got her and her wares a bit more respect, and that meant she could often name her price. She thought rather fondly, if briefly, of the time when the last legitimate Emperor of the Sith Empire had traded the Empire's greatest warbeast for her help in making his personal amulet. "What can I make for you?"
Nobody as strong as the girl who'd just entered her shop would ever buy off the rack. Custom or nothing.