Success or Death.
Cortosis; every fighter in the galaxy seemed to scramble for the fine material. Its ability to short out dimetris-circuits and render the standard lightsabre briefly useless was as coveted by the armies of the galaxy as glitterstim was by the dancers and whores of the Coruscant club scene.
Darth Ophidia, The Queen of Shadows, Sphere of Mysteries, and The Pale Assassin. So many persona were crammed into that one, slender body now standing in front of the viewport of her Phasma-class Interceptor. Her scarred, ashen skin bare for all to see. Every scar, from the small shiny spot on her chin to the great lightning-scar on her back and shoulders. Her abdomen expanded and contracted steadily and her athletic fame seemed at ease. Only her eyes burned with the usual intensity of a flaming orange, embers upon ashen skin, staring at the swampy planet on approach. The only creature on board to behold it was her pilot-droid, Darling. Darling had seen some messed up sith in her service.
"Darling, Call up the mining authorities. Tell them we have arrived and are about to land. I do not have time for them to waste."
The long, callused fingers of her black left hand plucked a white mug from the cup holder of her usual seat. Sweet fumes swirled from the hot liquid within as she put it to her lips, painted to a dark purple, and drew a long sip of heavy, dark liquid. As the cup was drained in a single long slurp, she placed it down and turned her back upon the pilot.
I suppose I must get dressed.
Her bare feet made hardly a sound as she made good pace over the metal floor of the Phasma. A tune, stuck somewhere in her mind, passed her lips in a low hum as she plucked the dark robes from their place and begun wrapping them around her body. layer after layer, the exterior of a Sith Lord was donned.
She returned to the bridge, holding her beskar helmet under her arm, a lightsabre at her side and her Rudis of the Dark Lord on her hip. The blade was covered in red letters. Names of the people she had killed while in possession of the blade.
Darth Ophidia, The Queen of Shadows, Sphere of Mysteries, and The Pale Assassin. So many persona were crammed into that one, slender body now standing in front of the viewport of her Phasma-class Interceptor. Her scarred, ashen skin bare for all to see. Every scar, from the small shiny spot on her chin to the great lightning-scar on her back and shoulders. Her abdomen expanded and contracted steadily and her athletic fame seemed at ease. Only her eyes burned with the usual intensity of a flaming orange, embers upon ashen skin, staring at the swampy planet on approach. The only creature on board to behold it was her pilot-droid, Darling. Darling had seen some messed up sith in her service.
"Darling, Call up the mining authorities. Tell them we have arrived and are about to land. I do not have time for them to waste."
The long, callused fingers of her black left hand plucked a white mug from the cup holder of her usual seat. Sweet fumes swirled from the hot liquid within as she put it to her lips, painted to a dark purple, and drew a long sip of heavy, dark liquid. As the cup was drained in a single long slurp, she placed it down and turned her back upon the pilot.
I suppose I must get dressed.
Her bare feet made hardly a sound as she made good pace over the metal floor of the Phasma. A tune, stuck somewhere in her mind, passed her lips in a low hum as she plucked the dark robes from their place and begun wrapping them around her body. layer after layer, the exterior of a Sith Lord was donned.
She returned to the bridge, holding her beskar helmet under her arm, a lightsabre at her side and her Rudis of the Dark Lord on her hip. The blade was covered in red letters. Names of the people she had killed while in possession of the blade.