The comparatively tiny Aquila starfighter slowly drifted past the orange barrier separating dead space from the Ebion's hangar bay. The fighter came to descend somewhere in the middle of the floor space, where it touched down with a quiet thud. Magnetic seals locked, the canopy depressurized with a soft hiss.
Atlas lifted himself out of the seat, climbing over the cockpit's side to unceremoniously drop onto the hangar floor. Many-layered robes the colour of basalt covered his body, shadow obscuring half the mask beneath his hood. Thick gloves concealed his hands and no visible weapons could be placed on his body, though he knew his host would suspect the sabre he carried hidden beneath the black fabric. Not that he expected him to feel threatened by it in any way, it was merely mutual understanding, or perhaps mistrust.
A strange message had reached him only a few days prior. Another adherent of the Sith requested his presence. This had struck Atlas as odd for several reasons. Over the last decade or so he'd done everything in his power to distance himself from the command structures of the Sith Empire, becoming little more than a cliff note in their records, one among millions, to better facilitate his research. As far as he was aware he was little more than a ghost in the system, a meaningless name some bureaucrat was required to occasionally type into the databanks.
As such, the request for his presence from someone inside the Empire was unexpected, to say the least. Several days had he debated whether or not to even follow up on the invitation, but ultimately he'd decided for it. If someone knew of him or his work, there was little time to waste in making sure they posed no threat to his efforts. For his work was paramount and further interruptions would simply not do.
He paced before the starfighter, hands clasped together behind his back. The impression he felt within the force had a familiar quality to it, but he couldn't pin it to anyone in specific. It was almost a nostalgic sensation yet twisted and warped. The more he opened himself up in the force the more that feeling of familiarity seeped into him. Not from any one place or presence, but from all around him.
He continued to pace, ruminating on the past even as his mind remained alert.
Shade of Decay
Atlas lifted himself out of the seat, climbing over the cockpit's side to unceremoniously drop onto the hangar floor. Many-layered robes the colour of basalt covered his body, shadow obscuring half the mask beneath his hood. Thick gloves concealed his hands and no visible weapons could be placed on his body, though he knew his host would suspect the sabre he carried hidden beneath the black fabric. Not that he expected him to feel threatened by it in any way, it was merely mutual understanding, or perhaps mistrust.
A strange message had reached him only a few days prior. Another adherent of the Sith requested his presence. This had struck Atlas as odd for several reasons. Over the last decade or so he'd done everything in his power to distance himself from the command structures of the Sith Empire, becoming little more than a cliff note in their records, one among millions, to better facilitate his research. As far as he was aware he was little more than a ghost in the system, a meaningless name some bureaucrat was required to occasionally type into the databanks.
As such, the request for his presence from someone inside the Empire was unexpected, to say the least. Several days had he debated whether or not to even follow up on the invitation, but ultimately he'd decided for it. If someone knew of him or his work, there was little time to waste in making sure they posed no threat to his efforts. For his work was paramount and further interruptions would simply not do.
He paced before the starfighter, hands clasped together behind his back. The impression he felt within the force had a familiar quality to it, but he couldn't pin it to anyone in specific. It was almost a nostalgic sensation yet twisted and warped. The more he opened himself up in the force the more that feeling of familiarity seeped into him. Not from any one place or presence, but from all around him.
He continued to pace, ruminating on the past even as his mind remained alert.
Shade of Decay