Scherezade deWinter
The Blood Hound
Wearing: Armatura | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | The Sofitor
Wielding: 8 Nozhi Blades | 2 Whimsy Knifes | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Fire and Smoke | Combat Gauntlets | Tessen | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2 Dissuader KD-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
The foundry hummed like a living thing. Conveyor belts made noise. Heat rolled through the air, thick with the scent of metal and oil. Scherezade laid Copero's Wail and Clarion on the worktable in front of her. The former was a sword once proud, once bloodied, once hers. What had for a short moment been one of the happiest moments in her life upon receiving it had, with time, turned into something else entirely.
She had been young and foolish when she'd received it, thinking loyalty would save her butt. The girl she had been there didn't exist anymore. Hadn't for a very long time. But now seemed like the right moment to release the last of the tangible memories, and leave the rest where they belonged, inside her.
Clarion was along for the ride. A nice sword, one of the first she had ever requested from another, but its long blade wasn't suited to her preferred two-handed, short-blade style. Why not let it go too?
Scherezade picked up the cutter, its plasma line reflecting in her glowing green eyes. Sparks hissed as she pressed it against the first blade's spine. The metal screamed. When it split, the sound was sharp enough to make the lights stutter. One clean break. Then another.
When she was done, eight pieces lay scattered in front of her. She touched one with her gloved finger. It was still hot. There. The weapon, for all intents and purposes, was gone. She already had ideas and plans on what to do with the materials remaining, though these, she felt were perfectly okay to do in one of her Whimsy HQ's. To bet truthful, she could've done the breaking at them as well, but doing it away from there felt more right to her.
A tech-droid rolled forward, extending a tray. Scherezade dropped the fragments in, the clangs echoing in the room. "Melt them down," she ordered, "but not all together. Different batches."
The droid beeped compliance.
As she turned to leave, the lights in the foundry suddenly went off. The Sithling blinked, confusion easy to read upon her face. When they came back on, the droid was no longer holding four pieces, but only one.
"What the krak?!"
Scherezade's face snapped to the rusty walkway above them. There! Movement! Her hand grabbed the last fragment from the droid, no longer trusting it to keep safe, and jumped dozens of feet into the air, ready to tackle her enemy and tear them limb from limb.
Wielding: 8 Nozhi Blades | 2 Whimsy Knifes | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Fire and Smoke | Combat Gauntlets | Tessen | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2 Dissuader KD-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
The foundry hummed like a living thing. Conveyor belts made noise. Heat rolled through the air, thick with the scent of metal and oil. Scherezade laid Copero's Wail and Clarion on the worktable in front of her. The former was a sword once proud, once bloodied, once hers. What had for a short moment been one of the happiest moments in her life upon receiving it had, with time, turned into something else entirely.
She had been young and foolish when she'd received it, thinking loyalty would save her butt. The girl she had been there didn't exist anymore. Hadn't for a very long time. But now seemed like the right moment to release the last of the tangible memories, and leave the rest where they belonged, inside her.
Clarion was along for the ride. A nice sword, one of the first she had ever requested from another, but its long blade wasn't suited to her preferred two-handed, short-blade style. Why not let it go too?
Scherezade picked up the cutter, its plasma line reflecting in her glowing green eyes. Sparks hissed as she pressed it against the first blade's spine. The metal screamed. When it split, the sound was sharp enough to make the lights stutter. One clean break. Then another.
When she was done, eight pieces lay scattered in front of her. She touched one with her gloved finger. It was still hot. There. The weapon, for all intents and purposes, was gone. She already had ideas and plans on what to do with the materials remaining, though these, she felt were perfectly okay to do in one of her Whimsy HQ's. To bet truthful, she could've done the breaking at them as well, but doing it away from there felt more right to her.
A tech-droid rolled forward, extending a tray. Scherezade dropped the fragments in, the clangs echoing in the room. "Melt them down," she ordered, "but not all together. Different batches."
The droid beeped compliance.
As she turned to leave, the lights in the foundry suddenly went off. The Sithling blinked, confusion easy to read upon her face. When they came back on, the droid was no longer holding four pieces, but only one.
"What the krak?!"
Scherezade's face snapped to the rusty walkway above them. There! Movement! Her hand grabbed the last fragment from the droid, no longer trusting it to keep safe, and jumped dozens of feet into the air, ready to tackle her enemy and tear them limb from limb.