Administrator
Acier Moonbound
Location: Roon [Shipyard & Waystation Delta-9]
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The Eidolon descended through the pale haze of Roon's sky like a wounded deity falling back to rest. Its once silver hull bore the scars of a battlefield, runes half-scorched, dug into as if a giant claw had torn ruthlessly into the hull. The armored plating was sheared and blackened by plasma fire, but somehow the ship still held strong. It was a wonder that it hadn't breached, though; the Empress had designed it to withstand anything the galaxy could throw at it.
This war with the Faithless was sincerely testing her patience.
Landing struts groaned against the duracrete of the shipyard land-based shipyard, hanging off a cliff, and the crew seemed to hold their breath. With a definitive thud, the ship docked, neatly, as if it wasn't smoking from several areas and patchworked into flight.
Time held until the ramp hissed open and Srina Talon emerged first.
Armor of silver and obsidian was streaked with soot, singed, with one glove that was still wet with someone else's blood. A streak of crimson had dried across her cheek, stark against skin as pale as the moonlight she seemed to be made from. Beneath the grime, most would have some sort of flattering word to describe her. Exquisite. Unflinching, impossibly composed. There was no pretense of weakness and no mask of mercy. The air around her bent, subtly, as if reality itself recognized its sovereign.
She spoke to the Mandalorian Engineers who had assembled, the pit crew, who would see to external repairs, and those who would carry her report back to the Mand'alor. The wintry woman had purchased their services against an enemy that threatened them all; however, she intended to uphold her end of the bargain regardless of the outcome. It was still unclear, given the widespread nature of an attack that affected many different places in the galaxy at the exact same time. "The enemy has been deflected for now…There are no losses from this vessel; however, there are injuries. We came under heavy fire…"
And more than that—Attacked by mystics and servants of the Faithless.
This was the very reason she brought magic back to their ranks. Or what most perceived to be magic…It gave them an edge against an enemy that would never fight fair. Mandalorian warriors filed out behind her with armor that still gleamed in Roon's gray light, stance taut in her orbit, but disciplined. None bowed. None looked away, either. Their backs strengthened instead, as if by instinct, as if something ancient in them remembered that this was the Sith Empress.
Dral'buir to some, a shadowed omen, to all.
Mandalorians did not forget.
Her voice was soft but sharp enough to cut through the hum of cooling engines. "I have provided knowledge of the old ways…You will need to learn to mend what the unworthy have broken. The runes must be able to breathe again if you wish your ship to travel where they cannot see."
She stepped down the ramp, every movement controlled and deliberate. Her steps paused at the end of the platform, and gold-hewn eyes flickered around at faces that were neither her own nor all that friendly. This was not home. This was not Jutrand—But they would obey all the same because even covered in ash and ruin, she was terrible and beautiful enough to make belief look like fear.
"I require volunteers."
The pale woman didn't wait for anyone to follow and moved toward the interior of the shipyard where quarters would be waiting. A place to change, wash her face, and start getting supplies set up. They would first need to learn the sigils before she allowed them to start patching and digging into a hull that had just taken a beating. Her energy ran through these ships…If they didn't do it right?
The rune panels were likely to blow up.