Queen's Guard
"Let them die."
Tags - OPEN
Veyra watched the void burn.
It was not as it had been the last time—a blaze of glory in service to the one she followed—but something far darker. A pit carved deep into the wounded flesh of the world, its depths consumed by ravenous fire. Some sisters found their final rest in such places, offered to the pyre as a final rite before their souls departed the galaxy and abandoned the armour they had died within. Running mercenary work for an overzealous Corellian had cost them dearly, and it was reflected clearly in the sheer intensity of the flames that devoured the burial pit.
Tython was a broken world, ravaged by the anarchists that had been allowed to walk upon its sacred soil. A planet once spoken of with reverence and peace had become a land of death, ash, and misery. For the first time in many years, Veyra found herself truly alone.
She had not felt such isolation since the day she swore against her own people.
Taking her leave from the solemn funeral, she began to wander toward a nearby spaceport barely clinging to operation beneath the weight of incompetence and greed. Its prospective manager was an overzealous fool, but at least a practical one. Security there had been trained to deal with the average Sith apprentice looking for trouble, as well as the occasional hidden Jedi desperate enough to crawl through the shadows. Most importantly, however, they did not ask questions.
The forests between the burial grounds and the spaceport were deathly quiet. Only the occasional scream disturbed the silence—some poor soul falling victim to the whims of a wandering Sith or some other predator that prowled the darkened wilds of Tython.
Veyra kept one hand firmly wrapped around her blaster, trusting in the familiar weight of it to guide her safely forward. She had a mission here, and she would not fail the one she served. Her immediate objective was simple: reach the spaceport and secure local assistance. She would need at least one other person to unlock the artefact she had come seeking. Who that person was did not matter. This mission was far too important to be hindered by personal preference or trust.
Ahead, faint lights flickered through the trees. Civilization.
Or at least the closest imitation of it Tython still possessed.
Veyra narrowed her eyes beneath the shadow of her helmet and continued forward, the smell of smoke still clinging to her armour as the pyre burned far behind her. A reminder of the cost of service.
