Peace Station
CryptArk One
White grass, white fields. Near white mountains lined with gold.
The sound of a flute against the wind. A thousand meters up. Like destiny fast approaching. A white calm before the storm. Here the clouds swarmed through vast chasms and taller winter peaks. White mountains sprouting against white sky. Vast chasms the jutted out below. Endless depths to endless peaks. Bathed in gold cloudy light all around.
Here at CryptArk One.
...
The CryptArks were living libraries on a living Jedi moon. Theaters and operas, and battlegrounds too. A living stage where warm magic could bring the past back to life. Just step out onto the stage and give the holographic display a whirl. And let the wild, magic lessons begin.
A thousand meters up meant a thousand meters down. But by the gods. The view was simply. Incredible. Zara Tate stood on the white grass, among white fields. Surrounded by the white mountains lined with gold. Preparing her ghostly, holographic terminal for a desperate battle simulation.
~ "The Guardian asks if you are ready?" ~ The white woman asked with a calm digital mystic.
"I am. ...You may begin the simulation." The Jedi Knight replied with calm winter voice.
So the white woman touched the great holographic unknown and the great unknown began to spin.
Upon a white field with white grass. A dozen metal soldiers spawned.
~ The Guardian hopes you survive this, little one." ~ The white woman slowly disappeared.
"Ha!" Zara Tate replied with a smile to the sky, "The Guardian can suck my saber."
A dozen metal soldiers aimed their aggressive metal rifles across the windy white mountain grass. And a Jedi Knight began to dance the dance of death. Wonderfully. Letting the hot mess begin.
The sound of the flute. and the gun, and the saber against the wind. Like hot destiny fast approaching. A white breach of sound. Furious into the storm. Of dodging, and cutting, and broken metal parts sent soaring. Scattering aboard. White metal parts littered burning. Smoldering. Gunfire ensuing. Dead robots thrown limitless into vast depths. Bathed in gold. With cloudy light all around.
Zara Tate was practicing her sword forms against an army of the Guardian's most brilliant metal warriors.
Meh. Ya know. Just goofing off. Killing time. That sorta thing.
Maybe she could use some company.
"Come get some!" slice Kaboom! slice slice
...Mmm. Quite.
CryptArk One
White grass, white fields. Near white mountains lined with gold.
The sound of a flute against the wind. A thousand meters up. Like destiny fast approaching. A white calm before the storm. Here the clouds swarmed through vast chasms and taller winter peaks. White mountains sprouting against white sky. Vast chasms the jutted out below. Endless depths to endless peaks. Bathed in gold cloudy light all around.
Here at CryptArk One.
...
The CryptArks were living libraries on a living Jedi moon. Theaters and operas, and battlegrounds too. A living stage where warm magic could bring the past back to life. Just step out onto the stage and give the holographic display a whirl. And let the wild, magic lessons begin.
A thousand meters up meant a thousand meters down. But by the gods. The view was simply. Incredible. Zara Tate stood on the white grass, among white fields. Surrounded by the white mountains lined with gold. Preparing her ghostly, holographic terminal for a desperate battle simulation.
~ "The Guardian asks if you are ready?" ~ The white woman asked with a calm digital mystic.
"I am. ...You may begin the simulation." The Jedi Knight replied with calm winter voice.
So the white woman touched the great holographic unknown and the great unknown began to spin.
Upon a white field with white grass. A dozen metal soldiers spawned.
~ The Guardian hopes you survive this, little one." ~ The white woman slowly disappeared.
"Ha!" Zara Tate replied with a smile to the sky, "The Guardian can suck my saber."
A dozen metal soldiers aimed their aggressive metal rifles across the windy white mountain grass. And a Jedi Knight began to dance the dance of death. Wonderfully. Letting the hot mess begin.
The sound of the flute. and the gun, and the saber against the wind. Like hot destiny fast approaching. A white breach of sound. Furious into the storm. Of dodging, and cutting, and broken metal parts sent soaring. Scattering aboard. White metal parts littered burning. Smoldering. Gunfire ensuing. Dead robots thrown limitless into vast depths. Bathed in gold. With cloudy light all around.
Zara Tate was practicing her sword forms against an army of the Guardian's most brilliant metal warriors.
Meh. Ya know. Just goofing off. Killing time. That sorta thing.
Maybe she could use some company.
"Come get some!" slice Kaboom! slice slice
...Mmm. Quite.
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