Marcus Faust
Fracti No Ultra
@[member="Kayla Zorg"]
Marcus always liked Dromund Kass better than Korriban, the cityscape reminded him of home, of Corellia. Even in all the darkness , death, and evil that consumed his life, he still found himself missing his family, missing what he had once had, what was now gone. Shaking his head, the Sith Assassin, strode through the halls of the Sith Military Academy on the planet, calmly inspecting the new troop prospects of the Empire. Despite his need for the suit, Marcus had recovered quite nicely, his skin bore no excessive scarring or burning, meaning that he could take off his helmet and still woo over women like had back home, not that he'd tried in an excessive amount of time.
Leaning on the railing Faust sensed someone coming, someone rather noticeable in the force, not the three saber guards that remained under his command after that damned coup which killed two of them. Marcus had written the letters home to their families, they were loyal soldiers of the Empire, just like any other trooper, and their families deserved to know their son's died like warriors. If Marcus had any sort of soft spot, it was for his men, the one's whose lives he held in the palm of his hands. And failing them drove him up a wall. Looking over his shoulder, Marcus hoped to spot whomever was coming.
Marcus always liked Dromund Kass better than Korriban, the cityscape reminded him of home, of Corellia. Even in all the darkness , death, and evil that consumed his life, he still found himself missing his family, missing what he had once had, what was now gone. Shaking his head, the Sith Assassin, strode through the halls of the Sith Military Academy on the planet, calmly inspecting the new troop prospects of the Empire. Despite his need for the suit, Marcus had recovered quite nicely, his skin bore no excessive scarring or burning, meaning that he could take off his helmet and still woo over women like had back home, not that he'd tried in an excessive amount of time.
Leaning on the railing Faust sensed someone coming, someone rather noticeable in the force, not the three saber guards that remained under his command after that damned coup which killed two of them. Marcus had written the letters home to their families, they were loyal soldiers of the Empire, just like any other trooper, and their families deserved to know their son's died like warriors. If Marcus had any sort of soft spot, it was for his men, the one's whose lives he held in the palm of his hands. And failing them drove him up a wall. Looking over his shoulder, Marcus hoped to spot whomever was coming.