Lucrehulk Class Freighter - The Dying Light
[member="Katya Shorn"]
The Galaxy was an ancient place, filled with old relics and ancient pieces of the past. One of these pieces was The Dying Light, an old Lucrehulk Class Freighter, a ship so decrepit and torn apart that one might have thought it unworthy of spaceflight. The ship had seen many things, many battles, many decades, many centuries. It had been operational through the millenia, carting about all sorts of different cargo for all sorts of different people. The ship had seen it all, all but one thing really.
Today, as for the last near decade, The Dying Light was marked as a transport ship under the flag of the One Sith. It's massive ringed arms were marked with the symbol of the One Sith, painted in black on either side of the massive freighter.
For the past year or so The Dying Light had carried cargo for the One Sith from it's newly conquered worlds to those deeper within the core. The cargo varied from world to world. At times it was riches, at times it was armaments, and a few times it had even been sections of entire cities. One kind of cargo never changed however, one piece of the ships holds were always filled with the same thing, people. It was an unquestioning resource, one that the Sith were desperate for, manpower. So they took it from the rim of their territory, seizing and claiming those who had nowhere else to go.
These people were brought onto The Dying Light, ferried to the Core and brought to labor there.
It was no coincidence that Aellin was one of these people, his simple clothes and his light traveling gear placed against one of the far walls within the largest of the cargo holds. There were no chains on anyone, at least not yet. Most of these people had come voluntarily, thinking that they would find something better for themselves within the core. They were wrong of course, very wrong.
A sneer pulled at his lips as a man walked past him, a cough tearing at his lungs.
Disgust played over Aellin's face, his eyes turning away from the man and his mask pushed closer to his face so the rebreather placed within would do its work. A sickness had fallen over The Dying Light, a plague that was not of the Acolytes making. A dozen or so men and women had already been sent to the medical bay, half of that number already laying dead within the ships morgue. Aellin had no idea what the disease was, not did he particularly care. His journey was already set out, and The Dying Light was a mere transport to ge-
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted, the entire ship lurching forward as it was violently torn from hyperspace.
[member="Katya Shorn"]
The Galaxy was an ancient place, filled with old relics and ancient pieces of the past. One of these pieces was The Dying Light, an old Lucrehulk Class Freighter, a ship so decrepit and torn apart that one might have thought it unworthy of spaceflight. The ship had seen many things, many battles, many decades, many centuries. It had been operational through the millenia, carting about all sorts of different cargo for all sorts of different people. The ship had seen it all, all but one thing really.
Today, as for the last near decade, The Dying Light was marked as a transport ship under the flag of the One Sith. It's massive ringed arms were marked with the symbol of the One Sith, painted in black on either side of the massive freighter.
For the past year or so The Dying Light had carried cargo for the One Sith from it's newly conquered worlds to those deeper within the core. The cargo varied from world to world. At times it was riches, at times it was armaments, and a few times it had even been sections of entire cities. One kind of cargo never changed however, one piece of the ships holds were always filled with the same thing, people. It was an unquestioning resource, one that the Sith were desperate for, manpower. So they took it from the rim of their territory, seizing and claiming those who had nowhere else to go.
These people were brought onto The Dying Light, ferried to the Core and brought to labor there.
It was no coincidence that Aellin was one of these people, his simple clothes and his light traveling gear placed against one of the far walls within the largest of the cargo holds. There were no chains on anyone, at least not yet. Most of these people had come voluntarily, thinking that they would find something better for themselves within the core. They were wrong of course, very wrong.
A sneer pulled at his lips as a man walked past him, a cough tearing at his lungs.
Disgust played over Aellin's face, his eyes turning away from the man and his mask pushed closer to his face so the rebreather placed within would do its work. A sickness had fallen over The Dying Light, a plague that was not of the Acolytes making. A dozen or so men and women had already been sent to the medical bay, half of that number already laying dead within the ships morgue. Aellin had no idea what the disease was, not did he particularly care. His journey was already set out, and The Dying Light was a mere transport to ge-
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted, the entire ship lurching forward as it was violently torn from hyperspace.