sɪɴɴᴇʀs ʙʏ ᴅᴇᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜs sᴛɪʟʟ
Wearing: Armor
Tag:
Jenn Kryze
Automated defenses tracked the arriving ship, then were quickly rendered inert. Retrofit cruisers, most former imperial vessels now emblazoned with the mythosaur and black hand, parted for the newcomer, while codes and protocol were exchanged over the comms in native Mando'a.
The master of House Kryze was given access to the most enigmatic shadow port of their time, a mobile star-fortress that never stayed in one place for long, crewed by the remnants of a shadow organization that once struck fear into the hearts of imperialists from Manda'yaim to Jutrand.
As the transport touched down, the castle's denizens formed neat rows on either side of the boarding ramp. Among the columns were men and women marked in dark gray armor accented in the proud sky blue of former Nite Owls, each marked with jagged claws and prints, denoting their honored occupation as Marines of the Black Hand. To any other they would have been a deterrent, but for
Jenn Kryze
they stood at attention. Most who crewed the Black Fleet were veterans who recognized her armor from Taris, from Odecer Faustin and so many fronts of the Caldera crisis.
Equally important, they knew to behave for their Matriarch.
She stood at the end of the columns, fang-flanked visor watching the arriving transport, mechanical hands resting on her hips.
Aloy had lost another arm since they last spoke.
Still she stood proudly, chin up, donning a loose kimono of red adesote over her armor, and a matching scarf which jingled with the sound of plundered sith coins tied into the tassels.
Behind her hung the banners of both House Vizsla and the Black Hand, suspended from the ceiling of a large opening in which sat monorail-train, prepared to take them deeper into the star fortress where they might discuss matters in private.
"Jenn Kryze." she hummed as though savoring a nostalgic taste "Su cuy'gar. It's been too long."
Tag:
Jenn Kryze
Archangel station was abuzz once more.
Automated defenses tracked the arriving ship, then were quickly rendered inert. Retrofit cruisers, most former imperial vessels now emblazoned with the mythosaur and black hand, parted for the newcomer, while codes and protocol were exchanged over the comms in native Mando'a.
The master of House Kryze was given access to the most enigmatic shadow port of their time, a mobile star-fortress that never stayed in one place for long, crewed by the remnants of a shadow organization that once struck fear into the hearts of imperialists from Manda'yaim to Jutrand.
As the transport touched down, the castle's denizens formed neat rows on either side of the boarding ramp. Among the columns were men and women marked in dark gray armor accented in the proud sky blue of former Nite Owls, each marked with jagged claws and prints, denoting their honored occupation as Marines of the Black Hand. To any other they would have been a deterrent, but for
Jenn Kryze
they stood at attention. Most who crewed the Black Fleet were veterans who recognized her armor from Taris, from Odecer Faustin and so many fronts of the Caldera crisis.Equally important, they knew to behave for their Matriarch.
She stood at the end of the columns, fang-flanked visor watching the arriving transport, mechanical hands resting on her hips.
Aloy had lost another arm since they last spoke.
Still she stood proudly, chin up, donning a loose kimono of red adesote over her armor, and a matching scarf which jingled with the sound of plundered sith coins tied into the tassels.
Behind her hung the banners of both House Vizsla and the Black Hand, suspended from the ceiling of a large opening in which sat monorail-train, prepared to take them deeper into the star fortress where they might discuss matters in private.
"Jenn Kryze." she hummed as though savoring a nostalgic taste "Su cuy'gar. It's been too long."