Faction When Dark Minds Gather - [The Dark Court]

[The Lost]

"CHIT!"

Calm, cool, collected. None of that described the Lost. She cried out, even as she was tugged to safety, even as she watched the rock slam into the ground beside her. She wasn't a hardened Sith, she was a street rat who'd spent her whole life trying to avoid all of this from happening to her. And now she was trapped into it. Face to face with a rock throwing, lightsaber or whatever they called a lightsaber that couldn't keep it's shape wielding, as crazy looking as they were attractive, Sith.

She trembled. Tightened her grip on the dagger as she listened to Iskera as if sure they weren't to be killed just because the rocks didn't land on them properly and were in fact able to talk. Wait to strike? Seemed more likely she was going to run if things went worse, but she followed regardless. She was dead if she ran anyway.

".. I don't think I studied enough for this test." It was a bitter muttering from behind, very much behind, Iskera.

Iskera Valest | Viscountess Pandora

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

In a way that would not be possible for most other living things, A'Mia stilled completely upon taking her seat and the initial sweep of her eyes. She had no need to respirate in the way near humans did, nor subtle expressions animate her body or face as she listened to those gathered sharing their piece.

Making silent note of Darth Anathemous ’ entrance, of her place at the table, then her subtle acknowledgement of A'Mia's young ward, the neti determined she ought to find out more about the heavily armored woman. Still, the Lord Seer of Korriban remained statuesque even as Her and Darth Virelia carried on.

Lysander von Ascania though, with their connection in the Weave, could sense the woman's immense curiosity as his home world was discussed— could even discern the way she seemed to examine his internal emotional responses and measured that against his external poise.

“My concern is not the preservation of a people who would not preserve themselves. My concern is the shaping of conditions in which our designs ..here and beyond ..can take root without interference. If that means lending aid to the Court, so be it. If it means removing a Jedi before she can wield her influence and summon others into their pacifist orbit, it will be done." A pause. “The blade cuts where it must.”

Even as the nobleman continued, he would sense something rare indeed blooming along the lines of energy that connected the neti's mind to his: Pride.

A'Mia was rarely the kind to offer words of encouragement in the classroom or field wherein she was instructing and cultivating the next generations of Sith. It was rarer still for her to actually experience emotion inspired by the actions of another. Though she still hadn't moved a millimeter, Lysander would feel the psychic equivalent of a nod and pat on the shoulder.

Another soon caught her attention and finally those large blue-green pools of perception shifted to take in the sight of Delsin Shaw , and what a sight it was. His words were critical to take in of course, but A'Mia found herself rather distracted by his alchemical composition. Though his physical form appeared to normal eyes as something rather mundane, if handsome by most standards, but to her eyes the man seemed to warp the very Weave where he sat. It would not do to allow herself to be become distracted by yet another anomalous entity… so she reigned in curiosity for a better time.

"Do not forget, to have power in the shadows, you require power to be hidden first. We, the court, have neither."

It was as if a spell was broken when the word "shadow" was uttered and A'Mia moved like a living creature once more. At the conclusion of Delsin's words, the neti rose to stand— making her intention to address those gathered clear.

"As my associate said so eloquently, it is sometimes the helping hand which holds the knife."

Her tone was bright and feminine, a shock perhaps when the words came out so singsong, particularly to those who'd never met her and had only seen her looking cold and emotionless.

"But a knife can also be a spade, and as this gentleman so aptly put— the season you find yourselves in seems best suited for growing, becoming stronger. Not overextending. Lysander and I know firsthand what that takes. Brosi was all but razed, by our own hand mind you, but even with the might and resource of the Order, even with a plan... that effort had to be a concerted one."

A'Mia turned to address their host directly then, unclasping her hands and reaching into the folds of her robes to pull forth an opaque cylindrical object. It looked rather like a large, sealed test tube. Delicately, she placed it on the table before her to balance on its end while one long, slender finger held it in place for all to examine from afar.

"Brosi was once a mere mining planet. Previous regimes and denizens having stripped away most of its natural wonders in favor of single-minded pursuit of that which was nestled in the soil. We have since turned it into a balanced ecosystem rich with opportunities above and below the ground. I see the same kind of opportunities present here on Malachor. But ruins will remain ruins if you do not tend to them as you would a garden."

A'Mia let the tube lie flat on the table then, and rolled it to their host with a delicate nudge. The container made a rather pleasant noise as it made its way to her.

"My counsel, Darth Virelia? Take stock of your resources, make a plan, and gather information about the dealings of your enemies from afar. That sample—" she tipped her chin at the object, "Have your scientists examine it, or do so yourself if you're so inclined. You'll find it contains premium biomolecules, cultivated on Brosi, perfect for getting you started as you build up infrastructure. That is just one example of resource that Spore Industries could provide."

The woman re-took her seat then, content to pass the floor to whomever might respond next.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Dark Becomings." - OBJ 2: Darth Anathemous , Delsin Shaw , Lysander von Ascania , Vakhari Lutris , Madrona A’Mia , Adean Castor , Malyssa moddol Her

Virelia did not interrupt as the voices of her Court folded into one another. She let them rise, clash, soften, and settle. It was always telling — not the words themselves, but how they were delivered, the pauses chosen, the pride or reluctance laced through them. A master of silence never needed to read minds; she only needed to listen.

When at last the chamber grew still, she remained standing at the head of the obsidian table, mask bathed in the violet torchlight. Her claws trailed the stone once, a whispering rasp that seemed to punctuate the weight of the council's exchange.

She began with recognition, not dismissal. "You have spoken well." It was not flattery but a deliberate gift, a currency spent only when deserved. Her head turned fractionally toward Lysander. "You remind us that loyalty to a corpse-world is folly. Better to weigh what levers it provides than to bleed sentiment for its soil. The Court thrives not on what is lost, but on what can be leveraged."

Her mask inclined toward Delsin. "And you, that caution is not weakness, but clarity. A blade swung too soon cuts the hand that wields it. The Court is no one's personal tool — not mine, not yours, but a design greater than any one of us. To wield the shadows, we must first gather them. To strike, we must first sharpen."

Her voice carried onward, smooth as silk drawn across skin. "Malyssa, you echo the wisdom of restraint. What gain is there in provoking a republic bloated with resources, when they do not yet see us? A war they do not know exists is the sweetest war of all."

Her gaze lingered on A'Mia, steady, deliberate. "And you bring more than words — proof of resource, of foresight. Brosi shows us what ruin may become when tended like a garden. Malachor too must be reshaped, not left to fester as a wound. You remind us that war builds nothing if it is not paired with cultivation." Her hand reached toward the vial that had rolled to her, lifting it delicately between clawed fingers. Torchlight caught the glass and painted it crimson. "This gift is not just material, but symbolic. A seed, planted with intention. I accept."

Only then did she speak of Her, the ghost veiled against the wall. Her tone did not cut, nor did it soothe. It assessed. "You bring us the theatre of the Mid Rim — Naboo, Ukatis, the High Republic's fractured politics. Whether we choose to intervene or not, your insight reminds us that the galaxy beyond Malachor still turns. That, too, is valuable. Whether it will serve the Court, time will reveal."

The Dark Lady set the vial down upon the table with a quiet click.

"So. What emerges from this council is not indecision, but clarity. Malachor is our forge. Brosi is our proof. The High Republic may tempt us with its intrigues, but it is not yet the battlefield for our blade. Let others bleed themselves dry in pageantry and elections. We will watch, we will listen, and when the time comes, we will already have grown too strong to ignore."

Her six eyes gleamed violet in the shadows, sweeping over them all. "This council has given me more than counsel. It has given me trust — the kind forged not in obedience, but in ambition tempered by pragmatism. That is what makes the Court worthy of survival."

Her claws tapped once more against the table, a soft, deliberate sound that cut through the storm outside.

"Now, speaking of Brosi. What is our position on how we can leverage the defeat of The Imperial Coalition? I believe a lame horse like such could feed us greatly..."

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Virelia | Darth Anathemous | Madrona A’Mia | Lysander von Ascania | Her | Delsin Shaw | Vakhari Lutris | Malyssa moddol

Adean leaned back in her seat, meticulously manicured fingers gliding over a datapad as she took notes on the information presented. The datapad's visibility settings were painstakingly set, coupled with a privacy screen protector to make it incredibly inconvenient for the wandering eye to catch the contents. This set up had become a default in the last couple months. The mix of shorthand notations and direct quotes would give her plenty to review later. And pass on, if the need suited her.

With the sheer amount of familiar or semi-familiar faces, she had to wonder just how many were here in secret. Who all could she use this meeting as leverage against, should the need arise? Emerald eyes hidden behind blue contacts made for a deep teal that scanned each face as they spoke with trained neutrality. A mask that held worlds underneath it.

Before she saw fit to speak on the High Republic, it seemed enough had already been said. Perfectly fine to her, she hadn't had the chance to get any hooks into them, yet. Yet was always the key word.

When conversation shifted to the Imperial Coalition, she hummed in faux consideration, as if the pretend arrogance would generate real time confidence. "Could benefit us, certainly, but could also be dead weight. I say we trim the fat before we consider assimilation. Not all of it, of course. No need to snuff out a perfectly good pawn. But enough to keep them hungry." Her eyes were only for Virelia when she spoke, part of her curious if her current identity just that here. If the proverbial dots would remain unconnected.

 

[Viscountess Pandora]

Obj-1 Trial Of Ash
Equipment- Red Lightwhip ,Cortosis Vibroblade
Tags - Valaine Valentine The Lost Iskera Valest Kito
Tags (Non Focus) Qyssiyana Darth Virelia Tamsin Starfall Marcus Dinn

"Pandora...! I ripped up one of your dresses! I've got another one hostage right here and I'm gonna shred that one too!"

That made Pandora whip her head around at the sound of Valaine's voice. Rage and anger surged through her circuits. Her precious wardrobe should never be touched without her explicit permission. But then logic kicked in. She had just saw Valaine. She didn't have a dress on her. Was this lie a vain attempt in trying to distract her? But from what? Pandora's head turned infront of her, upon seeing that the rocks didn't fall ontop of the other group. Rather they had dodged them. Pandora needed to deal with them first. Otherwise she was going to be sandwiched in.

"Valaine if you really had one of my dresses, I would have known. You actually would have a bodily figure someone would take interest in. Unfortunately, you still are wearing the dull garbs and rocking that terriblee bed head, you call a hairstyle." Pandora shouted back. Hopefully that will be enough to make Valaine stop and cry. Considering Pandora noticed one of the turrets are offline, time was of the essence.

So she lunged at Iskera Valest and The Lost , swinging her lightwhip to create space for herself, rather than striking at either of them. Then she began to force choke Iskera while looking at the other. "You both will submit to me, or I can snap her neck and then dismember you. And I really dont want to do the latter. Its such messy work. Much easier for you both to know your place beneath me."

 

[Iskera Valest]

The invisible grip coiled around her throat with a suddenness that would have made most claw and flail. Iskera did neither. Her hands stayed low, phials at her hip, her chin only tilting slightly as she calculated the pressure, the angle, the intention behind it. The body protested — the rasp, the pulse hammering in her ears — but her mind tracked cause and effect.

"Efficient leverage," she rasped through the respirator, words fractured but steady. "Painful, yes. But not lethal unless you finish it."

Her eyes locked on Pandora's, steel-grey with that faint violet sheen. The clinical calm did not break, though beneath it — deep where no one could see — the sensation stirred something sharper, more dangerous. A taste of surrender twined with fascination. She banked it, stored it, let it steady her focus.

"You seek submission," she continued, forcing each syllable precise, "yet you announce your terms in the open. If we kneel, it is spectacle, not loyalty. That is wasteful."

One hand lifted slowly, not toward the throat but to gesture with careful deliberation. "Better to employ us. We carry skills you lack. My poisons, her blade in shadow. Together, you extend your dominion without spilling needless blood."

Viscountess Pandora , Valaine Valentine , Kito , Qyssiyana , Marcus Dinn , The Lost

 

[The Lost]

What.

The Lost stared in disbelief at Iskera as even they, with their limited use of the Force and understanding, could feel that their throat was being crushed. That this other woman they sought to work with was actually pretty damn strong and likely beyond either of them. And yet Iskera was just.. Talking. Painfully, but calmly talking.

A blue head just numbly nodded along in agreement. Blade in the dark, sure, she could do that. The fear deep in her had faded to absolute numbness as she tried to keep up with the conversation.

"Yeah I can- stab things. Yeah."

Iskera Valest | Viscountess Pandora

 

[Kito]

//: Valaine Valentine //: Viscountess Pandora //:

During the attack, Kito felt the trembling against her. For a moment, she wished she weren't who she was. The culture she'd been raised in, the fire she commanded, the power that made her dangerous — all of it seemed to frighten Valentine. Knowing that cut deep inside her, leaving her heart aching both for herself and for Valentine.

As she pulled away, Kito fought the urge to reach out. She remembered the last time she'd seen Valentine recoil from fire and wanted to comfort her, to assure her it would be alright. But they were in the middle of a fight, locked against this Pandora woman, and there was nothing she could do.

So she let her go, watching as Valentine tried to regain her composure. Kito stood back as her lover shouted toward their opponent. The words caught her off guard — dresses? Kito tilted her head, trying to piece together why she would say that. Did they live together? Share clothes?

Her brow furrowed as she rubbed her chin, sinking into thought even as the fight raged. She made a quiet note to herself about the spire and this strange Dark Court, pacing distractedly behind Valentine.

Snapping back to the present, she caught the tail end of Pandora's retort. It was confusing, but Kito stepped closer to Valentine and offered softly,

"I think your robes are quite nice. And your hair."

She gave a slight nod, as if the compliment alone might soften the venom thrown by Pandora.

Kito started to move forward, but stopped after a few steps. Turning back, she reached for Valentine's wrist and tugged her along.

"Maybe let me lead the way," she said firmly. The last thing Kito needed was to watch the Sangnir stumble into another turret.

---

//: Iskera Valest //: Qyssiyana //: Marcus Dinn //: The Lost //: Darth Virelia //:​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective Two: The Price of Silence
Tags: Madrona A’Mia | Darth Virelia | Delsin Shaw | Her | Malyssa moddol

And so, the chamber still hummed with the voices of many, as though the room were one collective mind. Lysander sat in the midst of it all, patient and stoic, letting the room breathe, letting himself breathe too. One arm continued resting casually on the table, while the other was folded in his lap. On more than one occasion he might have found Darth Virelia's mask, but it wasn't in the way one might challenge someone.

During the silence, he took a moment to consider how he might address her. There seemed to be a Sith Lord in every corner these days, but seldom was there a lady.. a title befitting one who ruled, rather than just barking commands.

A vial rolled across the obsidian table. There was a peculiar kind of elegance in the offering a resource as though it could be the beginning of something grand.

That vial was proof that war could yield more than ash, though the Sith were often guilty of much else. He had seen as much on Woostri.

A pulse of pride was detected through the Weave, not swelling his ego but steadying him, something he hadn't realized he needed.

The teen's verdant stare flicked to A’Mia then, and though his expression did not change, the connection between them pulsed with acknowledgment.

Lysander let that settle before he spoke.

“My Lady,” he began, voice smooth, without strain, “you have given us clarity. The Imperial Coalition is a carcass that may still very well attract scavengers. Aside from feeding off it, we must do so without inheriting the.. rot.”

Across the table his eyes drifted, lingering on each figure in turn before returning.

“One speaks of trimming the fat. I agree, and I would also go further. We do not need the Coalition’s whole carcass; we need the organ that still.. beats. The rest we leave to the hounds. Let them gnaw on the bones.”

His expression bent at the edges, a curve that was anything but warm.

“Another reminds us that shadows must be gathered before they can be wielded. Brosi is proof of that. I have seen what Lady A’Mia has built there.. not just a reclaiming of land, but the cultivation of an asset. This is conquest with deeper roots.”

He leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled.

“You asked us where the blade should be cut. I say it must cut with purpose. And if Malachor is to be a forge, then let it be one that shapes more than weapons. Let it shape trade, and influence.”

A soft exhale followed, measuring his words carefully, then continuing. “Growth is never left unattended. Without walls, pests come from all corners. Without hands, nothing survives.”

He shifted slightly, angling his body so that the whole table could see him.

“Ukatis taught me that sentiment is a luxury. Brosi taught me that patience is that weapon. Perhaps, Malachor will teach me that strength is not in the strike, but the forge.”

His voice became a vibroscalpel, digits tapping once along the table’s edge.

“On Brosi, beneath the surface, our laboratories are nearing completion of a new prototype, an adaptable rifle. Each one is an investment. But it is not only for our hands. It is a tool for others, too.”

The violet flame kissed his angular features, and in the narrowing of his eyes.

“Let the others fight the front lines. Let these scavengers, mercenaries, all of them, bleed for territory we do not yet claim. I will see that they are armed for it. Not with my loyalty, but with my needs. ”

For death.

For a heartbeat, nothing. Then his tone returned.

“Every trigger pulled draws the web closer.”

The blonde was not a soldier; he was a supplier.

A faint curve graced his mouth.

“Let the galaxy burn in its own confusion. I will be the one selling matches.”

 

[Valaine Valentine]

Objective 1: Trial of Ash
Equipment: The Ashblade, Perseverance, Katana Style Lightsaber (Stolen from Kito )
Tags (Focus) - Kito Viscountess Pandora The Lost
Tags (Nearby) - Iskera Valest Darth Virelia

Valaine listened to Pandora's retort, pausing only to glance down at her own attire in consideration; was it really that bad? And then a hand cautiously brushed over her straight dark hair, was it truly messy? She combed it every morning! Truly Pandora's words had shaken her confidence, but that damage was immediately undone when Kito expressed that she liked Valaine's general appearance. She glanced back at her and offered a firm smile and a nod, she had saved her yet again.

As she was tugged along she let Kito lead the two this time, just in case they ran into more of Pandora's turrets. As they ran towards what seemed to be where the main fight was starting the Sangnir chose to allow Kito to intercept and deal with the turrets, it wouldn't be good for her to be near it if she continued using her fire after all. "Kito, I'm gonna engage...!" warned Valaine as she diverged from their path, she had spotted a target that wasn't Pandora and she aimed to cull the herd as it were before it could form anymore alliances.

Her pupils constricted and narrowed as her thermal vision steadily came to life; spotting a heat signature she didn't recognize... The Lost . She didn't know who she was, but she saw what she had. Just a knife? Then it would be easy.

The way Valaine moved in combat was eerie, her lack of armor and heavy equipment made her frustratingly silent in her ambushing approach as she came directly for her target. She was relatively fast, but if she was noticed before she reached her target she would alarmingly display her true innately gifted agility and suddenly double in speed to close the distance.

When she reached The Lost the claws on her right hand would extend out suddenly, long and razor sharp as they aimed to plunge directly forward in a shockingly swift and powerful thrust aiming for the shoulder of whichever hand they held their knife in. Valaine's intent was simple; disarm, take her opponent out without killing them, it was more of a mercy than other's might've granted in the arena after all...

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Dark Becomings."

Tags - Madrona A’Mia , Lysander von Ascania , Adean Castor , Her , Malyssa moddol

The mask turned first toward Adean, the faintest glimmer of amusement in her tone as she spoke.

"Trim the fat," Virelia repeated, slow, indulgent, as though savoring the words on her tongue. "Yes. Hunger sharpens the will. A pawn that starves dances to whatever rhythm we strike, but one that grows fat begins to think itself a king. Let the Imperial Coalition be whittled to the bones that still walk… and then let us take even those."

Her gaze slid to Lysander, violet eyes burning with predatory interest. "And you. You see clearly. The carcass is not ours to consume whole. But the organ that still beats… oh, that we can use. Let the others gnaw. Let the scavengers, mercenaries, and would-be rulers drown in their own blood while you sell them the means to do it. Weapons, influence, whispers — all of these can be forged into chains as surely as blades."

Her claws tapped a languid rhythm on the obsidian table, each sound a deliberate punctuation. "You both have inspired me. Not war with the Coalition. Not yet. Something sweeter. We shall bleed them with their own appetites. Give them false strength, feed their hungers, and when they are too bloated to fight, too hollow to stand, we will take what remains. An empire of ash, ready to be claimed by the only hand still steady."

The torches hissed as if in approval, shadows curling along the chamber walls. Virelia's posture shifted, the elegance of dismissal mingling with the thrill of promise. "The council has spoken. The Spire rises. Our shadows lengthen. That is enough for tonight."

Her tone dropped, licentious now, smooth and commanding. "But you two..." Six violet eyes lingered on both Lysander von Ascania and Madrona A’Mia , unblinking, hungry. "You will remain when the others depart. There are threads I wish to weave with you, threads too fine for the whole Court to touch."

A final pause, letting silence grow thick and electric, until she tilted her mask fractionally and whispered like silk drawn across flesh:

"Go, my Court. Leave your whispers in the ash. The Spire listens still."

 

[Qyssiyana]

Location: Malachor V
Objective: Trial of Ash
Tag: Marcus Dinn

​

Qyssiyana came to a slow, silent halt as her electromagnetic senses screamed a sudden alarm. Her triocular gaze snapped toward a chunk of fallen hull plating, widening with a flicker of recognition that swiftly curdled into dawning horror.

Then, panic.

Qyssiyana moved. She wasn’t fast by any means, but a split-second head-start was afforded to her by her electromagnetically sensitive organs, which had registered the explosive surge of muscle contraction and the electromagnetic shriek of a lightsaber’s ignition a heartbeat before it happened. The plasma blade—wielded by a figure as towering as he was hulking—surged out from behind the debris, lashing out with such terrifying speed that it grazed just over her flank. The cortosis-laced gildenweave of her bodysuit instantly superheated, transferring searing agony to the alabaster flesh beneath, which bloomed into an angry, vicious crimson.

White-hot pain lanced through her nerves. A sharp cry tore out from cyan-hued lips.

The cortosis weave had the potential to momentarily disable the warrior’s weapon. Still, Qyssiyana didn’t waste time. Her triocular gaze lit up by defensive instinct, eyes scintillating in hyperprismatic crystalline magenta hues as the neurophotic lattice within them began to fold and refract light across dimensions unseen. It was a view into a higher-dimensional lattice, a sight meant to overload a three-dimensional mind, to stun with unbearable beauty or unraveling insanity. In doing so, the Elryssia sought to look at her assailant, and thereafter...

In the moment of disorientation that she hoped to create, her left hand moved. Her forearm vibroblade lashed out in a vicious, diagonal left to right slash aimed to open the hulking warrior from shoulder to opposite hip!

Spoiler: Loadout

• Viper Mk. I Skinsuit
  
  • Arms
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II - L
  • Miscellaneous Equipment and Personal Effects
    
    • Bio-Stabilizer Mask
    • Energy Projected Helmet
• Nox M-10 “Wraith”

 

[Marcus Dinn]

For a moment, Marcus tasted victory. His blow had struck true, wounding the other acolyte. But it hadn't been enough. She was injured, but not dead. Far from it.

Skittering back on his heels, Marcus made the mistake of locking gazes with his opponent. She had three blazing eyes, hypnotic and otherworldly. Marcus' lips parted in a wordless scream at the unfathomable sight within those glistening depths.

She swung at him. He leaped back. The tip of her vibroblade slashed his torso from shoulder to opposite hip, tearing his robes and drawing rivulets of red blood from his pale skin. He gasped, the pain briefly snapping him back to reality. But his mind was overwhelmed, all rationality trampled underfoot by panicked instinct as he tried to flee past her.

Qyssiyana​

 

[Qyssiyana]

Location: Malachor V
Objective: Trial of Ash
Tag: Marcus Dinn

​

A sharp gasp left Qyssiyana’s lips after the tip of her vibroblade struck through cloth and flesh, drawing a fine spray of fresh crimson vitae that splattered in several tiny droplets onto her plush, cyan-hued lips and the pale, alabaster skin on her face. However, the wound she had inflicted was frustratingly shallow. The red-haired acolyte remained seemingly intact, already scrambling in a panicked retreat.

Qyssiyana growled, her triocular gaze narrowing with equal parts sharp annoyance and throbbing pain. Acting on instinct, she placed herself between the acolyte and open space, a small-statured barrier of determination interposing itself between the acolyte and his freedom.

It was a desperate gamble—and a potentially hazardous miscalculation. Unfortunately, the reality of their disparity in stature crashed into her a heartbeat too late. Qyssiyana’s eyes widened with bewilderment as a curse slipped out from under her breath. Given the fact that her opponent quite severely dwarfed her in stature, the laws of physics were not nearly in her favor.

Thus, a scream was all that Qyssiyana could manage in the split-second before the likely collision, the sound lost in the thunder of Marcus’ charge!

Spoiler: Loadout

• Viper Mk. I Skinsuit
  
  • Arms
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II - L
  • Miscellaneous Equipment and Personal Effects
    
    • Bio-Stabilizer Mask
    • Energy Projected Helmet
• Nox M-10 “Wraith”

 

[Marcus Dinn]

Marcus foresaw what would happen - but the vision was accompanied by the gut-churning realization that he couldn't prevent the collision. They were technically on a slope, one that only grew steeper the closer he got to her. There was only so much he could slow the momentum of his hulking form in the mere moments before he was due to slam into the smaller woman. As he drew nearer, the last thing Qyssiyana would see before impact would be the look on his face, his expression pulled in a teeth-gritting wince.

Then, he crashed into her. Marcus stumbled, his limbs jumbling with hers, causing him to lose his footing. Whether Qyssiyana managed to disentangle herself from him, there was no stopping Marcus' descent. He rolled over the dunes like a human boulder, picking up speed and kicking up huge clouds of dust as he spun end over end down the slope.

And if that wasn't undignified enough, he screamed all the way down.

Qyssiyana​