This is an invite only RO for members of Naga Sadow. Get in contact with Anima or Inarya for details.
< Location Redacted >
“You know, I intended to come alone.”
Inarya craned her neck to the side, her lekku twitching slightly as she did. Her crimson flesh stood out in stark contrast to the black tattoos that marred her natural tint, making her stand out in the darkness of the shuttle’s passenger compartment. The Aedile’s unintended companion, on the other hand, seemed lost the shadows of his robes. Spots of overly pale skin reflected the starlight in patches glaring out from between the folds of his hood and dark, brown hair. He was turned towards the viewport, tapping against the pane with a taloned finger of his metal arm. Anima let the silence be his answer, though he knew the Twi’lek hadn’t truly asked expecting an answer.
“Fair enough,” Inarya muttered before turning her gaze towards her own viewport, thinking back to her intended purpose here.
It had been rather quick, all in all. The encounter with the Red Fury had brought its share of surprises, including the return of one of the more disturbed Sons of Sadow, Macron. It was this that concerned the Aedile of Shar Dakhan: the welcoming gift to him from her own House that she sought to investigate. No sooner had she made the preparations to follow the shipment — a transport full of detainees from the sunken temple — than the Rollmaster made his sudden appearance. He hadn’t taken her clearly pronounced “no” for an answer, though he always could have pulled rank regardless. He seemed overly anxious to find the same answers that she sought, and that in itself worried her.
Anima didn’t care about much of anything, that was common enough knowledge. Yet, here he was, travelling into the heart of Macron’s madness and machinations. At least, what must have been so at one point, as this was the first Inarya had heard of such a facility.
I’m coming home. Anima’s thoughts were deafening within the confines of his mind, a thousand voices seeking for his attention all at once. How long had it been? How many years? Certainly not as many as he had spent in confinement. Poked and prodded and turned into something not of his own design. Not for the first time, as he found out before the old him disappeared. Atra Ventus had been an experiment since long before his birth, and Anima had no intention of continuing the trend. Is my life not my own?
Freedom. How overrated was that? It was such a simple seeming thing, enjoyed by so many in such little ways. The ability to exercise free will, to make your own choices and live with the consequences. Was such a thing too much to ask? At one time, it had been. Anima’s organic hand drifted absentmindedly from his shoulder downward, crossing across his chest to the other side. He hadn’t given it any thought, but had traced the savage scar that marked him as broken regardless. It was not his only scar, not even close as the tapestry across his neck and face attested… but it was the first.
“My Lords,” the Pilot’s distorted voice spoke over the intercom, “we’re on final approach now.”
Anima’s mismatched gaze, lost behind the shroud of his bangs, narrowed in a rare show of raw emotion.
I’m coming home.