[ When the Omen first crashed on Kesh, our forefathers…
She stared at the vast expanse of metal, hands clenched, anger and frustration and bitter homesickness roiling within her. The Lost Tribe had been marooned for five thousand years by the crash of the battleship Omen, cut off from the rest of the galaxy. As a child, Vestara had dreamed of becoming a Sith apprentice and being allowed to explore the hidden wreckage of the beloved Omen… but then Ship had come for them, for her, chasing inferences from the records of the Great Hyperspace War to end their comfortable exile. And Vestara, who had spent so many years pining for the chance to see a dead ship, had left Kesh for a mission on a far-away world, earned the enmity of her own people, and been unable to return…
Now here she was, back at a childhood dream, hating everything about it.
Vestara’s expression of these contradictory emotions wasn’t particularly dramatic, but it was still noticeable -- fists clenched and lips set thin, but her brown eyes wide even as her brows furrowed as she stared over the hulking corpse of the ship.
Maybe this wouldn’t be like the Omen. Maybe it could be made spaceworthy, or at least send out a distress signal. But even the thought of a second exile made her blood run cold. ]
two: hallways + chair room
[ On her second venture into the ship, she moved at a brisk jog through the hallways, one hand holding a make-shift bludgeon and the other running along the walls, trying to get a sense for the make and model of the ship. During the Sith fleet buildup, on Sinkhole station, and even just travelling, she’d seen ships of all makes and models, brand new and decades old – but she’d never seen this design. She’d passed what looked like a hydroponics factility and a medbay, but what she was looking for was…
There. Near the bottom of the ship was a room filled with screens or chairs. It still didn’t look like any ship she’d been on, but with that many screens, it had to be the bridge or a comm station. Either one would be useful. Either one had a chance of getting them off this ball of sand.
She raised a hand, running her fingers gently over one of the panels of buttons, not actually pressing anything yet, but her eyes wide and thoughtful, her lips pressed together as she considered her next moved… ]
Completely open!
[ When the Omen first crashed on Kesh, our forefathers…
She stared at the vast expanse of metal, hands clenched, anger and frustration and bitter homesickness roiling within her. The Lost Tribe had been marooned for five thousand years by the crash of the battleship Omen, cut off from the rest of the galaxy. As a child, Vestara had dreamed of becoming a Sith apprentice and being allowed to explore the hidden wreckage of the beloved Omen… but then Ship had come for them, for her, chasing inferences from the records of the Great Hyperspace War to end their comfortable exile. And Vestara, who had spent so many years pining for the chance to see a dead ship, had left Kesh for a mission on a far-away world, earned the enmity of her own people, and been unable to return…
Now here she was, back at a childhood dream, hating everything about it.
Vestara’s expression of these contradictory emotions wasn’t particularly dramatic, but it was still noticeable -- fists clenched and lips set thin, but her brown eyes wide even as her brows furrowed as she stared over the hulking corpse of the ship.
Maybe this wouldn’t be like the Omen. Maybe it could be made spaceworthy, or at least send out a distress signal. But even the thought of a second exile made her blood run cold. ]
two: hallways + chair room
[ On her second venture into the ship, she moved at a brisk jog through the hallways, one hand holding a make-shift bludgeon and the other running along the walls, trying to get a sense for the make and model of the ship. During the Sith fleet buildup, on Sinkhole station, and even just travelling, she’d seen ships of all makes and models, brand new and decades old – but she’d never seen this design. She’d passed what looked like a hydroponics factility and a medbay, but what she was looking for was…
There. Near the bottom of the ship was a room filled with screens or chairs. It still didn’t look like any ship she’d been on, but with that many screens, it had to be the bridge or a comm station. Either one would be useful. Either one had a chance of getting them off this ball of sand.
She raised a hand, running her fingers gently over one of the panels of buttons, not actually pressing anything yet, but her eyes wide and thoughtful, her lips pressed together as she considered her next moved… ]