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Creaking hollows, bending and warped beams reaching up to the rafters into shadow, with stillness yet purpose of the Imperial Knights; here lay the technological caves of honed skill and practiced diligence towards physical peak and dedication. Resembling a hanger that once was, though now emptied out almost completely, the open ship welcomed the echos of shuffling footsteps and grunting struggles in attempts at sparring and otherwise passersby.
From within a curved melting of sloped gray, an Imperial Knight stood - leaning back only slightly against a metal beam bolted to the wall in shadowed seclusion, contemplating the days. It was here that Knight Zsaekriel Dtoahfre'Vuun drifted in thought, feeling a breeze against his face (fabricated through the ship's partially active systems or perhaps in resemblance to the fading between body and spirit through the Force) as he harassed himself over inactivity while the Sith scheme away in free existence living totally unaccountable for their crimes.
Three of the four flaps, stretching down to the floor, from his strapped tight black coat barely flapped in simulation to the mysterious spray of wind; the tails wavering as if the very shadow of wall moved itself. Noticing the flaps of clothing, they reach back up to the many straps and belts crossed over themselves along the Keshiri's body. A twinkle of light reflects for but a moment to reveal a large sword hanging from the side of his hip, though less conspicuous was the silver lightsaber hilt diagonally sunk into one of his belts just behind the mighty sword's handle. Silver and pale designs embellish contrast to the deep midnight articles covering Zsaekriel's body, but for a dollop of red material spouting from the center of his chest. Yet the most intense feature glare from those fierce yellow eyes, glowing ablaze; brilliantly vivid, those eyes stare at nothingness like the promises of his heart so out of reach yet close to the soul he could scream and it would shatter like fragile glass before his duty...
From within a curved melting of sloped gray, an Imperial Knight stood - leaning back only slightly against a metal beam bolted to the wall in shadowed seclusion, contemplating the days. It was here that Knight Zsaekriel Dtoahfre'Vuun drifted in thought, feeling a breeze against his face (fabricated through the ship's partially active systems or perhaps in resemblance to the fading between body and spirit through the Force) as he harassed himself over inactivity while the Sith scheme away in free existence living totally unaccountable for their crimes.
Three of the four flaps, stretching down to the floor, from his strapped tight black coat barely flapped in simulation to the mysterious spray of wind; the tails wavering as if the very shadow of wall moved itself. Noticing the flaps of clothing, they reach back up to the many straps and belts crossed over themselves along the Keshiri's body. A twinkle of light reflects for but a moment to reveal a large sword hanging from the side of his hip, though less conspicuous was the silver lightsaber hilt diagonally sunk into one of his belts just behind the mighty sword's handle. Silver and pale designs embellish contrast to the deep midnight articles covering Zsaekriel's body, but for a dollop of red material spouting from the center of his chest. Yet the most intense feature glare from those fierce yellow eyes, glowing ablaze; brilliantly vivid, those eyes stare at nothingness like the promises of his heart so out of reach yet close to the soul he could scream and it would shatter like fragile glass before his duty...