Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
8th of Foundation, YD 285
Kira's Foundry, Kontina
Kontina is never cold, the accumulated heat of bodies and cookfires and the exahaust complex always keeping it just shy of uncomfortable, but the red mist of the Shaydensea is thick and heavy. It pools around ankles and drifts off walkways, gathering in the lowest points of the city - nevermind some of those are higher than others, to the untrained eye.
Kira's Foundry is halfway between the Kingsport and the arena, a vast complex with smoke and steam leaking from various vents, the sound of machinery almost defeaning from on the street. Inside, heavy and possibly magical sound dampening make it bearable.
Most of you were made to wait in a comfortable antechamber long enough to get bored, though Seska has been kept in Kira's 'audience' chamber at her side. She does make a useful intimidation tool, even silently looming at Kira's back. You feel like you'll never get the smells of gun oil and incense out of your nose.
When you're finally allowed in to see the captain, she's not in her ludicrous golden throne at the head of the room. Instead, you see her in profile, facing the right wall, bent over a workbench strewn with mechanical parts, tool, and less identifiable objects in jars or sealed containers. She doesn't look up from her work, one of her eyes protruding telescopically from the socket to more closely examine the receiver she's assembling. She's dressed in gold satin breeches and blouse, with a heavy apron studded with jewels over it all. A pair of mechanical arms curl from her spine to hold the device while her slim-fingered hands carefully place parts and screw bolts in place.
"Welcome then," she says, cheerful, with only a brief glance. "I hear you need a ship, and I'm open to assisting... for a price. Even called you up a nav, I did, and won't even charge extra."
She winks at Ivara with the silver eye still in her skull, and bends back to her work, carefully choosing a barrel which looks identical to the seven others laid in a row on the bench.
"Whatever happened to ol' Smokebeard? Orohomi is apt to be richly pissed if he's gone and died without paying her back."
Kira's Foundry, Kontina
Kontina is never cold, the accumulated heat of bodies and cookfires and the exahaust complex always keeping it just shy of uncomfortable, but the red mist of the Shaydensea is thick and heavy. It pools around ankles and drifts off walkways, gathering in the lowest points of the city - nevermind some of those are higher than others, to the untrained eye.
Kira's Foundry is halfway between the Kingsport and the arena, a vast complex with smoke and steam leaking from various vents, the sound of machinery almost defeaning from on the street. Inside, heavy and possibly magical sound dampening make it bearable.
Most of you were made to wait in a comfortable antechamber long enough to get bored, though Seska has been kept in Kira's 'audience' chamber at her side. She does make a useful intimidation tool, even silently looming at Kira's back. You feel like you'll never get the smells of gun oil and incense out of your nose.
When you're finally allowed in to see the captain, she's not in her ludicrous golden throne at the head of the room. Instead, you see her in profile, facing the right wall, bent over a workbench strewn with mechanical parts, tool, and less identifiable objects in jars or sealed containers. She doesn't look up from her work, one of her eyes protruding telescopically from the socket to more closely examine the receiver she's assembling. She's dressed in gold satin breeches and blouse, with a heavy apron studded with jewels over it all. A pair of mechanical arms curl from her spine to hold the device while her slim-fingered hands carefully place parts and screw bolts in place.
"Welcome then," she says, cheerful, with only a brief glance. "I hear you need a ship, and I'm open to assisting... for a price. Even called you up a nav, I did, and won't even charge extra."
She winks at Ivara with the silver eye still in her skull, and bends back to her work, carefully choosing a barrel which looks identical to the seven others laid in a row on the bench.
"Whatever happened to ol' Smokebeard? Orohomi is apt to be richly pissed if he's gone and died without paying her back."