"Some mission," agrees Fox's rescuer with a deep sigh.
He twists away from the flames where he can and walks straight through where he can't -- thankfully his combat robes from home are formulated for just this sort of situation -- and strides over to catch up with Fox again, trying to keep an eye on the situation around them. A couple of cloaked figures rush past them that must be some of Karsa's rebels considering how they pay Arche no mind, though he can't quite tell where they're going or what they're up to; he can still hear fighting not too far away from here, the moans of the undead, pounding and scratching against the hull beneath their feet. Honestly, at this rate, he might not need to blow any holes in the thing; the creatures outside are doing half the work for him.
(Not that he's going to let that stop him, of course, because one can't just cut out all the fun.)
"There's something. Faint, but there," he judges, striding forward to yank the door open. "But then this whole damned ship feels vaguely wrong." It's been making his teeth itch in a way that he can't quite decide whether it has anything to do with the Dark Side or not--
And then they're looking at a long, quiet, empty room. Considering the absolute chaos on the rest of the ship, to step in here and find himself confronted with such a sudden calm is the most unsettling thing that's happened tonight so far. Clearly whatever was in here, whether more slaves or material cargo, has been largely cleared out; here and there he sees scattered box lids and oilcloth, left-behind rope, other odds and ends.
And at the very far end of the hall, that mirror, huge and shattered and dark.
Something about this room and its remaining contents put him in mind of a few of the ancient Sith tombs he's stepped into. It's not a good feeling.
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He twists away from the flames where he can and walks straight through where he can't -- thankfully his combat robes from home are formulated for just this sort of situation -- and strides over to catch up with Fox again, trying to keep an eye on the situation around them. A couple of cloaked figures rush past them that must be some of Karsa's rebels considering how they pay Arche no mind, though he can't quite tell where they're going or what they're up to; he can still hear fighting not too far away from here, the moans of the undead, pounding and scratching against the hull beneath their feet. Honestly, at this rate, he might not need to blow any holes in the thing; the creatures outside are doing half the work for him.
(Not that he's going to let that stop him, of course, because one can't just cut out all the fun.)
"There's something. Faint, but there," he judges, striding forward to yank the door open. "But then this whole damned ship feels vaguely wrong." It's been making his teeth itch in a way that he can't quite decide whether it has anything to do with the Dark Side or not--
And then they're looking at a long, quiet, empty room. Considering the absolute chaos on the rest of the ship, to step in here and find himself confronted with such a sudden calm is the most unsettling thing that's happened tonight so far. Clearly whatever was in here, whether more slaves or material cargo, has been largely cleared out; here and there he sees scattered box lids and oilcloth, left-behind rope, other odds and ends.
And at the very far end of the hall, that mirror, huge and shattered and dark.
Something about this room and its remaining contents put him in mind of a few of the ancient Sith tombs he's stepped into. It's not a good feeling.