arrival Vax had to admit that this was...a much stranger place than he'd really expected. After extracting the requisite promises that his family wouldn't miss him, and that Vex might be offered the same opportunity to come with him, Vax had agreed, not fully grasping all the implications of space. After all, on his planet, there was absolutely plenty to worry about on the ground and in the air. He'd conceptualized this as another plane of existence, not unlike Elysium or the Feywild, but it was...clearly more than that.
He wandered the station with his bag slung over his shoulder, armor safely removed and stowed inside it -- it had been obvious from first waking up that it was going to make him stand out unnecessarily, and that wasn't what he wanted for this activity. No, much better to be in some kind of generic dark blue jumpsuit, hair in a low ponytail to give some camouflage to his pointed ears, looking like any other new arrival as he lifted unguarded items from pockets, bags, and surfaces. If something he stole turned out to belong to someone like him, he might give it back. Maybe.
mission Vax smelled a fucking rat, but recent experiences had given him a modicum of caution, so for now, he was guarding the mines as instructed, wearing fairly elaborate black armor, a few daggers sheathed on his hip. His function seemed pretty much to be walking alongside miners as they went from their village to the mine. Nothing so far had happened, so it seemed his presence was enough of a deterrent to prevent the need for outright conflict. Probably the armor was doing some work for him in that job -- if he were some random freedom fighter with little other than a sharp knife, he probably wouldn't attack him either.
"What d'you think about all this?" he asked his partner, whoever they may be, as they walked away from the mine, having dropped off their latest charges. (Psst. That's you.) "Are we guarding slavers?"
network -- @v this thing is weird but i think im figuring it out
Vax'ildan | Critical Role
Vax had to admit that this was...a much stranger place than he'd really expected. After extracting the requisite promises that his family wouldn't miss him, and that Vex might be offered the same opportunity to come with him, Vax had agreed, not fully grasping all the implications of space. After all, on his planet, there was absolutely plenty to worry about on the ground and in the air. He'd conceptualized this as another plane of existence, not unlike Elysium or the Feywild, but it was...clearly more than that.
He wandered the station with his bag slung over his shoulder, armor safely removed and stowed inside it -- it had been obvious from first waking up that it was going to make him stand out unnecessarily, and that wasn't what he wanted for this activity. No, much better to be in some kind of generic dark blue jumpsuit, hair in a low ponytail to give some camouflage to his pointed ears, looking like any other new arrival as he lifted unguarded items from pockets, bags, and surfaces. If something he stole turned out to belong to someone like him, he might give it back. Maybe.
mission
Vax smelled a fucking rat, but recent experiences had given him a modicum of caution, so for now, he was guarding the mines as instructed, wearing fairly elaborate black armor, a few daggers sheathed on his hip. His function seemed pretty much to be walking alongside miners as they went from their village to the mine. Nothing so far had happened, so it seemed his presence was enough of a deterrent to prevent the need for outright conflict. Probably the armor was doing some work for him in that job -- if he were some random freedom fighter with little other than a sharp knife, he probably wouldn't attack him either.
"What d'you think about all this?" he asked his partner, whoever they may be, as they walked away from the mine, having dropped off their latest charges. (Psst. That's you.) "Are we guarding slavers?"
network -- @v
this thing is weird but i think im figuring it out
but does any1 have tips to get good at typing
this taks me a lot longer than writing