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Current Legacy Lineup: Adinyah, Vikke, Corsival, Strikes, Ophanim.
Everyone looks the way I want ‘em, except Click/Strikes who’s got some weird columi/orange mix thing going on. Hope they give us a farmable set with transferable set bonuses in 1.4, or a way to move the columi ones, because not having the armor I like makes me not want to play the character. XD
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Found a new open source art program today with great brush options— much smoother to color with than the GIMP. Put some work down on a couple different projects today, but I’ll just leave a cropped bit of this one here. Part of the first panel of ‘m next legacy story a.k.a. how Vikke got her scars.
This one’s … 15 panels long maybe? Gonna take me a while before I start posting it. I still have two and a half guild art rewards to do after all, plus assorted other fanart ideas.
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Also, here’s the end of the ironfist emote and me obsessing over my smuggler in general. Finished chapter one up on her on the PTS, hoping to get a neat title from it.
Damn, but I have missed playing her.
edit: Apparently you only get the title from a character rolled on the PTS. Hm. Maybe time to make an inquisitor or BH since I don’t plan to roll one on live anytime soon…
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Your name is Vikke Lambda and this is the first time you’ve visited the Fury without an invitation from its owner. The crew tell you where to land and open the door for you, and then they get the fuck out of the way. There’s an exceedingly dangerous pile of red and black in the darkest corner of the master bedroom and apparently only you are qualified to get her out. You (republic scum), are here to play the hero. Again.
“You can’t miss what you’ve never had.” Adinah tells you, without even lifting her head. It is the completely random babbling of someone who’s spent too much time in their own head and forgotten other people aren’t caught up on the monologue. Except, maybe you know this one yourself, a little bit. Or you can guess.
“Pssh, pull the other one, it’s got bells on. You can’t miss what you don’t know exists, but you’re a smart sith, ain’tchya? All out in the world and seeing people cooperating— trusting each other. You can imagine.”
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YAY A HOOD!
(If only it was black.)
Also, Corsival hit light 1 and her sister is not pleased about this. Should really write more of Lambda Legacy act 1…
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“On your knees, against the edge, hands behind your head.” Adinah rolls off the commands and the agent just obeys; things come so easily this side of the galaxy. And one more command: “Vikke,” that mostly went unsaid. The smuggler unholstered her gun as smoothly as the imperial sunk to his knees and she pulls back the safety, gets into position. Negotiations of the official variety, now in progress, etcetera, etcetera.
She watches Adinah’s face as the sith asks the questions, and she watches the agent’s smile. He’s not afraid or he’s afraid in all the right ways; maybe there’ll still be time for a dance or two when all of this is done.
“I live to serve.” It’s fun, hearing those words come out of a pureblood’s mouth. He’s even got all the little face tentacles and everything, except what matters of course; the force. Adinah is the only real sith here, and isn’t she just reveling in it? Vikke pulls the safety back again and again, a little clicking rhythm so nobody forgets she’s there. Maybe she’ll get to ask some questions too.
Maybe they won’t go back inside, to the party. They’ve got their own party right here. And so exclusive—
[yes I realize that it is not actually tomorrow yet, I just want to be done with this.]
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“He’s dangerous,” the old man said, “but enthusiastic.” He was talking about the fellow to his left, another of the purebloods, but all dressed up like an imperial officer. Weird to see a sith without shoulderpads. “A gift for you.”
“In who’s name do you deliver this insult?” And wow, that was not something Vikke expected to set Adinah off, but there she went. The old man looked pretty calm in the face of a five seconds to lightsabers moment though.
“He’s slave stock. No insult intended to you or your lineage. As you know, the Dark Council has taken control of Intelligence and has ordered us to put our best agents into the hands of the Sith participating in the war on Correlia. And so…” The man made a series of expressive hand gestures, and Adinah nodded. Agent ‘Slave Stock’ showed no expression, but considering a little groveling would be appropriate here, Vikke figured the whole ‘no insult intended’ thing hadn’t been extended to him. He did bow when Adinah gestured for him to follow her though.
“The Empire provides, eh?” Vikke nudged Adinah, grinning. The agent had a kolto pack equipped, and although his imperial-spec mix was of course, inferior to her own, it was better than nothing. Correlia was going to be rough.
“We’ll see.” Adinah didn’t trust anyone these days; it almost felt like smuggling. “Let’s go somewhere more private, first.”
“Now you’re speaking my language!” Vikke stretched her arms out, crossing her hands behind her head in the most fake of all relaxed poses known to the galaxy. And behind the two of them followed the agent, this force-insensitive sith, the gift with who knows what strings attached. It was his fate they were here to determine tonight. It was going to be fun.
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“Wear red.” Adinah said. Not a lot of advice to go on for a girl’s first party on Dromund Kass, so the smuggler decided to take it to the extreme. Why not?
Vikke pulled as much red as she could out of her wardrobe, and then hit the fashion quarter on Corsucant, looking for more of that one shade that screamed ‘sith’. She was looking in the wrong place of course, but she couldn’t get her own ship into imperial territory anymore and Adi probably wouldn’t react well to being called out on a shopping trip. Apparently there were people to stab if you wanted a double invite to the hottest thing in Kaas City. (There were always people to stab.)
The final outfit seemed to be a hit though. The sith lord and the smuggler were fashionably late.
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Next four days get one 1/4th of an illustrated headcanon each: Wear Red, the story of my agent Ophanim meeting a lot of people he doesn’t particularly like. Or, if you prefer, the story of my smuggler, Vikke getting Adinah to take her to a nice party. Or the story of Adinah the Sith Warrior getting a new minion on her way to Correlia.
Call it the Lambda Legacy, Episode III.
Yes, I’m telling it backwards in fine Star Wars fashion. But episode I is so long, you can hardly blame me… gotta write, gotta draw, gotta actually play the game~
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Celebratory FUCK YOU artblock WIP.
I just gotta remember, I am not an art student, I am not being paid, I can have crappy compositions if I want to. MEANINGLESS SWIRLS EVERYWHERE.
(The panel before this one is even worse, but fuck it. Almost 4/4 now and then I can post the actual legacyfic and then maybe it will stop trying to eat my brain.)
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Vikke’s third spacesuit is a suit in only the loosest definition of the word. Armor plating everywhere; even the joints are durasteel polygons, sad excuses for moving parts. Powerful magnets hold her to the underside of the Star Destroyer; if she wants to get anywhere fast, she’ll be needing the jet pack. Oh and lasers, did she mention this thing has lasers? They were a recent upgrade.
Vikke’s had the battlesuit since some ‘friends’ left it on the outside of her freighter; the previous owners hadn’t enjoyed an EMP cannon response to their requests to board. It had made a pretty trophy and occasionaly served to impress clients who didn’t quite understand what could be achieved with a simple blaster and a stealth belt, but she’d never actually worn it… until now.
She finishes cutting a hole in the ship’s shielding; position, shape, and size all carefully predetermined to allow access to one of the ventilation shafts without setting off alarms. This is the best kind of inside job, the perfectly planned fiasco. About twenty different kinds of infliltration droids wait in a line behind her; half of them are programmed to explode randomly over the course of the next three days. She urges them into the hole, one after another. Her suit leaves black footprints across the imperial ship’s shining exterior. She already has five different ideas for entertaining ways to dispose of the suit while leaving the feet intact to be IDed.
“Time to get paranoid, Admiral,” Vikke hums to herself as she jets off, “There’s a war going on and you’ve been paying far too much attention to all the right things.”
Truth is, there’s a dozen safer ways she could have done this, but none of them would have been half as fun. The mecha-armor was inspirational; it deserved to be a key ingredient in the plans. She will miss it hanging on her wall, but she’s been promised recorded footage of certain imperial agents going compeletely batshit in the aftermath of all this and that’ll be inspirational too.
Ninty more minutes in space before she reaches the asteroid she’s cold-parked the XS Freighter on and nothing to do but think. Vikke’s warm all over with the feedback from the lasers and the jetpack, and although she could be spotted at any moment, although some space rock could come along and spoil her day, although a million different things could go wrong and she has time to think of all of them, she’s not afraid. Far from it.
Space is her home. That’s the long story and the short story too. No matter how empty, no matter how hostile, no matter how risky— it’s home.
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