Snippet #2476315

As she turned to walk away, Vorsa leaned in closer to Bastille. "If these rebels don't turn out to be who they say they are, I hope you're prepared to face the repercussions, Klaven." With that, the vresk rose from his seat, along with the rest of the council, and left the chamber. Bastille remained, sitting in his chair, contemplating, holding his head in his hand.

'Aeons help me,' he thought gravely.

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Outside the chamber, the devilishly handsome Master Lancer of the Dragoons approached the Misranan group. "Lady Saree, I presume. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Master Lancer Alexander Steele. I'll be leading the fleet in the campaign against your planet's oppressors."

The Dragoon took a bow, placing his right arm across his chest and craning deeply. He stood back up, looking to the woman and her party. "I'm here to inform you that we will be making our course to your planet soon. We'll be taking a route through the Manasphere, and should arrive at Misrana's doorstep in no time at all," he stated plainly with a smile.