vrepit-sa
vrepit sa!
NO FOE HAS EVER STOOD IN MY WAY AND NONE EVER WILL.
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His grip relented, but only just — still not one he was going to let her run from. Surely she was questioning why he would be bothering her, not the intruding ship. Truth be told, he had less interest in dealing with a petty-officer commander than he did with a simple medic.
“You're from the Empire.” A statement but also a question. He quickly glanced upwards, where the silhouette of the ship had been outlined against the sky a moment prior. Then he looked back at her. “Do you have the means for contact?”
Qessyn may have fled the Empire. But that didn’t mean she had to abandon her skills as a medic.
She’d been offering her services in the settlement, treating injuries and sickness alike, and was on her way back to where she had made a small hideout for herself when she was suddenly grabbed and pulled into an alley…coming face to face with Commander Sendak of the Third Fleet.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Was he here to bring her back? There was no way she could fight him off or outrun him. Ears flattening, she quickly resigned herself, and nodded slowly.
Her birthmark burned, but she tried to ignore it for now.
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@cosmic-gemstone
In so many thousands of phoebs, this was far from the first time Commander Sendak had been separated from the Empire. The times between each 'excursion' became fewer and further in between as the reach of the Galra grew greater over the expanse of the unclaimed universe, but Sendak wouldn't consider himself much of a soldier if he couldn't survive on his own. It didn't mean he enjoyed it — perhaps he'd gotten too used to the resources made available to him. In any case, there was an aggravating itch under his fur that would not rest until his return was finished and his plans afterward were set into motion.
Zarkon could die. Would, most likely. Far be it from him to express any doubt in his Emperor, but he knew between Voltron and Lotor that the likelihood of it coming to pass was higher than it had been in the past ten thousand years. If there was nothing to be done about it, Sendak was at least keen on being there to take advantage of the power vacuum that would undoubtedly follow. If he could be there at the start, the advantage it would afford him would be immense. Making himself known was bound to be far, far more tedious otherwise.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been gone. With time dilation between worlds, across space and time, the movements he'd counted could have easily been phoebs elsewhere. Sendak had moved between half a dozen planets by now, and only the last three held any galra on the surface. But they were civilians only, far from the military or any great Empire influence — nobody who could contact, or even hold the means to do it at all, the Empire. Nothing to utilize. The database he could access through his cybernetic didn't even tell him anything, and he could not put it into use for long. It was in dire need of repair, and he afforded himself little more than a varga a day of its use. Not that it told him anything.
Until now. He'd heard rumors in the non-galra population that shore-leavers from the Empire came here now and again, mostly when they wanted to go unnoticed from their superiors. So used to dead-end leads (it seemed anyone not in the Empire's military only wanted to get as far away from it as possible), Sendak did not expect to lay eyes on anyone in a database he actually recognized. Day after day when he climbed to the highest point in the hill and overlooked the settlement, nobody was ever revealed to him. But this time, they were — just one figure in the crowd below. He even recognized the fleet, as the text temporarily glitched in and out of his field of vision. The glow flickered too, subsiding a moment more before the cybernetic dimmed and he saw fully the face of this person he'd already committed himself to pursuing. A seemingly young galran with piercing green eyes. Sendak stared at her from the far distance until she disappeared around a corner, and he began the descent towards the village to look for her.
It took an afternoon to find her. At some point, he was sure she had realized she was being followed, and he knew he was going to have to corner her. It was just as he'd begun to do so that he saw the military ship overhead, landing elsewhere. He'd considered turning in its direction instead, but opted to continue his pursuit of the woman. A medic might have been preferable to a soldier. Sendak was rightfully admired in the military, but detested by just as many in it, possibly more who only saw him as competition they'd need to be rid of one day. The military types were nothing if not maliciously ambitious — an attitude he himself had assisted in fostering.
Eventually, as she passed by the alleyway he'd hidden within, Sendak lashed out his hand, grappling her around the wrist and wrenching her back in the shadows with him. His iconic armor was hidden beneath a ragged cloak, but his eyes — red like a bonfire, yellow like the moon — were absolutely unmistakable to anyone of any rank in the military. Even if he hadn't been seen in some time.
“This is a far place to stay for a simple shore-leave.” Sendak rasped, making only an educated assumption. His grip on her wrist was near strong enough to bruise; he wasn't going to let her escape. “I won't hurt you. But if you scream I won't hesitate to silence you for good.”
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@monstriiss replied: drath vc: oh so HE gets to have spicy claws now???
“I'll share it with you. Just take my hand.”
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" quite the claws you have there. . . compensating? "
“It was going to be replaced anyway. I have even less reason to have a normal replacement than to have this.”
His curls the fingers into a fist. When they unfurl again, sparks dance between the claws, and Sendak grins at her.
“It's effective at what it does. Which you know.”
#monstriiss#𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦. / TRANSMISSION RECEIVED.#hey remember that time sendak attacked her#i imagine they fought or something after that#decided now sendak classifies her as ''creature in the woods i fight sometimes''#whatever drath likes bullying him too
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@worldly-diversity for keith
Blue, Yellow, Green. And still no Red. They were operating off estimates now, the only tangible leads far and few between. Sendak found it less than prudent to waste time they barely had since waking from cryo-sleep, but for the life of him he could think of no direction to find the missing Lion required to wake Black from her slumber.
Yet it's a day after the Princess confesses to him of her father's plans for Red Paladin does Sendak reflect on a past conversation he had with the Altean King, decaphoebs upon decaphoebs ago. The new lead they follow is little more than a memory — he barely knows what he's doing, and he has to drag the alien child with him. The new prospective pilot. The belligerent one, of whom he was currently (lightly) bickering with on their way to their destination.
“I said it was just a feeling.” The kid kept asking stupid questions. Where are we going, for example. Why are we going there. It wasn't as if Sendak had solid evidence for it. Just a hunch. And that was as aggravating to him as it was to Keith. “Don't tell me you went through all that to get here, and now you want answers that make sense.”
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The hilt of the sword finds its way comfortable back to Sendak's grasp just as Trekhar spits out his name. That wasn't good. He had to deal with this quickly. Or at least disable the suit's internal communications system.
Once more, Qessyn provides him an answer. He shifts his attack, and whirls around in a flourish so that his dominant arm would clash with the hand featuring the deadly gauntlet, intending on a hit that would've been ideal to stop with a hand, provided one had the armor for it. He didn't even need to think, only followed the first idea that came to his mind at her divinitive words.
Blade meets armor, metal on metal in the air again. His own dagger struggles against Trekhar's, and Sendak's overhand arc is caught by an armored fist. Electricity sparks throughout the gauntlet and travels up into the blade — but it never makes it past the handle. It concentrates into a vicious array of sparks, wreathing the metal like fire around kindling. The longer the fist holds back the blade, more the electricity seems to funnel directly to the sharp edge of Sendak's sword, until its edge is blinding white and searing hot. It melts through the armor as a knife cleaved into butter, with all the intent to cleave right through the arm and even the one attached to it if given the opportunity.
Trekhar cursed; how did she know what he was going to do?!
Dodging the thrown blade, he was going to strike again, when the returning blade slashed his arm, cutting deeply and causing him to stagger with a growl of pain.
He was horrified. There was only one other person he had seen do that.
“Can’t be…” he spat, “SENDAK?!”
His mood shift was immediate. Growing more desperate, he charged his engineering gauntlet with electricity, intent on frying the stranger.
Qessyn was losing more and more focus. The battle sounded muffled, like it was getting further and further away, yet she could…see.
“Electric…gauntlet…!” she groaned out. The mark pulsed, but that wasn’t the only thing; there was a change in her eyes, the yellow and green growing dimmer and dimmer.
“SHUT UP—!” Trekhar barked, his desperation apparent as his tactics grew more and more sloppy.
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Arguably, Sendak's most prolific trait when it comes to his combat style is his use of gravity and/or magnetics, both in fighting and in maneuvering around the battlefield. All of his preferred weapons allow him the ability to utilize this; the ability to manipulate the draw of it in accordance to his person, and the ability to use it as a means of quickly traveling from one point to another.
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Sendak cared little for how true his taunt was or wasn't; it wasn't genuine, anyway. He didn't even know where on the chain of command this man was until Qessyn spoke. Regardless, his disposition was unwavering, unfazed, steadfast. His decision, unchanged.
He catches the shift in the yellow glow of Trekhar's eyes, and catches the bucket with his foot. As Qessyn cries out again, his eyes flick downward, catching sight of the stabbing blade before it struck. It was likely his armor would've absorbed much the blow anyway, but it's only Qessyn's warning that has him turning his sword in time to fully deflect it. Sendak's teeth are bared with the effort, but that look of recognition returns to his face again, unrelated to Trekhar.
Quickly, he lurches backwards creating distance between them. No sooner parted from the fight at hand, Sendak thrusts his hand out, sending the sword hurtling in Trekhar's direction. As he did, it was Sendak who charged forward, opposite hand pulling a smaller secondary blade free from his belt.
It was no matter if the first blade missed its target; it was just as well. A powerful magnetic force had it flying back to his palm, its return just as deadly as the attack.
Trekhar was a conniving, selfish, evil individual, but his rank was deserved; every bit as violent and brutal as he was expected to be, and then some. After a brief clash, he found his back slammed to the door, their places now swapped. He narrowed his eyes.
“Oh do come off it. I earned my rank because I am vicious. I am brutal. And I am a genius.”
It was no lie; Trekhar was one of the brightest engineering minds in the Empire, which was why much of his excessive brutality was overlooked.
Qessyn trembled, trying and failing to escape her bindings. It was getting harder to focus; the mark burned. “He’s telling the truth…one of the lead engineers…”
“Emperor Zarkon’s decree is clear; weakness shall not be tolerated. I am simply obeying his command by punishing those who cannot commit to his vision. Those who cannot do what needs to be done. The Galra will rule this universe…” Trekhar glanced at a bucket on the floor. “…no matter the cost.” Without warning, he kicked it towards Sendak, intent on distracting him with it as he charged again, this time with the knife coming up from under him.
Qessyn’s head started to spin, and before she realized it, she blurted out, “BELOW—!” It was getting harder to see, and it didn’t feel like a consequence of not having her glasses; it was like her sight was trying to be in two places; seeing mirrored images of the figures before her. What’s happening to me…?
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Sendak's eyes briefly look past Trekhar to examine Qessyn. Outside of the bruises, she didn't appear significantly harmed, which was good. The purple glow did not escape his attention, but he has little time to contemplate it before his eyes shift back toward the threat at hand.
Galra like this disgusted him. So undisciplined. So disgustingly selfish. Individuals such as this were rare to him, but they seemed all too common here. This one commander — he was just an example of what has become normalized here. It was mortifying; was this what become of them in the future?
If cutting down the man in front of him counted as cutting down that future, he would do it gladly. Returning the favor to someone who had done him a kindness was the goal, but this was an additional benefit.
Sendak turned both hands to grip the blade. Trekhar had a knife half the size, but Sendak did not let the notion comfort him. As the other galra charged forward, the galran knight held his ground, and lifted the sword to block the hit, metal clashing on metal. As their strength struggled against one another, he redirected them so that his back might face Qessyn instead, and he stood between her and her commander. The blade slanted, lifting to let the dagger drag down and slide off of it. In the moment Trekhar might use to re-adjust his weight, Sendak thrust his arms forward and shoved him back.
Now it was Trekhar who had his back to the door. Even if he wanted to open it, he would find it unwilling to override the lock of the supposed-stranger in outdated, ancient red armor.
“What fool promoted a churl like you?” Sendak goads, pacing somewhat to the side, so that if Trekhar charged again he would not charge right into Qessyn. “Or did you just murder your superior and steal his suit? We've only just met and I can tell your merit is worth less than garbage.”
It had not taken Trekhar long to get Qessyn strapped down, and despite her fear, she glared at him with a defiance she had never displayed before.
I will protect him. Even if it costs me my life, I will not speak.
It was starting to look as if she would have to pay that price. Trekhar brought up a blade, examining it, before smirking. “I think I’ve been quite lenient with you, Vrayaka. Now…one last chance. Where is he.”
Qessyn glared, speaking through gritted teeth despite her trembling. “Fuck you.”
Trekhar sighed dramatically. “And here I thought you might be more reasonable. Oh well.”
Bringing the blade closer, he seized her by the chin. “Now…why don’t we start with that ugly mark on your face?”
He grinned…then his expression changed into something more perplexed as he examined her closer.
That mark was glowing. Pulsing.
Trekhar raised a brow. “What…”
The doors sliding grabbed his attention, and he turned. “I thought I told you I wasn’t to be—“ He blinked. “Well, well…I would love to know how you were able to bypass the security protocols, but you appear disinclined to tell me.” Turning away from Qessyn, he grinned. “I do hope I don’t have to kill you. You look like you would be enjoyable to interrogate. But I confess…it would please me greatly if Vrayaka here got to watch you die.”
Qessyn looked on with wide eyes. “Y-You…” He had come…for her?
Trekhar grinned, switching his grip on the knife in his hands and charging forward.
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Sendak jolted, more alarmed at Qessyn's jump than the roar in the distance.
Her terror when she spoke of her commander earlier had been obvious. Yet as she she instructed him to hide and rushed off before he could protest much— which he did, getting out no more than “Wait—” before she rushed off to meet that terror. Without hesitation. It was admirable, but there was no pause to focus in that admiration, and he sets out to follow her immediately.
But stopped starkly in place when he heard the commotion just around the corner mere moments after the white of her robes disappeared. Her shadow remained there just against the wall, and it collapsed into a heap with a sharp smack. Qessyn's glasses slide into view, and Sendak's expression of shock shifts into anger. Even for his anger, he was not fool enough to make himself known just just. Stiffening his legs feels like a conscious effort to battle off the instinct that makes him want to run after her, and he curls his hands into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms, grinding his teeth in the wake of her screams as they echoed through his ears.
He wouldn't be far behind. Sendak breaks away into another room, using his current counterpart's permissions to allow him access. Even ten thousand years later, it seemed galra tech wasn't entirely different; though it changed, he was able to pull up a map of the ship with ease. Eyes wandered over it, imprinting its layout into his memory before he ducked out back into the halls. It was easy to navigate by sound, after all… But the sounds of her cries made it much harder to hear footsteps.
Even so, he managed to navigate behind them without rousing attention, though it slowed his speed. It was half a varga, perhaps more, before he came to the same room from the other half of the hall, but he was stopped. There were guards coming down the way, their heads turning toward the door from which originated the loudest screams. As the sound raked over his ears, he refused to wait any longer than he needed to. The only other room was too far away.
Sendak lunges at the guards when they round the corner, slamming one into the wall with enough force to knock him out, if their attacker grabbing him by the skull and slamming their head into it didn't do it first. The other had avoided contact, and fumbled for his weapon. While he did, Sendak's leg lashed out, taking the guard's weight from his own two feet. When he dropped the rifle, Sendak grabbed it, and rammed an end into the remaining threat's head, knocking him out just as he did the other. He drops the weapon and stomps on it, smashing it into inactivity, then moves to approach the door.
It unlocks it with his signature, and he has it locked again at his back by the time his other hand has drawn his blade.
Qessyn hummed, and nodded. It made sense, if he had been pulled through reality itself. It would be jarring to anyone.
“Well, try not to worry about it too much. For now, just focus on staying out of sight. I’ll do what I can to—“
An angry roar echoing through the halls of the ship made Qessyn nearly jump out of her skin.
“VRAYAKA! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU WORTHLESS SACK OF—“
Qessyn’s eyes went wide. “It’s Trekhar,” she whispered, “you have to hide. Quickly!” She ran towards the source of the shout, “I will buy you time!”
Rushing out to meet the commander, Qessyn stood at attention. “Commander. I apologize. What do you require of me?”
Trekhar let out a growl. “There you are. It would seem we have a bit of a problem.”
Qessyn’s heart began racing. “A problem, sir?”
“Yes. It would appear there is a stowaway aboard the ship.”
He watched her carefully. “Someone wearing a ridiculous outfit has been sneaking about, knocked one of the guards out cold, but not before taking an injury himself. You wouldn’t happen to have seen anything, would you?”
“No sir. But I’ll keep an eye out.”
Several moments of silence. Then, Trekhar began to chuckle darkly.
“Corpsman Vrayaka…you are a terrible liar.”
Qessyn began to panic. “A liar? Sir, I don’t understand—“
CRACK!
She yelped as Trekhar backhanded her across the face, with enough force to knock her glasses loose, sending them skidding across the floor. Falling to the ground, Qessyn clutched her cheek.
“Do you take me for a fool, Vrayaka? You think I wouldn’t notice your obvious terror? But I’m in a generous mood. If you tell me the truth, I’ll make your punishment less severe.”
Silence. Then Qessyn murmured something. “…hell…”
Trekhar narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”
Qessyn glared defiantly, looking up at him from the floor. “I said GO TO HELL!”
Trekhar blinked. “….heh…hahaha…AHAHAHAHAHAA—!”
He howled in laughter, his lips curving into a malicious grin. “All this time! All the phoebs you’ve been aboard this ship! All the torture I put you through! And this is the first time you’ve shown such a spine!”
His expression twisted into one of malevolent glee. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He grabbed her by the hair, beginning to drag her across the floor, intent on taking her to a torture chamber as her screams echoed through the halls.
#cosmicgemstone#𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘. / TIME WARP.#sendak: i should avoid attention#also sendak: i'm gonna kill this guy
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Modern galra have very streamlined titles, but the galra of old are fond of having multiples. Each title for each story so goes the idea. The more accomplished a galra is, the more titles they have.
King of Galra, Emperor of Galra, King of Daibazaal. Unifier of Daibazaal, Sovereign of Stars, Best in Battle. Prolific kings have personal titles; for example, Zarkon was also called the Black King or the King in Black for his status as the Black Paladin. He went by King of Daibazaal more traditionally than the Emperor of the Galra Empire, prior to his corruption.
The personal entourage the King of Daibazaal keeps around at any given point are also known by a handful of titles, and since the King and his guard are the most important occupations to be held for a galra, it's only natural that occupation goes by many variations.
King's Guard, Hands of the King, Teeth of the Empire, Bulwark of the King, the Blades (of the King), lots of ___ of the King titles. Since the role itself goes right back to the most primitive pre-unification of Daibazaal times, they were also often called Knights, since they were knights. More specifically, the King's Guard were the elites of a faction specifically known as the Last Knighthood of the Galra. They were the last faction to carry down these ancient traditions.
These titles have been forgotten by history, and they've been long unused and discarded. Zarkon himself had them all killed or driven away and never bothered to have them replaced... Except for the one that remains, who he's never actually technically demoted from the role.
#he would've ended up being called the right hand eventually but#this is perhaps where it ultimately originates#hand of the king being something he was already called#𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡. / SOMETHING THAT NEVER STOPS BARING ITS TEETH.#so basically sendak is a galra knight but for real#an evil one tho
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His hand had drawn back closely to his chest, but his eyes stare entranced and unblinking at the odd mark on her head.
It didn't match her at all; even the hue of purple was stark against the warmer shades of her fur. It was the sort of purple used for the banners of the great hall of the King's castle, the same color used in all manner of rituals. The longer Sendak looked at it, the more it began to bother him that he couldn't exactly recall the origin. How could he not remember something so significant?
“And you were... born with it.” Now he leant away somewhat, his hand idly rubbing at his chin as lips pursed and his eyes wandered upward in obvious expression his modern counterpart had none of. “Yes. I wish I could tell you more currently, but... I don't remember much.”
His attention turned back to look at her and he smiled reassuringly.
“It's temporary. I recall more every varga. I'm positive I'll be able to give you answers soon. I just need to live through the movement.” That might've been a little difficult, actually.
Qessyn gave a weak smile. “That’s kind of you, but you shouldn’t—“
She didn’t finish, gasping softly when his hand brushed her hair to the side, with a gentleness she had not known in what felt like an eternity. He was looking at the birthmark, studying it, and his proximity made her heart race a little. Had she done something to offend?
When he drew back, she blinked. Was Sendak truly like this in his youth? It was actually endearing, charming even. She gave a reassuring smile, shaking her head.
“Oh, it’s quite alright—you’ve done nothing wrong.” Lifting her hair again, she allowed him to see the mark.
It was strange, to say the least. A different tone from the rest of her fur, and very unnatural-looking—almost as if it were placed by design. It resembled an eye in the abstract sense.
“It is kind of strange, isn’t it?” She smiled. “To answer your question, yes, I was born with this. The strangest birthmark I’ve ever seen. And it even acts strange—it throbs and burns, on occasion. It’s done it my whole life, but it’s like it’s acting up lately…”
His next words caught her off guard. “Wait—you’ve seen this before? Truly?” She wasn’t expecting this. For him to be a younger Sendak was one thing, but that the mark on her head looked familiar…her heart started to race anew, curiosity and apprehension in equal measure.
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there's a ghost in me
who wants to say i'm sorry
doesn't mean i'm sorry
#𝗔𝗨𝗗𝗜𝗢. / RADIO WAVES.#it's silent for a few seconds so i don't get got#there's zero chance i'll find a non spotify post for this otherwise#𝗖𝗛. 𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗗𝗬. / LET ME SPRING FROM THE JAWS OF WHAT TRIED TO KILL ME.#but i MUST HAVE IT on my blog in full#feel free to reblog
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he'd be decent potential for Green too but I think he would actually die if he had to wear that color
#OOC.#HISSSS IT CLASHES WITH EVERYTHINGGGG#if it was any other color it probably wouldnt be so bad but green? absolutely not
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In the distant past, during the height of Voltron's glory days, prospective heirs for the next Paladins of Voltron were considered, with each of the team nominating their own individuals.
Sendak was one of Zarkon's closest (galra) companions, someone whom Zarkon knew and trusted very much. He'd suggested Sendak for Red Paladin, as he found the younger galra's disposition to be quite perfect for the role. After receiving Alfor's blessing, he'd begun grooming him for the position in the far future — or if the worst came to pass that something happened to Alfor sooner.
Zarkon's sacrifice for Honerva was about two phoebs after he'd finalized the decision, though he never had the chance to actually broach the subject with Sendak.
#𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡. / SOMETHING THAT NEVER STOPS BARING ITS TEETH.#perhaps connected to Red being the lion Sendak had captured on his ship#they already had the potential bond
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There white-noise makes it impossible to tell what the noise that follows even is — but it was a sigh. In fact, it almost sounded exasperated when it replied. “Would you even know what it is if I told you?” That definitely wasn't the reply of any generic automata, that was for sure.
Vin met the question with a blank stare.
“Uh, what’s a ‘perogative’?” She thought she’d maybe heard Nena’s kids selling something like that at the stand. But somehow it didn’t track that whatever this thing was would be looking for stir fry or deep fried nut-mince pastries.
She turned it over again in her hands, rubbing at its surface to see if she could uncover any markings at all. But whatever she found, she couldn’t read, so that didn’t do a whole hell of a lot of good.
“What are you?” she asked, taking a stab in the dark as she turned the thing upright again.
#vinrobles#shot reply but whatever#first conscious thought he has after being re-activated: idiot 😒#𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘. / ECHO OF EVIL.
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❝ you have a strange sense of humor. ❞ ally verse?
sentence starters / open
“Why shouldn't I laugh?”
Sendak's tone was, of course, as derisive as ever, but its ire was at least not focused on his current allies. Rather, it was focused on his past ones.
Before them, an array of screens displaying the inside of a galra vessel. Sendak made hacking into their ships mere child's play; every piece of technology was, more often than not, one he knew how to manipulate. Zarkon had another thing coming if he thought removing him from every set of permissions was going to be so easy.
One varga in, he's managed to sew enough confusion and paranoia into the galra crew to have them shoot at each other, and that's when the ex-commander's rare stoicism breaks in his laugh. He'd meant for a different result in the process, but he finds it no less amusing.
“It's funny.”
#skyguarded#𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦. / TRANSMISSION RECEIVED.#𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘. / A PARLOUS PARLAY.#even if hes helping#causing malice and mayhem delights him nonetheless
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