Port-City of Phin

Port-City of Phin - Amborial Gas Giant - Fel System

Delta Cade could not help but be surprised on how much the place had changed. Almost two decades since he had last treaded the pathways of Phin. It had been a small and almost derelict floating station back in the day. A few dozen gas-hoppers would scoop material from the planet's atmosphere and refine it at Phin and smuggled it across nearby sectors. It had been a smugglers den living in the shadows of The Armada.

Known for very its high grade star-ship pulse engine thruster fuel and for the special blend of frozen grog popular across the system's denizens. Now as Cade looked around he couldn't help but marvel at the full fledge city, floating in the steel grey skies of Amborial, still churning fuel, still a haven and a safe port for all types of smugglers, bootleggers and those with ties to The Armada.

A feeling of dread had descended upon him when he touched down at one of the city's many launching pads just past the tall rusted spires of the refineries that had sprouted up across the city in the last two decades. He had evaded The Armada and its bounty for over a decade and here he was now walking into the belly of the beast. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Nomad had been waiting for him as he exited his ship and went through bio hazard check point. The Green Plague was spreading like wildfire across the galaxy and no precautions were to much even in a place like Phin. Delta Cade had almost gapped in awe seeing his old comrade standing there cutting an imposing figure against the darkening skies of Amborial.

Clad in the purple and black colours of the Armada, his exosuit proudly displaying his allegiance to the pirate state. A few angry deep scars adorned his features and having heard some stories and rumours of the man's achievements during the Bloodshed Uprising he imagined his body would be covered in hundreds if not thousands of similar nicks and cuts.

At an early age, when they were both Archangels, Nomad had taken to mark his flesh every time he took a life. A nod to the old ways of The Armada, when warriors had practiced the ancient art of scarification. Many thought each scar crudely represented a life taken, however its meaning was much deeper than that. The scars marked the moment where two live paths had intersected and only one continued.

And here he was now waiting for Delta Cade. The same set stone jaw, the piercing gaze, the aura of violence ready to be unleashed at a moments notice, the stoic semblance. Nomad, most violent of men, last of the Archangels, the Void Reaver. A living legend made flesh.

Delta had approached with trepidation, feeling the man's eyes bore into his soul. He licked his lips and his hands twitched, aware that whatever came next was about to change his life. But it had all washed away from him when Nomad uttered the words that Delta Cade had dreamt to hear from another Armadan for the last fifteen years.

"You were right Cade. Mad, the whole lot of them." Nomad declared simply with his graven and deep voice, booming over the howling winds of Amborial's atmosphere.
And with that he had grasped his companion's forearm in the ancient warriors greeting.

Delta Cade was glad Nomad had turned almost immediately and had not seen the tears flood his eyes...