Vasedra stood in the open iris of what was formerly her workshop along the outer hull of the Legion warship, the Soul Cleaver, staring in at the spacious room. The blueish tint of the lights turned the bright metal of the walls and workbenches - not felsteel, but an alloy of cobalt and ghost iron and an ore that she harvested on a far distant world - more purple than rose, glinting like sunlight off the ocean from the surfaces of tools and crystals, liquids and even decorations, what few survived intact when the Cleaver was grounded, smashing itself into the shelf of the Mac’Aree landmass. Keepsakes. Resources. Half-finished creations. Salvage.