Jump to content

All Activity

This stream auto-updates     

  1. Today
  2. Character Face Claims

    Cassie (Ventura), Model/Actress - Kai Tsintah
  3. Payback

    At first, all was well. His idle comments had his companion amused, and she took the opportunity to explain the fighting nature of mercs, and then the establishment they were in. None of the news was surprising, but having it laid out plainly covered any contrary thoughts Verrin might have. Oh yes, Isa knew places like this, and the people in them. She was proving valuable already. But then things went south. He followed up with his comment about Nar Shaddaa, and Isa's tone turned sticky-sweet such that he didn't need the Force to know he'd said something wrong. Verrin raised an eyebrow, not quite sure how his words soured their budding, professional relationship, but making a mental note to watch himself. Maybe Isa had a falling-out on Nar Shaddaa, and he'd unwittingly touched a raw nerve. He was tempted to ask, but merely looked at her quizzically for a moment before refocusing on the bar patrons. She apparently agreed with his assessment of 'abnormalities' in the place. Then, she reached for her glass and held a finger over it in an odd manner. Maybe it was a signal... or an affectation? Verrin wasn't sure what to think of it, and split his attention between the bar and her hand, watching to see if the gesture changed to mean something else. It did change, but not in the way he expected. Isa stood up smoothly, tipping her drink over and grabbing his own glass while offering to get them something better from the bar. He wasn't in sync with her thoughts yet, but she was certainly acting confident enough. Her tone changed to downright cheerful, and her helmet bobbed towards a door near the rear of the establishment. Little lights started to flicker in Verrin's recognition, as she confirmed his thoughts with the bit about breaking a bottle over someone's head. Then she was moving through the crowd, winding her way towards the bar. She dipped her shoulder subtly and bumped one of the men who was harassing the Twi'lek dancer with more force than mere momentum accounted for. Deftly, she sidestepped, making it look like another bar patron had done the misdeed, instigating a fight between the pair. She dind't stop there though, and before a third punch had been thrown, she was already repeating the incident elsewhere. It was all part of her plan. "Duh," Verrin chastised himself for not making the connections sooner. He quickly got up, and then ducked sideways as a chair flew in his direction. Then, he bent the Force to his will, and disappeared from sight altogether. Unseen, it was easier to move through the crowd of brawling bar-goers, and he made it to the designated door just as Isa reached the pair at the bar. He stepped through the portal into a hallway with a few other doors off it, but it was easy at that point to follow the exit sign to get out. He stepped through and into a dark alley, lit only by the lights of the main street shining down it. It had started to rain too. "Bah!" Verrin thought. He didn't mind rain, but right now, it was inconvenient. He stepped to the side of the door - the side opposite of the way it opened, so he wouldn't get smacked it the face if it burst open suddenly. Then he did as told, and waited for Isa to emerge. As he'd expected, the walking suit of armor shoved one of the two parties out the door in front of her, holding them fiercely in some wrestling hold or another. At that point, Verrin let his hidden state drop, and appeared almost out of thin air. He was practically three hands away from the captive, and dressed as he was, only his eyes would be clearly visible at first... until the person got used to the lighting. The man startled for a second or two, but then started to struggle against his captor more aggressively. Verrin leaned in further, and his voice came out low, but intense. "Pay attention. I'm looking for the cargo of The Dusty Drammus." The cargo was the important thing, not the ship or its captain. "I'm told you either stole it, sold it, or otherwise know where it is. Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated. Am I making myself clear?" H paused only long enough for Isa to add her input - physically or verbally didn't matter to him. But in that space, the captive spat to one side. It seemed like this was a hardened smuggler, or thug, or what-have-you. He might take a little more convincing to give up any valuable information he had. Perhaps some credits would loosen his tongue... or some other persuasive method. Verrin glanced to his expert associate.
  4. A Glance Into Darkness

    Mirran felt like she had gotten pulled along for the ride. She was quiet and followed along with Zayyan. She let her take the lead because Mirran was only a Padawan. Yet Mirran vowed to help out where she could. So this was Dromund Kaas. Mirran had heard stories of this place and none of it good. The planet seemed to radiate sorrow, pain, anger and hate. Mirran could see it and feel it. It also radiated off the various life forms here. Mirran gasped and then bound her senses up as she had done on Tython. Mirran cocked her head curiously. Tython was broken, Dromund Kaas was broken. One planet a beacon of light, the other a beacon of darkness. Did this mean that the Force and the natural flow of the galaxy was out of balance? Mirran wondered about this and then said softly more to herself than anyone else. "Tython and Dromund Kaas must both be rebuilt. The two spectrums of the Force are imbalanced."
  5. Yesterday
  6. Payback

    This was not how she'd thought her day was going to go. Now that she had a chance to sit, to think… Isa could feel unease spooling in the pit of her stomach. A Jedi was one thing. Not a favoured thing, true, but still entirely different than a Sith. What in haran am I shabla doing? Isa forced her mind away from the thoughts, well aware that to dwell on them would only allow the Sith before her more insight than she currently wanted to give away. Instead she turned her mind back to a game of pazaak in her head as she worked to lock away the unease she felt. She could deal with it later, but for now she needed it to be banished from her mind and from her emotions. "I'm a little surprised they don't confiscate weapons and such at the door. Perhaps the engagements got too boring that way." Isa smiled slightly at the observation, inclining her head slightly in recognition of the subtle warning. “You ever see anybody try to take a weapon from a Merc?” she drawled, humour reflecting in her tone. “Now picture it with a Mando. Or a Wookiee. Or anything else with more training than the average mercenary or smuggler, and suddenly it’s much less trouble to simple let weapons stay where they are. Besides, this way, anybody who draws a blaster does so knowing full well they’re going to get at least a dozen pointed back at them. Even the most di’kutla mercs know better than to lose their temper in a place like this. At least to that degree.” A sideways glance at his next comment, though he’d not be able to see it with her helmet. He’d better just be playing a role, else he just might end the day with an icepack on his face. And not from a cantina brawl. “Next time buy me dinner first, might help,” she retorted, her voice sickeningly sweet. Still, she turned her attention to the patrons around her, noting a distinct lack of other Mandos. Interesting in its own right, but not overly surprising. A place like this, while good for lying low, wasn’t exactly the kind she’d come to either. A distinct underworld presence made it good for information, but bad for relaxing. Not the type of place her vode would come to drink, as none would be comfortable enough to take off helmets. Unfortunately, that meant if things went south there wasn’t much hope for immediate backup with no questions asked. Just have to make sure things don’t go south then. "That couple at the end of the bar looks like they're having a good time, no?" Isa didn’t move her head in that direction, but rather turned her attention to the 360 view in her HUD. No sense making it look like she was looking. “It does look like an exciting night for them,” she replied, offering the slightest tilt of her head in confirmation. She reached casually for her drink, taking the glass so that one finger rested length-wise against it. A signal to the dar’jetii that she was working on something. It always amazed her that people still seemed to believe that a whispered conversation was subtle. In her experience, it was practically a red flag and a flashing neon sign, all in one. She upped the sensitivity of her HUD, playing with the settings as she worked to get a fix on the audio without blasting out her own eardrums. Thankfully everything in her HUD was controlled by blinks and gestures with her eyes, as well as vocal commands that she gave after muting the mic within her helmet. It took a good half minute, but finally their voices came through. If not clearly, then at least audibly. “You know, I think I might see what other kinds of liquor the barkeep has. This stuff is absolute osik. I was looking for some excitement, guess I’ll have to go find it myself,” she said finally, keeping the tone casual, but a slow smile had spread over her features. She offered a nod that to anyone else would look like a simple confirmation of how terrible the liquor was, but she knew the Sith would recognise it as a confirmation. She tipped her own glass sideways, letting the cheap liquor splash onto the floor even as she snagged his empty glass. “I may break a bottle of the stuff over his head, let him have a taste of this swill. If I do, meet me out the rear door there when they throw me out on my shebs,” she said cheerfully, nodding to a door that wasn’t too far from their current position. Hopefully he’d know what she meant. He didn’t strike her as the stupid sort, but she’d been mistaken on that assumption before. “Refill?” She didn’t wait for an answer, instead rising smoothly from the chair - miraculously managing to keep it from even threatening collapse - and heading to the bar with both glasses. She was lucky the place was crowded, as it allowed her an excuse to weave through the patrons to the bar without looking like she was making a beeline to the two pointed out by the dar’jetii. Isa managed to maneuver so she was a few meters from them when she picked out the poor chakaare who were about to help start a brawl. The heavily drunk crew was still hassling the Twi’lek dancer, and it seemed only fair that they should end up with a few bruises for being such dredges of society. Isa intentionally shoved the first man with her shoulder, keeping the motion casual but putting enough force into it to cause the man’s drink to splash down his front and forcing him off-balance. He responded by whirling with a drunken shout, fists already swinging. It was a simple matter at that point to smoothly side-step, keeping out his view and allowing a Mirilian behind her to become the obvious target. That caused its own little knot of a fight, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Another shove a few steps further on, followed by a shouted accusation at a Bith to her right, and a Weequay charged at her. That was a surprise, but Isa stepped aside, grabbing his collar and chucking him onto a nearby table with ease, sending glasses flying and earning shouts that quickly erupted into more serious disagreements. The first fight had already spread by then, sparking off little fights of its own that were sparking their own in turn, like a merrily burning wildfire. Add a couple more thrown punches, a series of well-placed shoves and two kicks, and suddenly the whole place was erupting. And not a single soul would be able to say she’d been the one to start it. Two strides later and she snagged the arm of the closest of the two men she was after, who were frantically trying to weave their way through the now fighting crowd. The further man got caught in a knot of brawling humans where it looked like he would be occupied for some time, and Isa spun the first while releasing his arm, allowing her shoulder to slam into him as if by accident. A quick spin and she had him in a solid grip and out the door without even a shout. She just hoped the dar’jetii was close behind her.
  7. Last week
  8. So after a week long internet outage I have a lot of catching up to do.

  9. ok... who stalled this thread?

    The Arrival

    If it's me, I know nothing... <_<

    1. Lucian Eidolon

      Lucian Eidolon

      I dunno. I got the distinct vibe that I overstepped somewhere, but couldn’t see another real opening. 

    2. Darth Verrin

      Darth Verrin

      pshaw!  You were fine!  But reply to that poor, blind Jedi!  Bring her to the Dark Side ;

    3. Mirran Kai

      Mirran Kai

      So I am a poor blind Jedi....the nerve of Dark Lords. Do I look poor? *opens up credit pouch and flies come out of it.* Umm...don't answer that.... 

  10. Payback

    Verrin almost smiled at the seemingly motherly comment about his earring. To date, this merc was the first person to both notice and comment on it. He was all too aware of the situation in a fight, given the way he'd taken it for himself, but that might be a story for another time. For the moment, they had other matters to attend to. The first of those matters, was apparently finding a table and grabbing drinks. His companion handled both - selecting a vantage point, and then even offering to get him a beverage. "Get ME a beverage - what a novel idea!" He thought to himself. Normally - he was the one offering beverages to those who visited him. Isa Sal just jumped up several notches in his eyes. Too bad she was Mandalorian... that would take more effort to get over. At least she wasn't the worst Mandalorian. He ordered bourbon, though he doubted the sort of swill they'd serve in a place like this would be up to his usual standards. Still - it was a disinfectant, if nothing else. She returned with the drinks - he thanked her - and sure enough, it was pretty harsh on the tongue. At least it would kill any germs left behind on the glass. She then went to sit on the chair at the table with him, only to have it buckle beneath the weight of her armor. It didn't collapse, thankfully - she caught herself before that could happen, and resettled her weight accordingly while making light of the situation. Verrin almost - but not quite - laughed as he recalled a memory from long ago. When he'd first come to the Sith, he'd been smaller - frail, really - but as studious as ever. He'd had his nose in a book, and hadn't watched where he was going. He wound up running smack-dab into a six-foot tall smuggler woman with red hair named Dion. He'd literally, and figuratively, fallen for her as he crashed to the floor in front of her - the very picture of the Sith Lord he was trying to be. She, far more sturdy, had helped him up, laughing up a storm. But that was then... Now, as Isa resettled and took in the room, she feigned a casual posture and offered a conversational tone. "Now we wait, and listen. I’d rather not go about asking questions, not in a dive like this. Quickest way to end up with a shiv thrown at each of our spines. People talk when they don’t think anyone can hear. And the racket they call music is going to be enough to grant people a sense of immunity." She was professional, he had to admit. She didn't want to ask questions, but rather wanted to wait for a potential source to reveal itself. Verrin wasn't too sure that was a sound plan - in his experience, waiting for magic to happen was usually an exercise in futility, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be here all night. But then, beating the bushes was sure to draw too much attention to them, so maybe it was a better idea after all. He decided to rely on her expertise and experience in the end - he certainly hadn't spent a lot of time in this sort of place, and with these kinds of people. He mused again that Darth Sanguira would be watching, and so he made a casual sweep of the room using Force senses. There were no hidden cameras - the people that came here wanted as much anonymity as he and Isa did, especially for illicit plans and activities. But there were plenty of electronics around - holos, datapads, and the like. He casually commented, "I'm a little surprised they don't confiscate weapons and such at the door. Perhaps the engagements got too boring that way." It was his way of noting to her that any fight might end up with blasters going off around (or at) them. Shivs were the least of his concerns. She was armored though, and he was quick. He wasn't overly worried about them surviving a brawl, but he certainly wouldn't be whipping out a lightsaber in the commotion unless some Bothan drew first. He then followed up with, "You pick the best places, dear. This reminds me of that place on Nar Shaddaa." It might have been too much, but he knew if HE Heard that in this joint, he certainly wouldn't listen in on any following conversation. As they peered about, they spied several tables of heavy drinkers - regulars, Verrin supposed - mostly at the bar though. Others were younger and braver, possibly young men and women in their early twenties looking for cheap booze in large quantities. A few people were obviously out of place though - too well-dressed to be either regulars or party-boys. Maybe they were former nobles, slumming to see what life was like on the wild side? There were also a few mercs, like Isa, though whether they were true Mandalorians or not, Verrin couldn't say. And then there was the table of heavily-inebriated patrons who were hassling a Twi'lek dancer that probably should have retired five years ago. Everyone had to make a living though. It just seemed like a tough way to do it - being the arse-grabbed focus of slobbering 'fans'. Verrin couldn't hear much though - nothing specific anyway, or at least, not yet. There was a spot at the bar where two men were talking in tones that were more hushed than not - so those were the only stand-outs to him. He mentioned, "That couple at the end of the bar looks like they're having a good time, no?"
  11. A Glance Into Darkness

    At least Mandalorians actually bothered to build and repair what was theirs - whether it had started in the hands of another people or not. Isa lay prone on a rocky ledge a good distance away from what had once been the city of Dromund Kaas, barely recognizable as it was. The former Imperial city below her screamed of neglect, shattered buildings and rubble-filled streets all stood as some sort of twisted monument to the Republic’s work here. And right in the centre of it all, like some leering statue that exulted over its victim, was the crashed ship Limitless. The ship the Republic had turned into a city of its own. Why, Isa hadn’t the faintest idea. To her it seemed like a shabla stupid thing, to not only destroy an entire city with a ship, but then to leave it there and live out of the carcass. All they were doing was digging deeper trenches between themselves and those they’d conquered here, giving them a daily reminder of all that had changed, all that had been lost. Not exactly a smart way to occupy a planet. But then again, the Republic’s strategies had been remarkably scorched-earth lately, leaving Isa bitterly wondering how they could still see themselves as different than the Empire they’d fought so hard to unseat and cast out. Who’s acting like the shabla emperor now, chakaar? She mused darkly. Taking lives and worlds on a whim hardly seemed to fit the title ‘Chancellor’, after all. She rolled her shoulders slowly, trying to ease the stiffness from her sore muscles as she considered her situation. She’d hiked in from further in the jungle, where her own ship was now hidden away in dense foliage. Hopefully none of the large wildlife tried to make a meal out of it, but at the moment that was the least of her problems. She needed to get into that shabla ugly fortress, and make it back out again with at least one other person in tow, if not more. Add to that the fact that she herself wasn’t exactly in the best condition of her life, thanks to the events that had led her here, and life was getting more and more tricky by the moment. “Buir, why in haran couldn’t you have gotten yourself holed up in a normal prison?” she muttered, shaking her helmeted head. The sound of her voice stayed safely ensconced in the confines of her helmet, her vocoder switched off. There was no one to talk to anyway, and she was down to both her simplest and most advanced tech within her suit’s systems. Simplest were the ones anyone might have, with nothing even remotely unique about them. And the most advanced were pieced the Republic likely wouldn’t even think to look for, much less be able to pinpoint. As it was, she was being careful to stay well out of sight - her armour was hardly camouflage, and until she had a way in, she didn’t much feel like getting spotted by some eager-to-please Republic trooper who would drag her to the jail cells - if they even bothered. Still, least I would be inside, she thought darkly. Provided, of course, they didn’t opt for a blaster bolt to the brain. And with the way the Republic had been acting lately, Isa wasn’t willing to bet her life - and the lives of those she’d come to pull out of this mess - on the outcome. One hand lifted to her still-sore throat at the thought, the skin bruised all the way down her shoulder, with others lacing the small of her back, her right arm, and her left thigh. There was also a particularly nasty bruise right beneath her left collarbone, left from a blaster bolt whose killing force had been stopped by her beskar, but had left its own complaint, if a less deadly kind. She was well aware that her buir hadn’t been the only one they’d been looking to drag here. Luck alone had kept her from falling into the same type of trap that had snagged him. It was time to oblige the hutuun'la Republic, though likely not in the way they’d hoped.
  12. Payback

    A soft laugh escaped her at the dar’jetii’s request that she not use him to start the fight. “Don’t worry, dar’jetii. I’m planning to pick the fight in a much more old-fashioned way. Your face should stay in the same condition it’s in now.” Not that she could see much of what that condition was underneath his hood. “One thing. Don’t let anybody grab that earring. Doubt anyone is stupid enough to try with a Sith, but I’m always amazed at the idiocy of beings in bars,” she lifted one shoulder in a shrug, certain he didn’t need the advice, but still. They were working together, for better or worse, no matter her qualms about Sith and Jedi and all the nonsense that each side involved. And if they were working together, she was going to at least try to act congenial. So far he’d not been a shabuir, or given her any particular reason to earn her ire. Still, her fingers brushed the armoured orange plate at her chest, gloved hand tracing the burn that disfigured the surface before she caught herself and dropped her hand back to her side. Last thing she needed was to show a Sith any sign of discomfort. With that thought, Isa ducked out of the vehicle as it drew to a halt, allowing its passengers to continue the rest of the way on foot. The establishment was exactly the type Isa had been expecting. For some reason every planet seemed to have a shoddy little cantina, more often than not with a hutt presence, which made an already bad situation that much worse. This place was no better, and Isa felt her lip curl in disgust even as they approached the door, only to be met by a hulking guard. Isa stared up at the Gamorrean, inwardly cursing her own size. Sure, she had height, but in every other respect she was lean and thin - nothing like the hulking mass before her. While her armour gave some bulk, it was still clear she was no wall of muscle. She could hold her own in a fight if it came to it, but she’d been hoping for a quieter entrance. But the problem was averted when the Sith spoke, and the Gamorrean stepped aside. Isa felt an eyebrow lift in surprise. Fair enough, then… As they stepped into the cantina, she found she was incredibly grateful for the filters in her helmet and the sealed status of her suit. She’d been in enough places like this that she could imagine the stench of it just by glancing around. She almost pitied the dar’jetii next to her, wearing only his cloak and nothing to filter out the particular odours of the place. Almost. As it was, Isa simply adjusted the audio dampeners in her HUD, seeking to filter out all the filler noise in favor of hopefully picking up something interesting. She also upped her visuals, allowing her HUD’s systems to help filter through the smoke and general haze of the place. Taking the lead the Sith offered, Isa brought them to a small table tucked back against a side wall. Not so far out of the way as to be ensconced in shadows, but not smack-dab at the centre of the room and therefore the attention of its patrons. “Poison of choice?” Isa asked, gesturing to the bar. Whatever his answer, Isa moved to the bar to retrieve it for him, along with a simple Corellian whiskey for herself. A simple drink, and the kind that was easy to mime having had far more of. She didn’t plan on removing her helmet, but it was always better to at least look like you were considering a drink. Otherwise you just looked like someone who needed watching. Returning to the table, Isa slid the dar’jetii’s drink across the table to him as she settled in her seat and leaned back. She almost immediately regretted the action, as the chair shuddered dangerously. “Osik,” she hissed, readjusting her weight carefully. “If I end up shebs on the floor, try not to laugh too much at my expense,” she muttered, tilting her head at the Sith. She lowered her voice with the next words, careful to keep her body language utterly relaxed. They could be discussing the weather for all that her posture would tell anyone. “Now we wait, and listen. I’d rather not go about asking questions, not in a dive like this. Quickest way to end up with a shiv thrown at each of our spines. People talk when they don’t think anyone can hear. And the racket they call music is going to be enough to grant people a sense of immunity,” her own words were pitched low and even, the tone remaining calm and unfluctuating. Tone alone could call attention to them, even wiht low words. Isa would rather hers was as unremarkable as possible. Normally she’d speak in Mando’a, or even through helmet comms. But neither was an option here, so they’d have to simply work with what they had.
  13. A Glance Into Darkness

    Kala took the message with a stoic look. Her features impassive and indifferent. Kala was unsettled doing business with a Sith. It crimped her style. Kala had trained for a short period of time with Jedi but that was before the Jedi found out she was woefully lacking in some of the finer techniques of the Force. Plus Kala couldn't stomach Jedi philosophies. She couldn't stomach Sith philosophies either. Maybe she was more grey or perhaps a greyish-green since she was Corellian. Kala was a emotional and passionate woman though. So Kala considered herself on the "rogue" side of the Force. She was neither on the Light or Dark. Kala mulled over the woman or Darth's words. Crossing a Sith Lord was not wise. Kala knew that saying "No" was akin to signing one's own death warrant. Kala had no desire to die. But saying "Yes" was basically letting the Dark Lord's influence drizzle through. Kala would be beholden to this woman for a long time if she agreed. However, Kala had a relatively good heart. She had intended to let the Jedi's lack of credits slide and take a loss. Kala had some sense of nobility about her and was going to stay and let the Togutra Jedi gather up refugees anyway. Kala suddenly laughed. "You don't know me, Miss or how I operate. If it means anything to you I will stay put. I don't go back on agreements or deals. Course on a profit margin or even business model that really isn't practical. So...." Kala grinned and was silent. She let thirty seconds roll by and then a minute. Let the Dark Lord be just a bit nervous if that was possible. Let her sweat some. "You have your self a deal, sweetheart."
  14. Glance Into Darkness is open, will be an introduction to prison camps and what the Coalition must face.

  15. A Glance Into Darkness

    Selona, 3628 BBY Dromund Kaas - Kaas City Where tall spires of buildings once stood jutting out of the clearing within a lush jungle, only few remained intact; having a ship crash into a populated city was damaging enough, but the Limitless had been the size of Kaas City, had wiped out nearly the entire area and then some upon impact. Many trees no longer stood, those that did showing signs of fire and wind damage. Rubble littered broken streets that all led to what remained of the vessel. The Republic occupants hadn't bothered clearing away the destruction they caused that day, hadn't cared to rebuild homes for the living occupants of the city. No, they converted the crashed ship into everything they might need: communications center, housing, storage, prison, and cantina. Patrols watched the entrance to the makeshift city, and groups made regular rounds near problematic areas such as the jail cells and cantina. Having transferred all spare credits to the smuggler @Kala Ming, Zyann made sure all her supplies were packed, her comms silenced, and her weapon fastened at her hip. She had to be fully prepared, had to be as stealthy as possible given the fact all Jedi would be targeted along with Imperials and Sith according to the holo received in the midst of the supposed secret meeting. Besides, the woman was practically going in blind, suppressing her signature a bit as well as reinforcing her mental barriers - too much suffering took place there, and should she not stay on the defensive in every form possible, the woman would be overcome with images and emotions not her own, would be paralyzed, vulnerable. ... As much as the brunette longed to take the alien's place, for now Darth Sanguira knew her use would be in providing needed supplies, using and expanding connections that would only strengthen her rule when the time was right for her to don the title of Empress. Saving Imperials meant more subjects to rule, more beings to favor her over other possible candidates, more loyalty and support. Yes, the decision to contact the drunken pilot was an easy one after hearing the female tell the Jedi a trip to Kaas wouldn't be free. With their lines properly secure now, the Sith woman waited until all had made it clear of the surprise attack and were far enough away to not have the transmission so quickly intercepted. "Miss Smuggler, I am Darth Sanguira. While I currently don't know your name, I don't really care - I am only interested in ensuring survivors make it off of that planet. The Jedi has little funds, I assume, given their nature and lack of personal belongings, so if my guess is correct, that girl has only enough for a one-way trip." Leaning back in her seat, her expresdion neutral save for an amused glint in her eye that may or may not be noticeable in the call, the woman elegantly laced her fingers together, hands resting in her lap. Oh what she would do for some wine about now... "I have a map with secret trade routes, and a sector that will accept your business with a simple word from me. The map belonged to my father, so only a select few in his trade have knowledge of these routes that help you avoid trouble from other factions. Both the trading access and map are worth more than you can possibly imagine, but in exchange for these, you will wait for the Jedi to gather survivors and get all of them safely off the planet. Do we have a deal?"
  16. Earlier
  17. Payback

    Verrin filed away some of the vocabulary corrections, and did his best to remember the context of them. He'd met a few mercs in his day, and even a few Mandalorians, but when he didn't use the words in everyday speech, their meaning got lost, or misconstrued. Even so, he might use a term that was 'popular' in its day, but turned out to be replaced by something else over the years. Such was life - such was getting old. At least his companion seemed to be amused by his errors, rather than offended. The Force told him she was tense, but not unduly so. This was probably her day-to-day level of alertness, and not a particular concern for being with him. That was both good and bad. It meant he wasn't a threat to her - or more correctly, she didn't see him as one. In truth, he wasn't, but that might also mean she didn't think him capable in a combat situation. It might undermine any authority he had with her... or it might not. Time would tell. She approved of his general plan, but wanted to change some particulars. He was fine with that. He wasn't a grand military leader, and his general way of dealing with conflict was to do it subtly - not in some showy display of strength and brute force. There was some undertone in her initial remark about how he managed to assume quite a bit, but even with the Force, it was difficult to tell what, exactly, she was thinking. Feeling, on the other hand, was more sincere. But he nodded in agreement to her statement - he didn't have any Imperial intel in advance of all of this, other than the general situation, and location of interest. He could only picture @Darth Sanguira, sitting in a small, lavish, lounge with some of her diplomatic 'friends', sipping at expensive cocktails, and watching the goings-on once he and Isa arrived. He'd even bet credits that she had sent her minion ahead to wire the place with hidden cameras, so that they could all have a grand show at his expense. Verrin made a mental note to disable any cameras he detected... he'd learned how to do a few tricks with electronics using the Force. His musings were brought back to the present quickly though, and he listened while Isa laid out more of the details of her plan. She described herself as being something of a big, dumb thug, which was something he hadn't assumed at all. Granted, he might make that leap if a Gammorean were involved, but not a Mando. He wondered if she was Gammorean beneath her helmet. She didn't move like one though - her gait was more humanoid. She was too tall to be Bothan... the helmet was such that she definitely wasn't Twi'lek or Togrutan... maybe she was... He mentally smacked himself for trying to pin a race on her. Did it really matter if she was human or alien? Of course not. He was already struggling to get past the fact she was Mandalorian, and his hatred of their whole sect. He grimaced a little, and reprimanded himself for making assumptions - especially after she'd just explained how people generally thought of her as stupid because of her size. The rest of her plan sounded pretty solid, with her taking the lead in starting a brawl that would be completely apropos for the venue. He looked sideways at her though, and remarked, "Sounds solid. Just don't start the fight using me, all right? I don't feel like wearing an icepack on my face for the rest of the night if I don't have to." Their conveyance deposited them a couple of blacks away from the establishment, and they went the rest of the way on foot, moving through the crowded streets like anyone else. One difference though, was that people tended to get out of Isa's way because of her size and her armor - nobody wanted to bump into that accidentally or purposefully. And for some reason, people just tended to move out of Verrin's way, as if they felt the spectre of death walking among them. So it was that they wound up outside the front of the cantina - it's unremarkable facade only suggested that this was the place because of a broken, blinking, neon sign that would have read Dante's Dugout had it been fully operational. A large - you guessed it - Gammorean bouncer stood outside the entrance, looking bored and all but picking his nose. Verrin led the way towards him - not out of any sense of authority over his companion, but out of a sense of responsibility to somehow lead this mission. The bouncer looked up as they approached, but focused almost entirely on the big suit of well-worn armor behind Verrin. She looked dangerous - armed and armored - just the sort of patron he was hired to stop and question. It wasn't that mercs never drank at the Dugout, but this Gammorean usually knew who they were already, or was told to let them pass. Neither was the case here. But Verrin spoke softly as he came within earshot. "Pay us no mind - we're simply grabbing a drink." A little Force suggestion went a long way in this sort of situation. The bouncer moved aside and let them pass, for some reason, believing that they were 'on the list'... had there been an actual list. The inside of the establishment was little better than the sign outside. It was overly dark, dingy, and smelled of old booze, grime, and the coppery hint of blood. Patrons of all sorts littered the place like flies on flypaper, and some kind of smoke made the air hazy and bitter. Verrin wished he'd thought to wear his mask to filter out all of the nastiness, but he'd stick out like a sore thumb if he went in looking like an assassin. It wans't that there weren't killers in this place - he was sure there were many - but there was a distinct difference between the kind of killing they did and the type he performed. Seldom, if ever, did the two meet. Some loud, raucous noise that might have been considered music to some, was blaring out, joining with the shouts, talk, and patter of the place to create a general din that made conversation almost impossible. Again, Verrin wished he had his mask, so he could use the built-in communicator to talk directly with Isa. He raised an eyebrow beneath his cowl. This was not his kind of establishment. This was not his area of expertise. He didn't assume that it was Isa's either, but he turned and leaned in and up towards her helmet to mention, "Ahhh... I'm not going to pretend to know who to talk to first. Please... lead the way."
  18. Payback

    Isa took in the Zabrak before her, taking in his slighter build, and the tattoos that covered most of his lavender-pale skin. She caught a glimpse of jewelry within the hood of his cloak, and the flash of bracers that looked both exceedingly old and ornate. In all, he seemed to prefer functional, but with sharp nods to power and opulence. An interesting combination, and one that marked him clearly as not a warrior. Still, Isa’s caution remained. Only a fool assumed that a slight build and a couple pieces of ornamentation meant a being wasn’t dangerous. Especially if that being was a Sith who had, by all appearances, survived well beyond his youth. Never trust a survivor until you know what they did to survive. She herself stood in stark contrast to the Zabrak, and in more than just height. Armoured head-to-toe in a set of worn and fairly battered beskar’gam painted different shades of blue with a red undersuit, those who knew her people well would be able to infer certain things about her from the colours alone. Two pieces of mismatched armour - a green shoulder plating and an orange piece beneath that rested across the left side of her chest - were more heavily scarred than the rest of her gear, and clearly hailing from different sets. Pieces worn in remembrance. The slugthrower at her hip was likely the only visible weapon that would be seen as an unusual choice - the matching pistols at her waist, while custom made, weren’t flashy enough to warrant undue inspection. She carried a variety of blades, some hidden and others visible, but once again, none seemed especially ornate. It was only the slugthrower strapped to her left thigh that was odd, unique in that most viewed it as an archaic sort of weapon. But as she knew from experience, there were few better weapons for taking on Force Sensitives - whether they be Sith or Jedi. Though she’d given up the path of a Jedi-Killer a long time ago, she had yet to abandon all the tools of the trade. “No, no title,” Isa responded, her tone remaining calm. If it wasn’t exactly warm, then neither was his. “Sal works fine.” His admission that he was only slightly better informed than she came as a bit of a surprise, and she bit down on her tongue to keep an irritated hiss from slipping between her teeth. She hated tests, and this had the distinct flavor of one. Shab. Still, his next works caused a smile to quirk her lips. "The word you're looking for is aruetii. Or, if you want to be specific, dar'jetii," Isa answered, the faintest glimmer of amusement coloring her words as she fell into step with him. "Shabla or Shabuir is... Something else. But no. I have no trouble working outside my own." Do you? But the question remained unasked. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Isa stepped into the hailed vehicle smoothly, settling in to listen to the plan the dar’jetii laid out before her. One eyebrow lifted at his estimate of the value of one Mando, but she couldn’t quite tell if sarcasm laced the words. As it was, she simply let the comment pass, filing it away in the back of her mind for the time being. A soft laugh escaped her at his attempted use of Mando’a, but there was no venom in the sound. Interesting, that he seemed to have picked up a few words, though apparently not the context for them. "Not a bad foundation," she said when he had finished, the words both musing and sincere. "But I doubt it’ll be that straight forward. Or quiet. So…” she considered for a moment, formulating a plan in her own mind while implementing the information he’d given. Finally, she nodded. “Keep the foundation, but a few changes. First, I'm impressed by just how many assumptions you managed to fit into such a short period of time," Isa replied, the words lazy and lacking any bite. Still, there was an undercurrent beneath them, difficult to interpret but there nonetheless. Let him dig as far as he wished to try to find its meaning. "Second, ‘barve’ isn’t Mando'a, just a general insult. And third, nobody is going to just let us waltz their knowledgeable companion out the door without the kind of trouble we're apparently trying to avoid... But the good news is, we've got a distinct advantage that you're currently overlooking while providing fairly solid proof of it. And that is that as soon as we walk in that door, everyone else is going to assume I've got the brain power of a gizka whose been shot out of an airlock midflight. And the best part about everyone thinking you're just a dumb brute, is that nobody ever stops to consider if you might have a different reason for starting a fight,” the smile in her voice was clear by now, a sharp-edged thing. “First we go in and find out if anybody interesting is even about, as you suggested. After that, I start a fight to cover dragging the poor shabuir with the misfortune of being that interesting soul out the back. Gives us time and cover to get the intel we need, and the poor sod an excuse for looking like hell if it takes more than a few credits and some encouraging words to get what we need. After that, we deposit them back into the fight, give it some encouragement if it seems to be dying out, and use it to cover our exit.” Isa waited to see his response, wondering just how open to suggestions he was going to prove to be. Who knew, maybe he’d insist they do it his way. Or he might actually listen to her advice. In the end, it was a toss-up, and Isa was curious to see which way the coin would land.
  19. Payback

    (continued from the Spacedock) Verrin and his armored associate had left the spaceport, where he hailed them a vehicle to take them across the city of Praetorium. They probably could have walked the distance, but it would have taken a while, and not everything Verrin had to say was for the ears of everyone in the bustling streets around them. Once inside the vehicle, he went into more detail. "So from I'm told, there's a seedy little cantina in the northern sector of this city, that is run by some faction of the Hutt Cartel. The head Hutt - and no, I don't know it's name, yet - had smugglers intercept a cargo ship that was bringing in supplies to aid in the construction of some facilities within the High Tower here. In the old days, when the Empire was strong, they would have just sent in a pile of troopers or something to take back what was stolen, and be done with it. But now... in this new age, when we're supposed to be 'getting along' with Jedi, and fostering relations to support the cause against the Republic... we can't go flooding the place with a lot of troops that we simply don't have. Nor can we arrive in force, and have the Hutt not just roll his slobbery arse out the back door, or barricade the place and call in the local media to broadcast the whole thing to the galaxy at large. We can be forceful - yes - but we can't be so blatant about it. I'm told that's where you come in. Supposedly, one of you Mandalorians is worth thirty Imperial guardsmen. And with just two of us heading into the place, we shouldn't be setting off every warning buzzer that the local bouncer has in place. I'm no great statistician. My plan is to have us both go in for a drink, and try to find out if either the smugglers or the Hutt are in residence. Then, if we can do it quietly, we take the Barve... You know what, forget I said that. I know as much of the Mandalorian language as you probably do about the Force. we take the bastage out the back door, and ask him or her where the Imperial cargo went. If he - or she - doesn't tell us, then you beat the living daylights out of them until they do. I confess it's probably not a great plan, but that why you're here. You are supposedly expert in this sort of thing. What do YOU propose we do?" Verrin concluded, doing his level best to be inclusive rather than pushing the Mandalorian out the door and hoping she broke her neck when she landed in a pile of poodoo. Who knew... maybe she would grow on him, and change his mind about her kind. After all, the Sith and Mandalorians had been allies for quite some time.
  20. Poniard Spacedock Offices

    A six-foot tall behemoth stepped out of the door to the offices, causing Verrin to pause in his pacing long enough to look it up and down. He knew Mandalorians were some of the best mercs in the galaxy, and he had yet to meet one that was either short or frail - those would be weeded out long before they reached adulthood, or so he believed. But when it spoke, and he heard a woman's voice emerge from the helmet, he was thrown off guard for a brief moment. It wasn't that he'd never known tall, or physically capable women in his time - he'd known both - but of all the Mandalorians he'd ever met, this was the first woman aside from their chieftain... or, Mando'a, he thought he remembered, but didn't dare try to say it lest he butcher the pronunciation and put himself on weaker footing. Her speaking was as he expected though - short and to the point. She was nodding in his direction, and noting his appearance as being knowledgeable. He mused that he was the Kaar of Ancient Knowledge, but doubted the title would impress her or give him a leg up in this encounter. He only stood around five-foot-ten himself, and didn't wear such bulky armor, so he doubted that he looked like much more than a bookworm to her. He could give her a squeeze or two of Force energy, and see if that established his prowess, but that sort of posturing was for young people. He had no need to be showy with his power, until such a time as he needed to be. As he took her in, he noticed typical armaments, and imagined there were more built into the armor itself. As for himself, he wore a simple-looking black half-robe, belted at the waist. Its joints were padded over in black leather, and it bore a cowl that he had drawn up over his horned head. His pants were simple, and also black, and one of his signature trademarks were the simple, black, functional boots that he wore - the same issue that was given to new recruits at an Academy, almost as if he was stating in his appearance that he hadn't forgotten where he'd come from. The extended hilt of his lightsaber was tucked into his belt, but that's all he appeared to be armed with. And the only significant items that stood out in his apparel, were a pair of black gauntlets he wore, that looked very, very old and ornate, and a single jeweled earring glinted from beneath the cowl, worn in his left ear. His skin, on the other hand, probably stood out. It was an odd color for a Zabrak - a dusky, lavender tone. It's rarity was similar to albinism in humans, but it was largely covered over in a variety of black tattoo work - some of the markings were tribal, others elaborate, and still others simply connected the entire works. Closer inspection would show a variety of scars and burns beneath the black ink, as well as the lines on his aged face. He nodded at the newcomer, and spoke softly, "I am Lord Verrin, and I presume you are Isa Sal. Do you have a rank I should use, when calling on you? Or a name you prefer to go by?" It was the polite thing to ask, whether he liked someone or not. He took her name - if she gave it - and explained, "I confess that I'm only vaguely aware of why I'm here, and I suspect you may be in a similar situation. I can only assume that someone out there is having a grand laugh at our expense, but that doesn't change the fact that we have a job to do. Come... walk with me, and I'll explain what I know. That is... unless you have a problem working with a... what word do you Mandos use? Shabla? Barve? Something like that." He gestured for her to follow him, and then led the way out of the office waiting area... (continued here)
  21. Poniard Spacedock Offices

    The halls echoed with the dull thud of her footsteps as Isa made her way through Poniard Spacedock. This little cobbled together flying piece of spacejunk was already making her wish she’d made a run for simple open wild space instead of to this little corner of insanity. She half expected it to fall apart under her feet at any moment. Sure, it was probably sturdily built in the end, but the whole place made her nervous. Sith mingling with Jedi who mingled with Mandos and every possible combination therin… it all seemed like a shabla good plan for self destruction, and like a complete di'kut she’d signed herself right up. Nothing like a homicidal Republic to bring people together. Isa sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with one gloved hand. Her head was already aching after the inspection of her ship and belongings - a tedium she had misliked, but knew was necessary. If anything, it had been a relief to know they weren’t letting just any chakaar onto the station with whatever they could fit in a ship bay. Still, that fact did nothing to ease the pounding headache she now had, or the fact that she still had three refugees trailing her as if they were ducklings following their mother. Trusting of them, to assume she knew where she was even going. How in haran did I get myself involved in all this? She mused to herself, sighing slightly within the confines of her helmet. She knew exactly how, of course. She just wasn’t quite ready to admit what a softhearted shabuir she was just yet. Not when all she wanted was a hot shower and a meal that hadn’t come out of her ship’s stores. The way to the offices was, thankfully, simple enough, and Isa gave her name curtly to the receptionist who sat there, looking bored and not at all amused by the four beings now standing before him. He gestured vaguely to two doors further down, and Isa sighed, careful to keep her mic muted for the time being. No sense expecting admin of an operation like this to be any better than admin anywhere else in the galaxy. Isa looked at the two open doorways, catching the cheerful voice of a drroid emanating from one. The other was noticeably silent. There was a soft cough and a shuffle of feet behind her, and Isa turned. She could easily have used her HUD’s 360 view, but a bit of humanity went a long way with people like the refugees she’d brought here. They'd had a hard enough life already. She took in the young twi’lek woman before her, the child in her arms fast asleep, the woman not too far from the same fate, on her feet or otherwise. “Go on,” Isa spoke, her voice gentle despite the mechanisation of her vocoder. She hitched a thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the room with the droid. The woman looked close to tears as she nodded her thanks, slipping into the room with the cheerful sounding droid even as Isa stepped into the room opposite. She could immediately tell the woman had gotten the better end of the deal, but somehow couldn’t find it within herself to be annoyed by that fact. Instead, she listened to the man’s demands, taking care not to bristle at his tone. Admin indeed. Shab, she was tired if a glorified secretary could cause the edge of irritation she could feel sneaking into her muscles. Still, she listened to his list of questions, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth as she considered making his day much more interesting than it would be otherwise. However, her pounding headache and tired muscles urged otherwise, and she let out a huff of air. She considered a moment as his questions came to a halt, knowing she had two possible avenues she could report as an occupation. Smuggler or Merc? She debated for a moment, wondering which was more accurate these days. She was far from a professional smuggler, usually just loading up her hold with supplies or those desperate enough to be begging for an escape. Her buir teased her about the people she ended up hauling with her on each trip, but she knew his own ship had carried more than one desperate soul in the past. Still, Merc fit better overall. It was what she was actually paid for, after all, and the man hadn’t asked about hobbies. “Sal. Isa. None. Manda’yaim. Mercenary. None relevant,” she answered each question crisply, ignoring the blank look she received in response. She didn’t much care what his opinion of her was, and she highly doubted she was memorable enough to spark any actual interest in the man. She slid her glove off and offered one tattooed hand as he approached with the device for drawing blood, making no fuss as the man retreated once again behind his desk. She tilted her helmeted head in acknowledgement of the advice he gave, snagged a datapad from the pile, and powered it on. The display lit up with a map of the station, which she promptly stored within her helmet’s systems before replacing the datapad on the pile. She didn’t waste any time on further pleasantries with the man - or any at all, rather. Instead she simply turned on her heel. The door hissed open before her and Isa walked out, pulling her glove back over tattooed fingers as she did so. She came to a slow halt as she cleared the doorway to find a lone figure in the hall. That old instinct rose up within her as fast as a snake, a warning of danger as she took in black robes and the sheer power that seemed to roll off the Sith before her. She didn't need to be Force Sensitive to recognise strength like that, and itset her teeth on edge. Osik. First a Jedi, now a Sith. The galaxy really was having a laugh at her expense these days. It was all she could do to take a breath and tamp down the anger and old pain that rose in her chest like a phantom. She was usually better at this. Though she usually didn't have quite this many reminders in such a short period of time. Instead there was a slight hitch in her step, quickly covered, and a sudden game of pazaak in her mind to keep herself under command and more difficult to scrutinise. Some old habits she would keep. Isa glanced up to her helmet’s HUD, taking in the fact the refugees she’d brought had apparently already been whisked away, to new lives hopefully better than those they’d left behind. She propped one shoulder against a nearby wall, tilting her helmeted head in the Sith’s direction. “I take it you’re one of the knowledgeable sort, rather than a new arrival,” she said by way of greeting, gesturing to herself as she spoke of new arrivals. No sense dancing around a situation neither of them seemed too happy about, judging by the Sith’s pacing.
  22. Isa Sal

    Name: Isa (Ee-suh) Sal Gender: Female Species: Human Rank: Mandalorian DOB: 3653 (Current age 25) Appearance: Tall and thin (6’0, ~150 lbs). Well muscled due to wearing beskar since she was young, but very lean. Basically has the strength to wear the armor and act/move as normal, but no more. Isa has dark red hair and gray eyes, with freckles splashed across her face in random patterns. Her hair is long and curly, usually worn pulled back in a braid to make it easy to put her helmet on in a hurry. Constantly wears beskar’gam, taking it very much as a second skin (A leftover effect of the deaths of Caitir and Sovrii). Tattoos - Fingers, as well as ‘broken bands’ around her wrists - memories of the dead and the lost. Some bands are personal, some are worn for her people. Tattoos along the sides of her fingers - Mandalorian runes and sayings, etched on the skin. Can’t be taken away, can’t be silenced. Shoulders - Patterns going down her shoulders to her back - circular/interlocking in nature. Symbolic for her. All are fairly private rather than as badges or trophies, etc, as she’s always in armour and so such tattoos are never/rarely seen. That and the length of her hair are really her only two ‘aesthetic’ adornments other than armour colouring. Possessions: Beskar’gam - Full set of beskar’gam - battered and scratched, with two mismatched plates from family armours. Has no interest in blending in, preferring to be instantly known as a Mandalorian. Weapons of Choice: Twin custom pistols carried at the hip. Additional slugthrower pistol strapped to thigh plating. Myriad of small knives concealed about her person for emergencies. Wristblade concealed within her left gauntlet. Additional small darts can be fired from her right gauntlet - types change based on need/situation. Possesses longer ranged weaponry - competent but not her specialty. Ship - (WIP - Pending looking at the forge :P) Vheh’yaim - Rooms within the Sal Vheh’yaim. Personality: Can come across as cold and intense, especially to outsiders. Sharp. Sometimes hard - has a hard time with hope ← This is likely her greatest flaw. Isa is reckless, and has a zest for life. Quick to laugh when amongst those she knows well, and loyal to a fault. Longing for a place to belong, both for herself and her people. She has a sharp sense of humour, as there is not much more she can lose. When not on duty, often barefoot (A habit picked up from her adoptive mother). Isa is a storyteller - She believes it is essential to preserve memories of the past, something for her people to hold onto. A reminder of who they are, the pride in their culture, their stories, their battles. Wins and losses, mistakes and glories. All a map to who and what they are. She is looking for a better way, a way her people can survive. Burns bright and fast. Fierce, but for her people. Not going to throw loyalty to the Jedi or the Sith, but will work alongside one or the other. Doesn’t hate either, though she has strong dislike and mistrust and jadedness to both. Wants an independent Mandalore. Skills, Abilities, and Talents: Initially trained to be a Jedi-killer in her childhood, following her mother’s death. Retains many of the skills, including carrying slug throwers, and mental tricks to avoid being pinpointed. However these skills are not her primary, and so are far from infallible. Mercenary, turned to a bit of a smuggler with the travel bans. Her own way of thumbing her nose at the Republic. Has taken to smuggling refugees, supplies, and whatever else she can, alongside her mercenary work. Works as a mixed hired gun and pilot. An expert with her blasters, and passable with rifles and longer ranged weaponry. Is decent with melee weapon, though prefers knives and daggers. Highly skilled in unarmed combat, Isa has spent a large amount of time training in Mandalorian Martial Arts. Basic Medical knowledge - Mostly only field medicine needed for combat scenarios, and stabilising those in the field quickly to buy them time. Anything more serious or needing longer term treatment is outside of her knowledge. Intermediate survival skills - learned from growing up on Mandalore, and the need to survive in the wilds. Fast reflexes, Isa nevertheless prefers to tackle a challenge head on rather than hiding away. However, she is not opposed to bas’lan shev’la when the situation calls for it. Relatives - Father - Lorcan Sal Mother - Caitir Sal (Deceased) Adoptive Mother - Sovrii Sal (Deceased) Past: Grew up Mandalorian - Father still alive. Close relationship between the two. Mother killed by Jedi when Isa was still a child - old enough to remember, but memories are fuzzy. She died when Isa was 7. This gave Isa a strong hatred of Jedi growing up, leaving her angry and determined to become a Jedi-killer. Second Mother - Sovrii - Togruta who became a Mandalorian. Married Lorcan when Isa was 13. Sovrii was gentler, but still fierce. She taught Isa to give up her hate - saying that “There are better things to fight for”. She taught Isa to love stories, based on her own Togruta heritage. She was killed by Sith about 5 years before the current time. Isa wears markings on her helmet in honour of the woman who taught her to live (Similar to Sovrii’s facial/Montral markings). She has a piece of armour from both mother’s armours, and remembers both of them to keep their spirits alive. Isa remains very close to her father - He was her rock growing up. Lorcan taught her to fight, to live, and to stand on her own. After her mother’s death, the two were fairly adrift. He began teaching her, training her. This ended up being something for them to bond over, and this tradition continued as she grew up. Both are still incredibly close, and often fight back-to-back. Sovrii's death was a blow to both, but they grieved together. Stats: Strength - B Agility - A Perception - A Endurance - A Willpower - B
  23. Poniard Spacedock Offices

    "Are you fracking with me?!" The question was rhetorical, and the person on the other end of the holo-call was well aware of it. Darth Verrin was not amused with the situation presented to him, and the officer that had to bring him the news - even via holo - was uncomfortable with the situation. He'd heard rumors that a Sith could reach through space and choke the life out of someone they didn't like. At least, that was what his supervisor, @Darth Sanguira had told him. He didn't want to believe it, but neither did he want to test it. But Darth Verrin was going on, apparently having answered his own question. "So let me get this straight. 'In the interest of diplomacy', and 'repairing our broken relationship with our old associates' - " The Darth was using his fingers to make 'quotations' in the air around his words that required it. "- Darth Sanguira wants me to go to the spacedock myself, and meet a fracking Mandalorian to do a job?! ME?! What - pray tell - is going through her fracking mind, that makes her think I'm the best possible candidate for this effort?! My apprentices aren't good enough? She thinks I have nothing better to do?" The officer - somehow - managed not to roll his eyes, even though he was thinking to himself, "More likely, she just wanted to provoke this very reaction from you... for her amusement." He didn't say that aloud, of course, not daring to direct the Darth's anger towards himself. Instead, he diplomatically offered, "Darth Sanguira is an expert in diplomatic relations, My Lord. I'm sure if she thought anyone lesser was appropriate for the job, she would have had me contact them. Instead, she chose you. Surely, there is a reason." Even as he said it, he began to consider that his initial thought was correct - that this somehow amused his supervisor. The transmission was cut off abruptly, but not before Darth Verrin affirmed his participation with a single word, "FINE!" A short while later, in the waiting room outside some Domhnall's office, Verrin paced back and forth like a caged Edan tiger. He hated waiting. He hated waiting rooms. He even hated the person he was supposed to meet - some Mandalorian named @Isa Sal - and he hadn't even met her yet. He was already pre-judging her, based on her affiliation with her kind - the Mandalorians - for they had been the catalyst to his whole life as a Sith. More than twenty years ago, a group of Sith and their Mandalorian allies had descended upon his planet, and executed most of his family, kidnapping both him and his daughter. The Sith had wanted information from him and his science team, about projects they were working on in the labs, and instead of asking - they had done what one might expect, and simply 'persuaded him to cooperate' by severing his ties to those he loved. But oh no, it hadn't stopped there. They'd kept his daughter alive, using her life as the final assurance that he would tell them everything they wanted to know - even things he didn't know. Oh yes - he had a beef with Mandalorians in general, though there was no way Darth Sanguira knew that when she thought he was 'the best candidate' for this job. Of course, he could have refused. He was Sanguira's peer, not her subordinate. But she probably knew he was generally willing to do what it took to further the return of the Sith and the Empire, even if it meant... this. He paused his pacing only to look up and see just how long he'd been waiting. It was only fifteen minutes, but it felt like so much longer.
  24. Corellia

    Corellia is a temperate planet defined by snowy mountains, warm coastal regions, and fertile farm land that stretches between the major cities on each of its three large continents. As a member of the Republic, the planet serves as a major source of both economic and technological power, as it stands on both the Corellian Run and the Corellian Trade Spine, as well as benefits from the Perlemian Trade Route.. It is a strategic point, with valuable assets invested in major starship production and large scale agricultural output. The people of Corellia are impetuous, iron-willed, and, brave to the point of foolishness. There runs an independent streak among the Corellians that runs deep and has defined their political participation in the Republic from the beginning. There remains a clause within the Republic Constitution, Contemplanys Hermi, which applies only to the Corellian Sector. It allowed for the Corellia to close its borders and recall its delegation to the senate. This means that they forfeit their right to veto, but exchange it for the right to refuse the Republic any military support With the current climate in the Republic, the Corellian disdain for overreaching external authority is simmering just beneath the surface. Public sentiment toward the Sith is decidedly cold, but equally do the Corellians feel that the power the Supreme Chancellor is wielding is skirting dangerously close to authoritarianism. Trouble is brewing for the people of Corellia, and only time will tell how it will sway in the coming storm.
  25. The Arrival

    Mirran snapped to attention as if she had been in a fitful state between sleep and awake. "Huh?" She needed to be more aware of her surroundings. Why hadn't Kaybee said they were in the area that was controlled by the Sith? She turned towards her droid. "Uhh Kaybee why didn't you say this was the Sith area?" The protocol droid whined. "I did Mistress Mirran. But you didn't acknowledge me. You didn't say anything to me at all. You just wander, does Master @Giran Antur know where you are?" Mirran sighed. She shook her head wearily. "No. Probably not." Mirran opened her sight to the Force. All seemed dark and shades of murkiness and some very forboding and deep shades of purplish black. She turned her sight upon herself and frowned her spirit was muddled and grey. Perhaps she wanted to settle the disquiet within her by unconsciously seeking out the Sith. This was unsettling. Yet war brings out the turmoil of spirit and Mirran acknowledged the pain. The pain that Jedi wanted her to deny yet she knew existed.
  26. The Arrival

    Like Mirran, Vanessa was not particularly well. In the time since Taral V, and her incident with the Holocron, Vanessa hadn't been sleeping particularly well. If not for the mask of the Library Guardian masking her appearance, the dark rings beneath her eyes would be extremely easy to see, an almost permanent stain on her otherwise plain features. Every night was the same dream - or nightmare if you preferred, the same vision of Master Verrin being torn down in front of her by the late Emperor, and her soul being drained, sucked out through the Force. Even thinking about it forced her ankle to ache, as if the skeletal hand that had held her during the vision was still clamped to her. She looked down to check - nothing. It had never touched her - only in the centre of the vision. That didn't stop her from doing her duty during the day - or night. No true Librarian, but the idea of sharing their information with the Jedi was particularly strange to her. Hell this entire situation of being allied to the Jedi, even temporarily seemed to be at odds with the Code. Even still, being able to review the content of the Jedi Order was stranger still - filled with propaganda about meditation, balance and calm. As if she truly needed calm. The Jedi Code was even more perplexing - how did the Jedi even function, or grow in power with the Force, if their very emotions didn't strengthen the bond? It all seemed like weakness. Regardless, as she passed down the aisles of tomes, she spotted a Miralukan wandering almost aimlessly. It was easy to spot the Jedi - they seemed, almost, as if they considered themselves above the acts of the Dark Side. Pompous and up themselves - yet this one seemed different. Conflicted, or at least, aimless. She wandered down the aisle, looking rather intimidating in her Guardian apparel, masked with black robes covering the rest of her. Her double-bladed lightsaber strapped to her back for ease of access, it might frighten the poor thing. 'Was there something you were looking for?' she asked, with no particular tone. It was part of her duties to ensure the safety of the Library - and this Jedi might have some ulterior motive. Or they might be lost. The Force told her that @Mirran Kai was of no particular threat, but it never hurt to make sure, 'If you are lost, I might be able to point you in the right direction of the information, or someone that might be able to help.'
  27. Isa Sal

    Alrighty, so to keep this short and sweet, I will be posting an acceptance message for those to copy and paste - or to create their own - within this thread. As more things come and go, it will be important to update the acceptance message, but this will cover all the important things currently. Your application has been ACCEPTED Thank you for applying to the site and we all are looking forward to writing with you in the near future! To start your character off, please post your character biography into the correct category here. To get started in-character, please post in this thread so a member can quickly get to you and get you on your way to starting your own adventure on Star Wars: Fates. If you have not already, please read the Community Rules to get accustomed to the environment we wish to have on the site, in addition if you have any questions about the site, please do not be afraid to PM a member of the staff team or to post in the Questions and Answers thread, as they will be answered to the best of each staff member's ability. In addition, if you wish to join the site's discord, you can join through this link right here. Should you want to start on creating items, or other things pertaining to the site, you can check out The Forge. The Forge is a way to create items for others to use, as well as providing your own character with their own specialized items. Standard issued stuff does not need to be submitted for personal use, but can be submitted to provide people with some different items to start out with.
  28. Kitchen remodel almost done.

  29. The Arrival

    Verrin took in the scene - the construction, the moving of shelving and data, and the comings and goings of some people who didn't appear to be affiliated with the Sith's 'moving day'. There were a few individuals, moving through the shelves that the Jedi already had in place - most of them in robes, some with smiles. By and large, in Verrin's mind, they were a happy people who relied upon the Jedi Masters to keep the peace so they could pursue their own dreams. Verrin made a mental note to make sure he demanded more from young Sith Acolytes - that they become part of the solution, not just bantha to be herded. But one individual stuck out to him from the others, and he commented idly to his guest, the Sith'ari. "That girl, over there... the Miralukan with the droid... she was at the space station, wasn't she? What role does she play in the hierarchy of the Jedi? Someone of import? She's..." He reached out with the Force, sensing her unease, "... troubled." A glance behind him to his guest had him wondering, "An opportunity to nurture the seed of emotion?" Verrin wasn't so much concerned with solving a person's problems to bring them peace, but rather to provide a feeling of elation that might lead someone down the path of the Dark Side. The young woman might not be so susceptible to that sort of suggestion, but then again... she might. The thing with Miralukans though, was they could sense and see through the Force better than most sentients could with their eyes. Even now, he and the Sith'ari had to be shining like beacons to her senses in the Force. The real question was whether she would avoid them, or fly towards them like a moth to a flame?
  1. Load more activity
  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.

×