Jump to content

Isa Sal

Mandalorian
  • Content count

    14
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

12 Human

About Isa Sal

Profile Information

  • Main Account
    Kad

Recent Profile Visitors

42 profile views
  1. A Glance Into Darkness

    Isa sighed, shaking her head as she dropped from her small outlook. No matter how she came at this, she always reached the same conclusion. There wasn’t going to be a simple, clean way in. There was going to be a risk factor to this whole thing that she didn’t particularly like, but she was simply out of time. She approached one of the walls of the former city, doing a quick scan with her HUD as she crouched beside it. There were no immediate entry points, but she wasn’t concerned about that. Gates were only one way in, and she had another. Her HUD showed two guards on the other side of the wall. Decent odds, and likely the best she would get. The rubble had left the area a maze, meaning there were few clean lines of sight from post to post. Luckily, this was not one of those, meaning those on the other side were relatively isolated. Isa blinked twice, activating a system in her suit. A simple comm jam. Nothing overly fancy, as it would simply look like a bit of interference. Not uncommon with the storms on the planet. It meant she’d have a limited amount of time, but she hoped she wouldn’t need more. Way to have an osik plan, Isa, she thought wryly, a small smile pulling at her lips. She shook her head wryly, looking up to judge the height of the wall. “Oya,” she murmured inside her helmet. Waiting around wasn’t going to make this more plausible. Isa launched herself up and over the wall, her jetpack giving her the height needed to allow her to drop to the other side. Her scans had been correct, and the two guards whirled to face her as she landed, each already pulling pistols. Isa managed to slam her gauntleted left hand into the throat of the closest one, staggering him and buying time even as she fired a dart from her left gauntlet towards the second guard. But she had miscalculated with the first guard, his recovery far quicker than she had expected. A weight slammed into her side even as the second guard fell, unconscious before he struck the ground. Isa crashed into the wall, the first guard’s armoured shoulder pinning her there with surprising ease. She cursed, fighting to twist free even as her already bruised shoulder screamed in protest at the sudden mistreatment. This was not the plan. The guard was good, she had to grant him that. He kept her pinned with his bodyweight, her own position twisted enough that she didn’t have a clear shot at him with either of her pistols. She needed to turn for that, and his superior height and weight made that a near impossibility. She heard the hiss of a knife unsheathed, likely with his free hand. Thank te manda she had gone with full armour for this instead of a lighter half set. As it was he had no good places to try to stab her, meaning she had at least a little time. Fingers scrabbled for her helmet, hooking beneath the rim and trying to jerk it off her head. Smart. Unfortunately, the chakaar didn’t seem to realise it was sealed with a catch. Unless he managed to release that, her helmet would be staying firmly in place. She slammed her head to the side in retaliation, and the crunch of metal meeting bone and cartilage was grimly satisfying. He shouted a curse, blood spattering the shoulder plate of her armour from his now broken nose as he tried to stab through armour. He was rewarded with the scrape of metal on metal, but the gaps in her armour were hard to hit in a struggle like this, her weight braced against his limiting his movement if he wanted to keep her pinned. They were at an impasse for a few moments, and Isa let loose a string of curses inside her helmet, well aware that she was running out of time. The jammer wouldn’t last much longer, and all he’d have to do was call for backup and she’d be finished. He managed to get a grip on the rim of her helmet once more, but this time he shoved forward, slamming her helmet into the wall and taking off a decent stripe of paint. Her head slammed against the inside of her helmet, hard enough to make her dizzy. Isa tasted blood in her mouth, suddenly grateful for the padding inside her helmet, otherwise that would have hurt a lot more. She dropped the pistol in her left hand to free her grip, slamming upwards against his wrist and trying to break the hold. His grip broke and she shifted her weight to the side, forcing him to adjust his footing or fall. He tried to adjust, but the motion rocked him back ever so slightly, changing the balance of power. She twisted, and realising his mistake he swung, knife blade flashing in the dim light. But he’d been watching her right side, as most attacks would come from that way and her left hand was empty. But Isa drove her left wrist forward instead, bending her hand back even as she slammed up towards his ribs, between the gaps of his armour. The blade hidden in her gauntlet slid out, meeting flesh and cutting through effortlessly. Her right hand had mirrored the action with one of the many small knives housed within easy reach, this one striking home in the side of his neck - a follow-up in case the first had missed. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, his own blow thudding uselessly against her armoured shoulder as his momentum disappeared. Isa caught him on his way down, lowering him gently to rest against the wall and crouching beside him. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, and she could hear the wet sucking sound of it. No medical help could save him at this point, and Isa closed her eyes for a moment. Osik, it wasn’t supposed to go this way. She might hate the Republic, but she’d not come in to slaughter soldiers. Just to get her own out, as cleanly and quietly as possible. The man’s hands lifted, struggling to remove his helmet, the motions desperate. Isa didn’t hesitate, reaching forward and removing his helmet herself, gently. She found herself looking into the face of a zabrak, his eyes already losing focus. He flinched as his gaze met the visor of her helmet, and Isa reached up, removing her own helmet cautiously. He relaxed almost immediately, his gaze taking in her features. Her own weapons were within easy reach should this all be a dying ploy, but Isa didn’t think it would be necessary. She’d seen enough death to know. His hands fluttered, suddenly uncertain, and Isa took them carefully in her own. His hands gripped hers, holding on almost desperately. “Your fight’s over, verd,” Isa’s words were gentle, and he settled at the sound of them. “You fought well. Peace, verd… Peace, it's alright.” And then he was gone. His eyes glazed over and his chest stilled. From start to finish it had all taken only a few seconds, no more than a minute at most. Isa let out a slow breath, gently folding the man's hands over the hilt of his knife and placing them on his lap. She reached forward, closing his eyes with two gloved fingers. “May your ancestors accept you into their own, verd,” she said softly. “And may your stories join theirs.” A small sound behind her was her only alert and Isa spun, still crouched, her usual pistol in one hand and the small slugthrower in the other. Not an ideal position to defend herself from, but she'd dealt with worse. ...Had also dealt with a lot better, too. Brilliant, Isa. Just brilliant.
  2. Payback

    The dar’jetii appeared in front of her once more, falling into view even as he fell flat on the floor between her and the last two guards. Isa hissed in surprise, uttering a few choice words for good measure, immediately diverting her shots to the side to avoid striking him. In the end it didn’t matter - one of the guards suddenly slammed into the one beside him, both being flung off their feet. The dar’jetii’s work no doubt. That or gravity had decided to stop working in that one particular spot. Isa flipped a switch on her pistols without hesitating, one shot slamming into each of them with the tell-tale crackle of a stun bolt. Neither one stirred and Isa sighed, shaking her head. This day…. Isa halted her shots, slowing to a casual pace and tilting her helmeted head at the dar’jetii who was still on the ground. “Next time we’re going to have to get you a bell or something,” she quipped, a small smile pulling at her features. The dar’jetii had accomplished exactly what Isa had been hoping for, downing the rest of their attackers before any of them managed to land a lucky shot. Her armour sported a few new nicks in the paint, and a rather impressive scorch mark along her right shoulder piece that left her joint aching beneath the armour plating. Still, she figured it was a small price to pay in the end. She rolled her shoulder gingerly, wincing at the ache but acknowledging it wasn’t hurt any worse. And her HUD wasn’t informing her of any fluctuations in her life signs, or any indications she ought to be worried. She would be sore, but that seemed to be all she would be from this little misadventure. Isa’s pace had slowed to a more casual rate as she reloaded each of her pistols before holstering them. She crossed to the two downed guards, aiming her gauntlet and releasing a dart into each man’s neck. She waited a moment, allowing the darts to do their work before kneeling and removing the devices, sliding them into one of the pockets on her belt. “Hallucinogen,” she explained to the dar’jetii without turning around. There was only a small part of her tempted to look up to her HUD to see if she was about to get a blade in the spine. He was a Sith, after all, and a few hours of working together didn’t erase a lifetime of mistrust. “If they remember a disappearing and reappearing figure, it will be far from the strangest thing they recall. No one will be able to tell what was real and what was the drug.” She rose to her feet in one smooth movement, turning on her heel and starting down the hall once more. Her HUD wasn’t showing any further signs of guards, but she wasn’t willing to trust that to last longer than a few minutes. She kept her left hand on the butt of her pistol as she crossed to the dock where the cargo they were after was being stored. It was a few doors down, and Isa kept her guard up as she continued to make her way forward. It would simply be bad form to get shot in the back after surviving the first group of guards. She didn’t want to have to tell that story at any point. Isa reached the door at long last, turning slightly to see if the dar’jetii had followed. “You want to do the honours?” she asked, indicating the closed door with a tilt of her helmeted head.
  3. Payback

    The sharp crack of her shots was expected as they impacted duracrete and metal, rather than flesh and blood. She hadn’t been aiming for anything but distraction, but the hiss of a struck bolt sounded wrong - too close, and an impact that should not have occurred. There was nothing there - "I thought I'd get a kiss, not foreplay," came the comment above the ever increasing amount of blasterbolts being flung down the hall. "So much for my goals." It was only years of training that kept Isa from jumping out of her skin at the voice that echoed from nowhere. As it was her pistol jerked slightly in surprise, reflex turning it towards the voice emanating from the emptiness of the hall between herself and the thugs. Isa hissed in irritation and surprise, forcing herself to turn her mind back to the enemies who were determinedly trying to drop… well… just her, since the dar’jetii was nowhere in sight. So it hadn’t been a trick of the light back in the alley. Lovely. The Kath hound who had tried to make a meal out of her dropped, followed by the flash of metal dripping blood that quickly disappeared back into nothingness. Shabla dar’jetii, Isa thought, shoving aside the unease that the whole situation threatened to leave in her bones. She could have a proper mental breakdown later, when no one was trying to shoot her. Instead she made a mental note to keep the slugthrower strapped to her thigh out of the fight - that would rip through armour and wouldn’t be stopped by a lightsaber’s blade, turning to molten metal instead and inflicting just as much damage. Best not to accidentally hit her companion with that. As it was, she spun herself back behind one of the hall’s support struts, taking a moment to draw a breath through her clenched teeth and settle her heartbeat. Pistols weren’t exactly ideal long-range weapons, and even the simple factor of a racing heartbeat could be enough to throw her aim off. Isa let another slow breath through her lips, considering their options even as she checked the shots still left in each of her pistols. No need to reload just yet. They simply didn’t know how to fight with one another. No training, no personal knowledge, no professional associations. They were blank slates to one another, already tripping over one another because they simply didn’t know enough. To work as a team they needed time and knowledge they didn’t have. So it would be better to end this fight quickly. Isa let out a wry chuckle, shaking her helmeted head slightly as the plan took shape. Today was apparently a day for stupid ideas and desperate hopes for luck and bad aim from the opposition. But it was better than nothing. She could feel adrenaline surging, that rush of knowledge and power that every fight brought - a knife’s edge, just as deadly to herself as it was to her opponents. But it was there, and it was hers. Time for this to end. “Oya, dar’jetii,” Isa called, a savage grin carrying in her voice. As much to throw the opponents off balance as it was a hope the Sith would be ready. Isa adjusted her grip on her pistols, took one last breath, and spun around the corner firing. Her HUD assisted in picking targets, and Isa began to move forward, pistols spitting fire. The first to fall was the man her blade had struck before. Two shots to the chest, one from each pistol, and he fell, dead before he hit the ground. The others turned all their attention on her, some shots going wild, but more than a few slamming into the armour plating of her beskar’gam. Isa kept up a continuous stream of fire, hounding their cover and making it all the more dangerous for them to dodge out and try to take her down. Her HUD offered assistance, allowing her to take carefully aimed shots to discourage them all from jumping out at once. She kept moving, cautious not to stay in a straight line, making their job all the harder. The gaps in her armour were hard to hit on the best days, but movement and panic made it all the trickier. A shot staggered her, and the man who fired stepped out of cover to press the assault. He ended up with a blade in his throat, this one drawn from the sheath hidden in the calf plate of her armour. The three left continued to fire with a reasonable amount of successful hits, though panic was starting to throw some shots wide. It was amazing what a person moving continuously forward despite taking fire did to morale, though Isa knew at the end of all this she was going to feel like she’d been run over by a herd of banthas. But it was an opening for the dar’jetii, and she hoped that would be enough, and that he would move soon. It had only been a few seconds since she had started forward, but her luck wouldn’t last forever. As it was her chest throbbed in pain and her shoulder was starting to feel like she’d dipped it in lava, and it wasn’t going to get better. Adrenaline was likely masking other injuries, and she was certain she was going to regret all of this. Sooner or later someone was going to land a decent shot.
  4. Payback

    "Fight or flight?" Isa sighed, mentally cursing the whole day. In truth she hadn’t expected that to go as smoothly as it had, but she’d been hoping for a streak of really shabla good luck. Seemed the galaxy was determined to let her down on that count yet again. At least the comm was out of the picture, meaning any reinforcements would have to be fetched by one of the five here. Isa glanced up in her helmet’s HUD, taking in the positioning of the five guards and the two hounds that were sprinting at them, picking out which man to take first. The two hounds were gaining ground quickly, and Isa took a slow breath, steadying her heartbeat. “Fight,” she answered tersely, though he was no doubt aware that flight was no longer an option. Not with two kath hounds bearing down on them. “Well, it was worth a try,” she said wryly, tilting her head at the dar’jetii. “Try not to get shot.” She flicked a glance back up to the view in her HUD, checking one last time before she moved. She ignored the hounds coming at them, though every instinct screamed at her to focus on the nearest threat. But nearest didn't mean greatest, and neither of the hounds would be able to fetch backup that could quickly turn a bad situation into an even worse one. So she spun on her heel suddenly, focusing on the guard furthest down the hall. She slid a knife from her right gauntlet as she spun, launching it towards the guard she’d already chosen the moment before. Her HUD offered her the advantage that she didn’t need the extra seconds to choose a target and aim, allowing her just a breath of extra time. Her motion didn’t go unobserved and the men staggered apart, already yelling. The first fell as her blade sunk just below his collarbone, his shout turning to a cry of pain. Her hands were still moving, drawing both pistols clear of their holsters as the man scrambled to his feet and the others took up positions. Surprise had erased any ideas except to fight back, but Isa knew that wouldn’t last long - none of them were amateurs if their reaction times were anything to go by, and they would recover quickly enough. She had no more time to consider the situation further as the hounds covered the distance, the first lunging straight for her. She had no time to see where the second went and could only hope the guards took a bit longer to regroup. As it was, Isa could only turn her shoulder to the creature, taking the blow with her armour. She could hear the creature’s teeth scrape over painted metal even as she was slammed to the ground by the hound’s bodyweight. Pain sliced through opposite shoulder as she landed, the blow jarring her grip and nearly causing her to lose her hold on the pistol in that hand. It was all she could do to keep her grip on the weapon, bracing the animal with one arm and fighting to keep the creature from lunging at her throat. Isa lashed out with one armoured fist and felt it strike flesh, but it did little to dissuade the kath hound, earning only a snarl of pain and a renewed effort to find a gap in her armour. Its weight slammed forward again and Isa's arm buckled as she let out a hiss of pain, the kath hound forcing its way forward. Isa felt teeth edge around the corner of her neckplate and threw her weight sideways in time to avoid the hound’s sudden lunge. The hound’s weight shifted and Isa took advantage of the opportunity, slamming her gauntleted fist forward again with the heel of her palm leading, this time triggering the wristblade in her left gauntlet. She felt the blade pierce flesh and was met with a howl of mixed outrage and pain. But the hound lunged away from her, blood dripping from the wound in its side. Not a fatal blow, but enough to allow Isa to roll back to her feet, firing in the direction of the group of guards as she regained her footing. Most of the shots went wide as she didn’t take the time to aim properly, but it was enough to discourage any brave soul from trying to make a dash for reinforcements. For now that was all she wanted. The rest could come once she and the dar’jetii weren’t straight out in the open, practically inviting the men to shoot them down.
  5. Payback

    Interesting. So he didn’t want the attention that a big ruckus would bring, or the recognition. He had introduced himself as Lord Verrin, a name she hadn’t recognised. But now it seemed that anonymity was not, in fact, because he had yet to claw his way to a position of note, but rather because he was intent on remaining an unknown. Her respect for him went up a couple of notches at that. The rest of their journey went on in relative silence, with Isa considering their options as they came closer to the docking bay. Shab, she wished this whole thing was less reliant on luck and their ability to fly by the seat of their pants. She had a sickening feeling they weren’t going to be able to keep it up much longer. As it was, she resorted to playing back the footage of their reluctant informant as they walked, trying to gather as many details as she could from her cams and comms embedded in her helmet. In all, there wasn’t much there to work with. The dar’jetii’s hand snaked out, grasping her arm and drawing her to a halt. “There’s something ahead,” there was a warning in his quiet tone. Isa tilted her head, using her HUD’s scanners to try to pinpoint what was around the corner. She could tell there were humanoids and Kath hounds both, and she let out a slow breath. That was never a good sign. “Alright… We don’t know if they know anything yet, let’s try to string this out. If it goes bad, then at least we gave it a shot. Here’s hoping we don’t have just enough rope to hang ourselves with,” Isa said slowly, keeping her voice low. She considered for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Story. We’re the next step in line for this shipment. It’s yours, bought and paid for, and we’re here to pick it up. Early, because we don’t fully trust Dilla not to doublecross us. That way, if we’re a step behind, we get to start shouting about how we were right all along. Let’s keep you in the background as much as we can for now, I’d rather they not start making connections yet. I’m not exactly subtle,” she said, gesturing to her armour. “But you’re harder to pinpoint. Congratulations, you’ve just hired yourself an impatient Mandalorian with an attitude,” she hesitated a moment, inclining her head. “More than usual, I mean.” It was a thin story at the best of times, but they had little time and a simple story was hard to mess up. She had no doubt the Sith was capable of holding his own, or playing practically any role that he wanted. But neither of them had worked together before, and so they couldn’t read each other well enough to try a more complicated game. “If they start shooting…” Isa shook her head. “I hope you can hold your own in a fight. Try to stay behind me as much as you can - my armour can take a blaster bolt, provided they don’t get lucky and hit a gap. I’m guessing you can do osik I can’t even begin to imagine, but if you’re wanting to stay unremembered, let me take most of the hits and do what damage you can without drawing attention to yourself. But I'll need you at my back, keeping them from just sticking a shiv in my throat. That's probably what will happen if this goes wrong, and I'll never see it in time. I'm the shield, but you're going to have to do most of the actual work if we want to survive this.” It was loose advice and likely unneeded, but all she could give. If he wasn't at her back, helping in his own way, Isa had little doubt that a fight like this would end up fatal. With that, Isa sighed and shook her head. “Shab this is a stupid, stupid plan. Here goes.” She turned the corner, her stride confident and controlled. She didn’t even turn her head to look down at the Kath hounds, instead striding right up to one of the guards. There were five in total, not including the two kath hounds, and she’d chosen one of the ones not handling a hound. Not good numbers if this all went wrong. “Move, aruetii,” she spoke, the words hard and cold, betraying nothing of the unease that was swimming in her stomach. Apparently the approach had startled them, or at least thrown them enough off balance that Isa hadn’t earned a blaster bolt to the gut yet. Good news, so far. “Who are you? Move-” “We’re here for the cargo, chakaar,” Isa said, holding up the piece of flimsi she’d gotten from Lars. She flashed it to the guard before replacing it in her belt. “Dilla has the accounts of it. We’re here to make sure none of it gets… misplaced. Again. So we’re taking it now. Move.” But the guard shifted his weight, blocking her forward progress even as one of the Kath hounds snarled at her feet. “Who gave passed the word to you? And how?” “Dilla sent Lars, we just got the news early,” Isa answered, allowing an edge of irritation to coat her words like poison on a blade. Exactly as she would if this was a real drop, and they were actually meant to be here. “We shook him down in an alley, grabbed it and ran,” now sarcasm was practically dripping from her voice, and she saw more than one of the guards bristle in response. “How do you think, di’kut? By te Manda, if you mistrust your people that bad, hire new ones. How in haran would we have the entry code if we’d just decided to show up. I know that braincell of yours is lonely but try to at least give it some exercise.” “That’s it? No last name, no other-” “How stupid do you think your counterparts are?” Isa drawled. “If you’ve been giving out your full name and secret codes besides, then you’re an even bigger di’kut than you look.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?” “A di’kut?” Isa asked. “It means someone who forgets their pants. I’m sure even you can piece together the implication.” She had no idea how the rest of this conversation was going to go. She just hoped the dar’jetii was ready to move should it be needed.
  6. Payback

    Isa chuckled softly at his return, tilting her head in acknowledgement of the humour. She nodded slightly as he returned to the business at hand, and followed him him back onto the street. Rain still pattered down around them, but Isa paid it no mind. She’d never been one to mind the damp, and had loved storms much harsher than this since her childhood. Being encased in armour likely helped, as it meant her vision and her movement remained fairly unrestricted by the weather. She was, however, startled by the conversation’s turn as the dar’jetii spoke again. She had not expected any show of appreciation, and certainly not an admission of a possible misconception of her people. The whole thing left her rather taken aback. He waved off the remarks a second later, turning back to the matter at hand once more, but Isa hesitated a moment before responding, considering her own words. “I can pilot a ship, if need be. I’ve had experience with a number of vessels, so assuming we can get on board, getting it out of there won’t be much of a problem,” she almost winced at how optimistic that sounded. Things rarely went that smoothly in her experience, and she highly doubted they would now. But she continued anyway, unable to see any other options before them. “Especially since I assume we won’t be attempting to take it too far. If, however, that doesn’t look possible….” she slowed her steps, working through the problem mentally. Finally, she shook her head again. “It’s not ideal, but if all else fails, we’ll secure the hangar, and I can leave you to keep an eye on the cargo while I retrieve my own ship. Loading it will be a pain in the shebs, but…” she sighed, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t see any other options. Not without calling in more aid, and the more people involved means the faster word of this will spread. I’d rather keep it quiet, if only because news spreading gives our opponents time to plan. Even a few seconds could tip the balance.” A fact she herself was intimately familiar with. Not long ago, a few seconds had meant a blaster bolt struck her in the chestplate instead of the throat. One was painful enough, but the other would have been lethal. She let out a hiss between her teeth, the sound coming out mechanised through her helmet’s vocoder. “I don’t like it. At all.” She fell silent a moment, considering both his earlier words and the problem before them. “Dar’jetii,” she spoke again, this time with a hesitation in her voice, an almost grudging admission that warred with years of anger and past experiences. “You are… not the only one having their view of the galaxy challenged tonight.” She offered a sharp nod, unable to find any further words. She’d lost one mother to the Jedi, and the next to the Sith. Both had nearly shattered her, and those were hurts she still carried. She still spoke each woman’s name each day as part of a daily remembrance of the dead, a way Mandalorians kept the memory of loved ones alive. She knew her father did the same. She bore a piece of each of their armour, and had tattoos marked on her skin for each woman, symbols of their lives and stories. They were what had shaped her, and their deaths had also moulded her into who and what she had become. Those were not pieces of herself she could ever set aside - and neither was her anger at both Jedi and Sith and her mistrust of both. Add to that a dar'jetii that didn't act like any she'd ever met, and the confirmation that perhaps not everyone belonging to certain orders could be painted with the same broad strokes... It was a frustrating truth. One that did little to alleviate her general mistrust of either and served only to spark her anger at both. It was something she was going to need time to come to terms with, to grapple with. But all those things were near impossible to try to explain to an aruetii, an outsider. Much less a Sith she’d only met a few hours before. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, turning her mind back to the hangar and the task that lay before them. Isa considered a moment longer, then let out a huff of air. “Oya,” she said finally, a wry humour twisting her voice. She glanced sideways at the dar’jetii, offering a tilted head and a translation for the word. “Or in Basic - Let’s hunt.”
  7. Payback

    Her HUD gave her a split second of warning, and Isa instantly regretted leaving her back to the door. It was a stupid move, plain and simple, and she knew better. Exhaustion was beginning to weigh on her, take its toll. And it was going to get her killed if she wasn’t more careful. She was beginning to move when suddenly the door rebounded with a squeal of metal, the situation apparently taking care of itself. She lifted one brow slowly. Luck was one thing, but hers had never been that stellar. She glanced over at the Sith, wondering… She hadn’t seen any gestures, no mark that the Zabrak had anything to do with the sudden spurt of good luck. And in her experience, dar’jetii had always been the dramatic type, wanting everyone to know exactly how powerful they were. She wasn’t even quite sure it was possible to use the Force without the gestures that always seemed to accompany actions from force users. Still… Time and place, Isa. Focus. She turned her attention back to the man before her, tilting her head as he spoke. She fed the info into her own HUD systems, tracking back through what data she had collected on her own short stay so far, as well as whatever she could access easily enough from the systems. As it was, everything the man had said was plausible enough… "Well, 'Buckethead' - think this chakkar is spilling all the beans, or just a few?" Isa tilted her head, pointedly this time, the expressionless visor of her helmet fixed on the man before her. She let the silence stretch, waiting to see what might shake loose. But the man only glanced between her helmet at the metal door, uttering a low moan that was certainly convincing. If he was lying, he was a stellar actor. “I think it’s all we’ll get,” Isa said in answer. Isa dropped the chip into the man’s hand, but held up one gloved hand when he started to try to rise. “Three things,” she said simply, the words broking no argument. “One, the intel you’ve just given us had best be solid. If there’s anything else, tell us now and I give you my word that you’ll not be punished for withholding it. But tell us now. I find out later, and believe me, a headache is going to be the absolute least of your worries,” she paused, tilting her head again in a signal for him to speak - if he had anything to say. She was met by a long silence, followed by another moan. “..... There… might be a guard. We never saw one, but we pu’ in a kinda code each time. Mine’s still good, here,” he handed over a piece of flimsiplast, which Isa pocketed without a word. His hand was shaking violently. “Second, you tell no one of this. Not a shabla soul, do you understand? I don’t care in the slightest if the hutts find out you gave the intel to me, but I guarantee you that you will not live out the week, and it will not be a pretty death. Consider it a warning - don’t waste it.” The man nodded so hard Isa was sure he’d give himself a worse headache. Isa pulled her glove off one of her hands, the motion slow and deliberate, baring tattooed skin. “And third. If you’ve set us up for anything particularly nasty, believe me I will come back, and I will find you,” she held up her tattooed hand, the contrast between ink and unmarked skin the only clear detail in the dim light of the alleyway. “These are the names of the dead, aruetii. Don’t make me add yours to them.” It was utter bantha osik, at least in the implication. If the man had been Force Sensitive, Isa would have been playing a game of pazaak in her head to mask the deception in her words. As it was she didn’t bother, not caring whether or not the dar’jetii sensed it. Some were the names of the dead, but nothing so crude as a list of her kills. But what the man didn’t know might just work in their favour. Isa replaced her glove deftly, before standing and picking him up off the ground by his collar, giving him a shove to send him stumbling off. “Fourth,” she said as he disappeared, her voice softer this time. “Don’t call me buckethead. It’s very rude,” she turned her head to look at the Sith, tilting her head pointedly. “Unless you were so jealous that you wanted a kiss of your own?” but the tone was light enough, almost teasing. She almost commented on his pronunciation of Mando’a, but simply shook her head lightly, amused. It was rare enough to see anyone bother trying to pick up the language. Much less a Sith.
  8. Payback

    The shabla Sith appeared practically out of nowhere, materialising from the shadows. It was almost enough to make her jump, much less the poor sod she had by the collar. She didn’t much blame him when he started to struggle even more. Nothing quite like a Sith appearing in front of you demanding answers to bring fear to the surface. The Sith made his demand, and Isa couldn’t help inclining her head slightly, impressed despite herself. He handled himself well, and his voice was carefully pitched. Not a threat just yet, but rather the foreshadowing of one. Reasonable enough to start with. Part of her hoped it might bode well for the what would come next. However, the man she held seemed determined to take his chances, spitting to the side. Isa sighed within the confines of her helmet before bringing her head forward and slamming it into the back of the man’s head with a crack. The force of the blow was carefully checked - enough to give a ringing headache and a nasty bump, but not enough to knock him unconscious. The man dropped like a rock, his legs giving out under him, and Isa let him fall, twisting him as he went so he dropped down facing her. Once he was seated on the wet ground holding his head, she crouched in front of him, her body-language easy and relaxed. He didn’t look up, and so she snapped her fingers in front of his face, the armour-plated gloves clanking ominously. He looked up. “That was both rude and stupid,” Isa spoke, her voice almost conversational. “Buckethead-” Isa’s helmeted head came forward again, this time cracking against his forehead. Once again she pulled the blow, and while his head snapped back, he remained fully conscious. “Once again, rather rude and incredibly stupid. You're not exactly starting off on the right foot here. Be polite.” Isa flashing a credit chip with a decent value on it, allowing it to catch the faint light of the alleyway. “That was called a Keldabe kiss, and believe me, I can keep going. Now. You can think of us as reverse thieves, come to put an extra sum in your pocket. All we need from you is the information my associate asked for. Or, I can knock every tooth out of your head, and then you can tell us exactly what we’re looking for.” “My employers-” “Your employers are a bunch of Hutts. What do you think they’ll do when you wind up on their front step, battered to haran and tied up with a nice note pinned to your chest about just how shabla helpful you were? I don’t have to kill you, chakaar. I just have to hand you over and your life becomes ten times worse than I could ever dream of making it,” the anger she allowed to leak into her voice was real. She absolutely hated contracts like this one. Dealing in threats and misery. Violence she could deal with. But the underworld and its osik disgusted her, and the words she uttered tasted vile in her own mouth. Where was the shabla honor in work like this? She’d asked herself that question a hundred times. Sometimes the answer was a simple one, a tradeoff. Sometimes it was less clear, and that...bothered her. Still, she shoved the emotions aside for now - they could be dealt with later, when she didn't have to deal with a stubborn thug in front of her and a dar'jetii at her back. “Tell us what we want, and you walk away with more credits in your pocket and a shabla good alibi for the bruises you’re going to be sporting tomorrow. Everybody wins. Except the Hutts, naturally, but that lot can kiss my shebs. I doubt you’ve got a whole hell of a lot of loyalty for them - so think of it as an added bonus for your job. You get to help us kick them in the shebs, and you get to walk away from it richer,” Isa spread her hands, palms up, still perfectly balanced in her crouch before him. She glanced at the Sith, waiting for the man to make his choice. She had no idea how this was going to play out, and if it did go south, she could only hope the dar’jetii would have her back.
  9. 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.
  10. 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.
  11. 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.
  12. 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.
  13. 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.
  14. 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
  15. 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
×