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Post by Alkor Centaris on Aug 27, 2020 5:37:22 GMT -8
He stood quietly, unflinching as Hevn moved to greet the newcomer. Alkor reflected quietly on the face, the antics, and the demeanor of the man in silence because he was reminded of someone he had dealt with in the past; but he remained stoic because, on a whim, he made the decision not to snuff the man out.
Bedrovelse quickly sniffed out his persona, and the name Stargo swirled rhythmically in the Jen'jidai's mind. Alkor let the ashes and dust fly free through his thoughts, still hot, still burning, until they ignited into a bright flame. Recognition.
Stargo. He was a Corellian criminal, with an organization that once rivaled the one Alkor had been affiliated with in his youth. If he was this far outside the Five Brothers, the likelihood existed that he had been ousted from the Core with no small amount of prejudice. If he was as far out as Contruum, he was looking for someone he could use.
Alkor did not take the immediate, venomous approach to Zeverance that his brother had. Instead, he took a step closer and leaned in, assessing the man from scarily close proximity. Yes. This was the man who raised the name Stargo from nothing to rival Jaymes and Cicero. He'd almost been told to kill him on several occasions.
"I know your face," Alkor spoke at last. "Yes, I know who you are."
He stepped backward slowly, eyes closed. Willing or uninterested in adding further explanation to his words, the Corellian exile lifted his ale from the table and took a small sip. The images of a time he'd worked laboriously to put out of his mind flashed unbidden again. So, the galaxy had once more decided to spit the past in his face.
Hevn knew enough about Alkor, where the others might not. Alkor spent the past twenty or so years of his life learning names and studying faces, only to erase those who wore them. If he knew a man's name, it was because he was somehow intermingled with that business.
Stargo, however, was Corellian. He was a Corellian criminal, and those in the Underworld remembered Cicero's murderous pup. Even if his name had faded to obscurity, and his had become nothing more than a bedtime story to keep little children on the straight and narrow.
"Tell me, Stargo. What brings you out so far from home?"
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Zeverance Stargo
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Affiliation: The Eclipse Syndicate / Stargo Crime Family
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Post by Zeverance Stargo on Aug 27, 2020 10:32:04 GMT -8
The brief moments that followed Stargo's approach of the table had gone by faster than he could have ever anticipated. As the chair he was reaching for slammed into the back of his legs, Stargo's heart skipped a beat and his body landed with a thud. An invisible hand pulled him closer to the table while the Mandalorian hissed at him in his native tongue, capitalizing on his sentence with a bit of basic that threatened Stargo with mutilation via knife. Only a stupid man would have not been overcome with a sudden spike of fear as the one that shot through Stargo in the short moments after the scene unfolded. The mafioso gripped the seat of his chair, fingers still tight after the sudden fall into it. His breathing had grown deep and fast and his pupils dilated as his body focused his vision in anticipation for a fight.
Stargo fought back the adrenaline and steadied his mind just in time to feel it be violated. His gaze shot towards the man wrapped in shaggy brown cloth, his eyes slowly returning to their usual stormy blue from the dark near-black they had gone as his body struggled to catch up with the spurt of aggression from the table. Stargo was taken aback as he recounted the recent business with Idek in the back and how he had given them the treat of the Twi'lek's private reserves. The surprise faded after a quick thought, however. It was becoming quickly obvious why his Feeling had called him over to these men...they were like him. He knew there were others, like the Jedi and Sith, who could touch the same power he had felt little need to dive into. These people, at least most of them, were touched in the same way he was...albeit they obviously were more well trained in it.
Maybe they were Jedi.
No that made no sense. Jedi wouldn't be on Contruum and he doubted they'd be keeping the company of Mandalorians. Sith perhaps and yet that seemed just as unlikely. What business would the Sith have in this place? Unless...they were running from something? The questions remained unanswered as one more voice had his say.
As soon as the Ticon thug had mentioned that he knew him, Stargo was certain he knew the man just as well as he'd known the rest of the Ticon lapdogs. Jaymes and Cicero had hired countless droves of useless scum to do their bidding, but none of the scum had the reputation of the man who had paid for a thousand funerals.
Zev allowed himself one last shuttering breath before forcing himself to pull his emotions down to his gut and bury them somewhere deep. This was no time for fear.
Fear would only get him killed in this company. So would lies, for that fact. If they were like him but more powerful, then he could only imagine the intuition they would have for sensing the truth in someone. So, with little else to his name, Stargo opted to use the same strategy that'd always worked for him in the past,
With a long, drawn out sigh, Stargo's hand disappeared into his jacket pocket and materialized a heartbeat later with a metal tin the size of his own palm and twice as thick, "I'm not sure what your stances are on smoking" he began to the group, his deep voice still strained by the shock the group had given him, "but after such melodrama I think I need another cigar"
The tin opened with a hiss of air, revealing a velvet pouch within. The purple cloud of fluff was decorated with five cigars with just enough room for a missing sixth. After taking one the Corellian slid the tin to the center of the table, it's lid still open for any of the men to take one if they wished. A lighter soon appeared in his hand from another pocket and the plasma flame had lit the tip soon after. Closing his eyes Stargo took a puff and the sweet, java hinted smoke soothed his nerves further.
Taking care to blow the smoke in the opposite direction of the small girl seated at the head of the table, Zeverance eased himself to addressing Bedrovelese first.
"That was an impressive parlor trick, effective even - but a waste of your energy. If you wanted to know my name I would have told you and as far as my departed business associate - well I doubt you care much about him anyway." Zeverance casually folded his left leg over the right before continuing, "but you were wrong about one thing. This booth is hardly a private setting. If no one was curious about you before, they are intensely intrigued by you now."
He turned to the Mandalorian next, saving Alkor for last, "and I know that you all could kill me right now and I'd have no real way of defending myself. But like I said this is my establishment and I know it well. You can kill me but I'd be willing to wager that would cause you all far more concern than it is worth. You kill me so publicly and it will start talk - people here know who I am and what I do, maybe they will even think you are rival spice dealers.
"Maybe they think you are Hutt Cartel assassins or Black Sun thugs. It won't really matter because that talk will reach The Empire's ears and one thing The Empire hates, as I'm sure you know, is disorder. What is more disorderly than the possibility of a spice gang war happening under their watch?" Confidence began flooding back through Zev's veins and he even managed a smirk before placing his cigar back between his lips and pulling the smoke into his mouth, "you know how the rest plays out. They investigate who I am, discover my contacts within their port system and before you realize it you are involved in an Imperial corruption scheme that you never were apart of to begin with. It might not scare you, I'm sure you are all capable, but that seems like a lot of trouble for men who need to do their business in the shadow of society."
Then with a purpose reserved solely for him, Zeverance turned to the Ticon hired killer and blew a cloud of Tabacc ash in the killer's direction, "I'm sure you understand that, Alkor Centaris. In fact, I could ask you the same thing. Contruum hardly seems like the place for a man who buries families for the Ticons."
Turning now to the girl he noted again her thin frame, "are you making a new career in slave trafficking?"
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Amaya
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Post by Amaya on Aug 28, 2020 10:39:00 GMT -8
It all happened very quickly, but Amaya did her best to keep track of everyone and everything that happened in the span of just moments that it took for everything to settle once more.
When the stranger she had pointed out sauntered over to their table and rested his hands on the back of her chair, she looked up at him curiously, looking into his bright blue eyes with her dark ones, “Oh. Hi.” The same odd feeling that had drawn her attention still accompanied the man here, and it didn’t take long for the others at the table to notice the same thing she had. Or maybe they already didn’t like each other. They weren’t making it easy to tell.
The armored man that she’d heard referred to as ‘Lord Reaver’ spoke to her next in a language she didn’t understand, and his remark in Mando’a earned a furrowed brow and a cocked head. It was something she would have to ask him about later, this interaction continuing on at a pace that allowed for little pause.
A plate of chips was slid towards her next by a robed man who became rather animated in the next few moments, but it was the darkness he drew upon that stopped her from finishing this plate as quickly as she had her first. Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth and she looked between the robed man and the stranger now identified as Zeverance Stargo, able to feel the malice emanating from whatever entity or conjure of the past that was called upon. Someone had been hurt, and that intuition was confirmed when it was revealed that this Mister Stargo had killed someone just before his arrival.
When Stargo began speaking she continued eating, idly kicking her feet beneath the table. Her interest peaked when the cigars were presented and sat before the group, and before anyone could reach out to stop her she picked one up, smelling it before wrinkling her nose in disgust and letting it fall back into the velvet case. Deciding that she much rather preferred the chips that had been given to her, she looked again at the stranger who had now been forcibly added to their little party, “Why did you hurt him?”
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Faust Skirata
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I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
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Affiliation: The Priesthood
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Post by Faust Skirata on Sept 4, 2020 7:46:03 GMT -8
The threat of violence hung in the air for one delicious moment, then ebbed away, ecstacy draining from the air as introductions were made, cigars passed around. Faust could feel the Destroyer's gaze slipping away from them, ever restless, ever seeking a worthy battle. His absence left a cold void in the priest's chest, as it always did. 'Soon,' he vowed to himself, 'I will offer you a tribute that will darken the very stars.'
With a rasping sigh, the Thyrsian resigned himself to the drudgery that loomed ahead. Negotiations, chest pounding, value assessed and reassessed. The newest addition to their table was- despite whatever paltry act of murder he'd committed- clearly a businessman with business on his mind. That he wasn't dead already could only mean that the Jen'jidai were interested in what he might offer.
He lifted his helm free of his mangled head and placed it on the table next to his knife. Sulfuric yellow eyes peered out of a face in ruins, flitting from one face to the next before landing on the drink nearest him. Bringing it to his lips, the priest wrinkled his nose before shrugging and taking a noisy gulp. Rivulets of liquor escaped through the gaping wound in his right cheek in a steady drip. 'Not tihaar, but it'll do.'
The prospect of even halfhearted interest in the conversation between the three other men set the Mandalorian's teeth on edge. Instead he found himself staring at the little girl, lambent eyes unblinking. After a moment's contemplation he suddenly reached out and seized the back of her chair with one hand, dragging it around the table until it was next to him before leaning in conspiratorially. His ragged face close to hers, the Butcher of Rodia flashed the girl a hideous smile. "How do you come to sit at my table, adika? Are you an orphan? Or perhaps your mother and father cannot care for you...where is your home, that you would travel here of all places to gnaw at scraps?"
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Post by Bedrovelse Hevn on Sept 14, 2020 11:52:10 GMT -8
Subtly perhaps, an air of disappointment hung about Hevn with equal parts curiosity. His expectations demanded some manner of retaliation or a standoff with whatever men followed this Stargo character. The man chose a different route, putting all his credits in a firm wager on his charisma prevailing over the men at the table. Playing the men, instead of the sabaac cards.
Hevn’s peacocking was not lost on Stargo, which made it all the more interesting his fixation was on Alkor. It was not that Alkor was any less significant as a connoisseur of information and connections. It was that he preferred to do so quietly. Hevn is a vanguard. Large, loud, with a plethora of fortitude to back whatever focus he can draw from his enemies. To give his brother opportunity to do what he did best. Carve through like the artist of shadows he was.
With men like Faust and Hevn flanking Alkor, you could almost hear the war drums in Stargo’s chest slowing with each cloud of smoke slipping from his lungs back into the cantina. Hevn accepts a cigar as a peace offering, and does not balk at the drink offered either. A hedon through and through. He lets the aromas dwell on his barely human senses. The tastes linger on the subdued abilities of his synthetic tongue. As the wrap falls from his mouth his disturbing smile flashes toward Faust pulling the child around to his side of the table. Hevn’s bottom row of teeth a series of nearly translucent blocks secured in a grey mesh of synthetic gums.
As one of the cantina harlots began to saunter towards their table, eyes flashing in an all too obvious circle of curiosity, Hevn ashes his cigar on the floor. His finger twirls above it, and the ash begins to roll. It leaves a thin film marking the cantina floor as it rolls around the backside of their chairs with a little extra given berth.
As Hevn began to speak the ash completes the circle, and his voice was accompanied with an undertone of reverberating power, “Warji….zutawtumriku….dizitjasi...akuti...dia asarsi.”
As the woman’s toe crossed the threshold of his circle, she seemed to have remembered she had interest elsewhere. Setting her foot outside it and walking away towards the bar again. As Hevn scanned the faces behind Stargo and Faust, the attention that he’d managed to seize moments ago began to fade as quickly as it had come. The interest of wandering eyes and thoughts clouded and redirected towards their own affairs. His huff of pride concluding the incantation was coupled with a coil of smoke, and even it trailed swiftly from the magic of the sorcerer’s will.
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Amaya
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Post by Amaya on Oct 8, 2020 7:41:39 GMT -8
A surprised yelp followed her around the table as she was pulled around to sit next to the one man whose face she had yet to see, though now that he had removed his helmet she had that privilege. Or perhaps privilege was the wrong word, that he seemed to be a map of nothing more than scar tissue and old wounds, but Amaya only quietly cocked her head at this, equal parts too nervous and suddenly shy.
He was dangerous in a way she didn’t have words for, which wasn’t to discredit the threat all at the table presented. The way that mysterious sixth sense guided Stargo it also followed her, whispers at the edges of her subconscious hinting at the terrible things he’d done much the same as it had for the businessman. Amaya couldn’t begin truly fathom the depths of the violent acts committed by this man, but it explained her sudden wariness.
Still, she did hear and respond to his inquiry, something that deserved credit if just because of her young age and lack of worldliness. “I was on a ship with other kids, but we didn’t have a lot of food. So we came here in escape pods and found this place.” She paused then, thinking for a moment before adding, “I don’t really remember my parents.” There was no sadness to it simply because she’d been too young to develop formative memories of them before they were gone, and so there was no attachment for the child to grieve.
Her eyes lit up as she remembered what she had intended to ask him, and so it was her turn to pose a question, “What language is that?”
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Faust Skirata
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I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
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Post by Faust Skirata on Oct 9, 2020 7:53:56 GMT -8
"Mando'a." he replied, absentminded as he considered her words. It wasn't surprising that she lacked a clear understanding of her situation- what child could understand the intricacies of slavery, or perhaps the simple, cold weight of crushing poverty? Perhaps she had escaped. Maybe her departure hadn't even been noticed.
It mattered little and boiled down to the simple fact that she had nothing to return to, and no one to come looking for their wayward ward. The galaxy was a rotten place, struck through with billions of stories like hers. That didn't change the fact that there was only one way to proceed.
Faust rose from the table without preamble, absentmindedly snatching his dirk from the table with one hand and his helm with the other. He gave each of the three men still seated an inquisitive stare, with the longest saved for Bedrovelse.
"You have my comm frequency. When you are ready for my men to perform their rites once more, simply call." The Reaver Lord shoved his blade into its scabbard and donned his helm. "I expect to be compensated in the manner agreed upon at the time of completion- no more delays, aruetti."
The jangle of ringmail and the heavy thud of his boots was the only goodbye given. The stumbling crowd of drunks hastened to part before him, seeming to take note of him only after he had stepped through the gloom of smoke obscuring the table and then staggering away in surprise. None quite dare to crowd back into the space left in his wake, leaving a clear path to the door.
When he reached it he stopped short, casting a glance over his shoulder. "K'olar, ad'ika. Come along." The door hissed open to admit the roar of pelting rain, and the priest stepped out into the storm without waiting for a reply.
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Amaya
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Post by Amaya on Oct 13, 2020 11:13:04 GMT -8
When he stood to leave Amaya followed him with her eyes to the door, it not lost on her how quickly the crowd parted to let him pass. It took her a moment to process that he’d beckoned her along, and she blinked as if not understanding what he’d said at first. After all, they had only just met, and he seemed to care the least for her of those present.
Despite it all she still slid down from her chair to the floor, careful where she stepped as she followed after him, finding it much easier now that the sea had already been parted for her. Maybe one day he would teach her how to do that.
Bare feet pattered alongside his boots on the wet ground, but she didn’t seem to mind the rain. Her attention was mostly preoccupied by him, as this was the first time she’d been able to see him at his full height and look over his armor from head to toe. She had even more questions now, but supposed it would be better to wait until they were somewhere more suited.
For the time being she would remain his shadow, albeit more diminutive and significantly less imposing.
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Faust Skirata
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I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
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Post by Faust Skirata on Oct 15, 2020 9:11:57 GMT -8
In spite of its towering buildings and hunched, crowded architecture, there were remarkably few people to be seen wandering the city streets, with only the occasional speeder flitting overhead. With the widespread use of personal rain shields, the weather wasn't much of a deterrent, nor was this area of town so grimy as to warrant avoidance. Instead, the lack of crowds was more likely an indication of a planet-wide obsession with industrialization, progress, and urbanization. The sprawling metropolis had simply outgrown Contruum's fledgling population, and their fascination with expansion.
It might have struck the priest as funny, were it not all so kriffing pathetic.
The rain fell steadily and soaked them both instantly, fat drops plummeting from a sky just as dreary and gray as the city beneath it. Barefoot, dressed in thin garments, the child must have been miserable. Yet she offered no protestations. She didn't even ask where he was leading her. It was, Faust mused, behavior only exhibited by someone who truly had no options.
Fortunately for her it was a short jaunt to the alleyway where he had stashed his speeder bike, hidden behind a pile of refuse between two abandoned buildings. A muttered word into his helm deactivated the bike's security system; another released the latch on it's small side compartment.
The rough brown cloak he pulled from within was comically oversized for his diminutive companion, but she hugged it gratefully against her small frame when he threw it around her shoulders. Watching her clutch the fabric and nuzzle into what little warmth it had to offer, the priest felt something- that immediately evaporated, lost before it could be recognized.
Wordlessly he picked her up, shock registering at how light she was, and dropped her onto the bike. He kicked his own leg over the seat, gauntleted hands finding their familiar purchase on the handlebars, and activated the engine. "Hold on tightly, ad'ika." he cautioned, his words a mechanical monotone through his buy'ce's vocalizer. The acceleration was sudden and violent as they roared out of the alleyway, banking sharply to merge onto the street.
He drove aggressively, skimming just above the duracrete at the bike's maximum speed, skirting around the traffic and even the occasional pedestrian without slowing. Within moments they had left the entertainment district behind; in less than an hour they were on the outskirts of the city. As the buildings became fewer and the distance between them greater, they eventually even outran the rain, breaking through the blanket of storm clouds and into the brightness of a sunny but freshly soaked countryside.
All the while Faust Skirata could feel the girl's small hands clutching desperately at his armor, holding on for dear life.
The sun was just beginning its descent when they reached the farmhouse, framing the shabby structure against a backdrop of pink and purple. Two of his Reavers, heavily armored and holding rifles, stepped forward to greet them as the whine of the engine dissipated. The nearest clapped an armored fist against his breastplate. "Alor. The shuttle is prepped and ready to go. On your word."
Faust gave the man a weary nod by way of reply before shouldering past him, long strides carrying him across the lawn and to the home's entryway.
Harlen was seated within, his helm laying on the table next to a pile of credit chits, his lined face furrowed in concentration as he studied the cards in his hand. He broke into a grin when he caught sight of the Prophet. "Thank Kad," he boomed. "You're just in time to stop this chakaar from stealing the rest of my credits!"
"Gambling with our host?" The priest queried.
"Gambling? Nayc, alor, I'm being robbed!"
"Ah." Faust nodded gravely. "In that case, perhaps you would be better served in finishing preparations for our departure. Mandalore awaits us, ner tat."
"That she does," The huge man heaved a sigh and stood, towering over the table with its modest pot and discarded hand of cards. "Though I doubt she'll be pleased to see her wayward sons and daughters come home." The aging Mandalorian made to leave before stopping short at the sight of Faust's diminutive companion. "Who's this, then?"
"Someone with nowhere else to go." The priest shrugged and left it at that.
"I see." Harlen nodded, understanding instantly. "In that case, welcome home, ad'ika." He dropped a heavy hand on the girl's shoulder as he passed her.
Faust fell heavily into the now vacant seat and fixed his expressionless mask toward the farmer, now busy counting the credit chits left on the table. "We will be out of your hair shortly. I apologize again for our trespass."
"Nonsense," the old man laughed. "I don't get a lot of excitement come my way these days. Fleecing credits off you bucket heads is the most fun I've had in ages."
"Regardless, I would compensate you for your hospitality." Faust laid another chit on the table. Fixing the priest with a puzzled stare, the farmer picked it up, eyes widening as he read the amount.
"I couldn't possibly accept-"
"Nayc," Faust interrupted. "No. No protest, please. Thank you again...you have been a great help to the Destroyer." He turned his attention to the girl, as if suddenly remembering she was there.
"Be seated. We must have words before we leave."
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Amaya
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Post by Amaya on Oct 25, 2020 8:37:12 GMT -8
Wrapped in a damp cloak that swallowed her up and covered everything save for her face, Amaya resembled more a miniature shadow than any companion of a war priest. That didn’t stop her from following his every footstep closely; if anything it only encouraged her, as she knew with him she had guaranteed protection. Such security had been lacking, but now it had come in the form of scars and steel.
Despite her silence, Faust would see her gratefulness in the way her eyes followed his every move, and that her every move was carefully calculated to put as little distance between them as possible. Perhaps she didn’t care for him in a way that truly mattered yet, but finding comfort in his presence was the first step.
Never before in her life had she seen a sunset, and this became evident once the bike came to a stop and she slid off, only to be immediately enraptured with the watercolor wash of blues, purples, and oranges that painted the horizon in a beautiful miasma of color. A slow smile spread across her face, and she stood in quiet appreciation before realizing he’d already begun walking towards the house, her little legs scurrying to catch up with him.
Just as there had been outside there were similarly armored individuals within, along with an older man who looked distinctly out of place among the current company. The brief conversation was listened to idly, though she understood little the true gravity of the discussion. It was swiftly brought around to focus on her as a hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up at an unfamiliar face as it welcomed her home before continuing onwards.
Blinking once, she looked at Faust with a questioning expression, but he’d already taken to conversing with the out of place stranger. Their exchange was even briefer, and soon enough he was inviting her to sit at the table. Taking a few shuffling steps forward, she pulled out a chair and climbed into it, looking around the room from this new vantage point before focusing her attention on him.
Shifting around in the cloak to get more comfortable, she fixed him with another question, “What’s an ad’ika?” Her Mando’a was no doubt woefully mispronounced, but she felt she had a right to know what the word meant since they kept referring to her with it.
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Faust Skirata
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I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
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Post by Faust Skirata on Oct 27, 2020 7:05:36 GMT -8
"It means "little child" in Basic. A term of endearment, I assure you." Faust replied with a shrug. It was easy to forget that, even in a galaxy as vast as this one, there were few who spoke his native tongue. "You failed to give me your name, and I failed to give you mine, though you may have overheard it. I am Faust, once of Clan Skirata. I am a Mandalorian." He barked a short, sudden laugh. "Though there are some who would dispute that. What cannot be disputed is that I am shekemir- a warpriest, a faithful servant, pledged to the Destroyer God Kad Harangir. The men you saw outside, and many more like them, have made similar vows, in many cases forsaking their clans and their people in the name of something greater."
It occurred to him that this was likely all going over her head, and he sighed. "What I'm trying to say to you is that I lead an army of killers. We worship a terrible God, and we do terrible things in His name. You followed me this far willingly enough, and I allowed it because it's easy enough to see you possess a certain strength. You would've had to, in order to survive this long." He cleared his throat; speaking Basic for extended periods like this always caused him discomfort. Too many choppy syllables, he supposed. "I also do not attribute our meeting to mere coincidence. The Destroyer's plan for the galaxy is a complex, layered thing, and there is the chance that he placed you in my path for a reason. But, before you follow me any further, you must understand where I would lead you.
It has been said that to suffer is divine. This is true in part, but it's like...like being unable to see the forest for all of the trees. Pain, both willingly given and taken by force, is only a small facet of what it means to worship. We cull the weak, not out of malice but to promote new growth- much the same as a farmer clears his field of weeds so that a crop may grow in its place. We prove ourselves, both by sacrificing our pain and by triumphing in battle, not for personal glory, but to prove that we are alive. That we can change, grow, become new. That we are not stagnant.
It is not easy. It is not safe. And it is not a life fit for a child. If you wish to follow me any further, you must accept it all the same, or be left behind to a life of comfort and stagnation."
The odds that she could truly grasp what he was telling her were slim, but he had simplified the core truths he and his men lived by as much as possible.
From behind the iron mask of his helm, the Prophet of Harangir watched her, waiting, and took note of the heavy hand on his shoulder.
Kad watched with him.
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Nov 7, 2020 5:56:20 GMT -8
The Priest and his newfound kin left them to sort their business, Alkor regarded Stargo with an expression somewhere between disdain and amusement. "Charming," he spat acerbically, "When have you ever known me to deal in living bodies?"
With the looming dread of a Mandalorian Priest gone, they could speak more frankly, more openly. Faust wanted his holy war and the time for that would come, but Alkor and Hevn were more subtle men. For a given value of subtle. Their reason for coming to Contruum was to expand their collapsed network into something of relevance again. With the affirmation of Ha'rangir's cult at their behest, they had already made great strides.
Now, joined by a notorious Corellian crime lord, it seemed fortune favored them today. Either they killed him and made a reputation on the act, or he actually had something worthwhile to offer. Alkor and Stargo had something of a history, grudge filled though it was.
How many of this man's trusted enforcers and drug pushers had he murdered?
The numbers eventually bled together.
"Cicero released me from my contract a long time ago," he revealed. A half truth. Cicero Ticon was not a man who simply let people walk away from his family. Then again, with his own reputation, perhaps Stargo would buy it.
Cicero was a shrewd man who didn't want to be in the cross hairs of men like Alkor. He was- but his day would come. He needed a compelling enough reason to break his exile before he ever went back to that gods forsaken world.
"It would seem we are both looking to expand our horizons, and I'm not one for hard feelings. If you can make it worth our time, we might be keen to go into business with you."
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Amaya
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Post by Amaya on Nov 10, 2020 10:43:41 GMT -8
"It means "little child" in Basic. A term of endearment, I assure you." Faust replied with a shrug. It was easy to forget that, even in a galaxy as vast as this one, there were few who spoke his native tongue. "You failed to give me your name, and I failed to give you mine, though you may have overheard it. I am Faust, once of Clan Skirata. I am a Mandalorian." He barked a short, sudden laugh. "Though there are some who would dispute that. What cannot be disputed is that I am shekemir- a warpriest, a faithful servant, pledged to the Destroyer God Kad Harangir. The men you saw outside, and many more like them, have made similar vows, in many cases forsaking their clans and their people in the name of something greater." It occurred to him that this was likely all going over her head, and he sighed. "What I'm trying to say to you is that I lead an army of killers. We worship a terrible God, and we do terrible things in His name. You followed me this far willingly enough, and I allowed it because it's easy enough to see you possess a certain strength. You would've had to, in order to survive this long." He cleared his throat; speaking Basic for extended periods like this always caused him discomfort. Too many choppy syllables, he supposed. "I also do not attribute our meeting to mere coincidence. The Destroyer's plan for the galaxy is a complex, layered thing, and there is the chance that he placed you in my path for a reason. But, before you follow me any further, you must understand where I would lead you. It has been said that to suffer is divine. This is true in part, but it's like...like being unable to see the forest for all of the trees. Pain, both willingly given and taken by force, is only a small facet of what it means to worship. We cull the weak, not out of malice but to promote new growth- much the same as a farmer clears his field of weeds so that a crop may grow in its place. We prove ourselves, both by sacrificing our pain and by triumphing in battle, not for personal glory, but to prove that we are alive. That we can change, grow, become new. That we are not stagnant. It is not easy. It is not safe. And it is not a life fit for a child. If you wish to follow me any further, you must accept it all the same, or be left behind to a life of comfort and stagnation." The odds that she could truly grasp what he was telling her were slim, but he had simplified the core truths he and his men lived by as much as possible. From behind the iron mask of his helm, the Prophet of Harangir watched her, waiting, and took note of the heavy hand on his shoulder. Kad watched with him. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There was an incredibly long silence that dwelled long after his explanation was finished. He was correct to assume she understood little of all that had been said, but in her own way Amaya was processing it. This was simply the first time she’d been presented with such broad concepts as life, death, religion and morality. It was a lot to take in for anyone, let alone a child who had before this spent all her life in isolation aboard a ship set adrift to nowhere. In the span of hours she’d made her first point of contact with real civilization, and now a new life was being offered to her. With a small sigh all her own, she finally fixed the priest - Faust was the name he’d given her - with a look far less intimidating but demanding its own attention nonetheless. “So you’re all bad people, and you worship a god that makes you do bad things to other people.” There was no judgement in her words, just a want to understand at least some of what was going on. “And you want me to come with. And be a Mandalorian.” That was an entirely new can of worms that had yet to be opened, but she supposed it couldn’t be any more or less terrible than what he was making the rest of it out to be. Another period of silence followed regardless of whether he confirmed, denied or simply ignored her statements. She looked around the room again, considering this choice as best a child could, although it wasn’t much of one at all to someone like her. At the end of the day, it meant leaving without the only person - barring children barely older than she was - who cared about her, or going with him to see what the rest of the galaxy had to offer. Maybe it meant doing the bad things he talked about, but at least she would belong somewhere. Finally, she slid off her chair and walked up to him, looking up into the T-visor of his helmet. After a moment she reached out her hand for him to take, not breaking eye contact. “Okay. I'll go." |
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Faust Skirata
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I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
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Post by Faust Skirata on Nov 18, 2020 8:01:34 GMT -8
For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Faust Skirata laughed- a short, rasping sound made all the more sinister by his buyce's vocalizer. The girl's halting analysis of him and his god had stripped it bare. She wasn't wrong. "Something like that."
Silence followed, one that the priest dared not interrupt. His offer was not something to be taken lightly, and he was relieved to see serious consideration on the child's face. The absurdity of asking for such a commitment from one so young wasn't lost on him, yet the respect he held for her decision one way or another was immense.
The farmer seated next to him shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable, but unwilling to break the silence. Whatever opinion he had of the proceedings, and however well he'd got along with his Mandalorian guests, he was at least smart enough to know that interference would be suicide.
"Okay. I'll go." As simple as that. Faust looked down at the tiny outstretched hand. And sighed.
He reached out, not to take it, but to press the grip of his Ripper into her grasp. The pistol was absurdly oversized for her, no doubt requiring both hands just to support it. "Words are wind, adika. Show me you understand."
Lightning fast, he seized the back of the farmer's head with his right hand and slammed it into the table, holding it there in the iron grasp of his shukorok. The force of the impact left the man dazed, mumbling incoherently. Hands, frail with age and injury, clawed ineffectually at the immovable vice holding him in place.
Faust reached out with his free hand- slowly, aware of the effect that violence had on the innocent- and placed it over hers, guiding them until the barrel of the Ripper was placed against the farmer's temple.
"Show me."
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Amaya
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Post by Amaya on Nov 25, 2020 13:10:52 GMT -8
It did indeed take both hands for her to support the weapon, and Amaya looked down at it, her expression unreadable. This was the first time in her life she’d laid hands on a gun, or any sort of weaponry for that matter, and its capabilities weren’t lost on her. This was the sort of thing that killed people, and she knew it wasn’t to be taken lightly. It was heavier than she’d expected, having looked so small on his hip in comparison.
Hardly any time was given for contemplation before he had the farmer held down with one hand and guided the muzzle until it pressed against the man’s head. Her eyes widened and Amaya looked up at this stranger who had quickly become a friend as he now bid her to take a life. Suddenly she was very aware of just how young she was, her breath quickening as the adrenaline started coursing through her veins.
Her hands started shaking but she did her best to steady them, taking slight comfort in the feeling of his hand pressed firmly into her back to steady her, whether from the recoil or to prevent her from shying away from this decision she couldn’t tell. That single gesture meant more to her than he would perhaps ever realize, giving her a resolve she hadn’t possessed before.
Amaya took another deep breath, forcing herself to look now at the farmer. He was terrified, his eyes pleading with her as he now knew words would mean a more painful death. It filled her with a kernel of doubt, one that was quickly smothered when she again looked at Faust.
Fixing her gaze once more on the helpless man before her, she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger.
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Brayark Vizsla
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 76
Affiliation: Death Watch
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Post by Brayark Vizsla on Jan 21, 2021 9:38:04 GMT -8
Champion City
All was well in Champion City. Governor Hjalmar Priest continued to oversee Clan Vizsla's interests on Contruum with admirable dedication. With the political side of planetary affairs taken care of, Brayark Vizsla was free to pursue more Death Watch oriented courses of action. With the appointment of a new Mand'alor, and the removal of Aya Ordinii as the leader of the Assembly, Death Watch turned its focus to other matters. Matters of external security and defense. Anything that threatened the integrity of the Assembly was now Death Watch's current mandate. Though the difference between Death Watch and say, the Protectors, was Death Watch wasn't restricted to any of the acknowledged laws of the Assembly, allowing them to more effectively and sometimes violently deal with threats. The current threat to Mandalorian stability, at least as perceived by Death Watch, was Clan Australis. The renegade Clan, while respectful of other Mandalorians, was still the wild card in play. Self serving, Australis was the outcast Clan in the Assembly. Which was surprising, given Clan Vizsla's history. No, so long as Clan Vizsla supported the Assembly, even if it wasn't actively involved in the day to day politics, could remain in good standing. Or at least that was the goal.
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Brayark Vizsla
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 76
Affiliation: Death Watch
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Post by Brayark Vizsla on Dec 31, 2021 12:24:12 GMT -8
Champion City
Governor Hjalmar Priest continued to oversee Clan Vizsla's interests on Contruum, though very little had changed. Brayark himself was off attending other matters, so the day to day handling of affairs fell on Priest. Dealing with the Assembly was tiring, but worth the effort, as it kept Clan Vizsla in good standing. The arrival of an unknown enemy had many of the Vizsla clan members in Champion City on edge, but news had arrives that an allied carrier as well as one of the home defense ships were currently moving in to intercept. Hopefully the fighting didn't come down to the surface, though Clan Vizsla was more than prepared to deal with that, should the worst come to pass.
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Zed Bakiska
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By the three Kennedys
Posts: 287
Affiliation: Jensaarai
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Post by Zed Bakiska on Jun 5, 2022 14:09:53 GMT -8
Zeds shuttle flew over the great forest of Nunnehi skimming over the trees. He had forgotten how beautiful the landscape could be, or maybe he had blocked it out. When he had last been over the forest great swaths of it had been aflame, the smoke and ashes choking out everything. Now you could hardly tell that there had ever been a war here. What bare patches remained in the forest were filled with lush undergrowth and young saplings growing filling in those patches year by year. Circling over what looked like a hill peaking out over the canopy several of the older, taller trees showing the scars of years past were almost as tall as the hill below them.
Following a break in the trees that traced a river nearly a kilometer away from the hill Zed located a patch that was still bare although even it was slowly being claimed by the forest around it. Touching down on the cracked and cratered landing pad the shuttle let out a hiss of steam and gasses. Beside them lay a derelict YT-2400 with a large hole in its side. Releasing the ramp Zed was assaulted with the humidity in the air. Having spent more than a decade in the deserts of Tatooine it felt like getting slapped in the face with a wet rag. Still dressed as a Tusken Zed looked around the pad and a lump formed in his throat. Not 30 feet from where he landed lay a body, its bones bleached white in the sun. Its clothing reduced to rags, and their weapon rusted from the weather just beyond their grasp where it had fallen.
Why did he think this was a good idea? What was the point in returning?
Slowly he walked into the direction of the hill. At one point there had been a dirt road stretching all the way from the city of Khagarbhan all the way to the his destination, now though the road was gone. The forest had reclaimed it. As he tramped through the forest he passed by the various scars leftover from the Mandalorian attack on his people. Destroyed defenses, overturned vehicles, the occasional body. Once he fell as a log snapped under his weight he came face to face with the the helmet of a Mandalorian that had been left behind. In the years since the attack a tree had grown up and it was now firmly embedded in the trunk as nature continued its reclamation.
Zed could feel the darkness and the pain that existed in this forest now. When this was still his home the Jensaarai had taken great lengths to purge that darkness from the forest, from the temple. To make this place their home. All it had taken was one night to wipe out the years of work. It was reaching out to him trying to drag him down, with each step he took the darkness grew stronger. The closer Zed got to his goal it seemed as though the trees were grabbing at him, trying to stop his progress, to bog him down and hold onto him. They had grown big and strong on the blood of his brothers and sisters, on the bodies of those who had sworn to wipe him and his kind out; and they were still hungry. Eventually though he made got through the forest to the base of the hill.
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Zed Bakiska
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By the three Kennedys
Posts: 287
Affiliation: Jensaarai
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Post by Zed Bakiska on Jun 6, 2022 14:23:30 GMT -8
Stepping out of the tree line Zed looked at the base of the hill, or rather the temple. There was still a 50 foot gap between the tree line and the base of the temple, with small saplings starting to creep their way ever closer to the temple. The vines that had always been a problem even when the temple was maintained had grown to epic proportions blanketing the ziggurat in greenery. The evidence of the battle was stronger here than anywhere else. Bodies were strewn everywhere. One wouldn't go more than a few feet without seeing the bones of Jensaarai, the temple guard, and Mandalorians littering the ground.
The fact that the Mandalorians hadn't even bothered to retrieve their dead made his blood boil. They were savages. Monsters. Animals. The despair he had felt the whole walk towards the temple was gone. Now he needed revenge. To add injury to insult the Mandalorians had claimed the planet as their own. This could not stands. Revitalized with this new found anger Zed began circling the base of the temple stepping over the remains and going above, under or around the various defensive emplacements that had been hastily erected during the defense. After a few minutes he made his way to where the main entrance to the temple should have been. Instead all he saw was rubble. Someone, he couldn't know who had destroyed the temple entrance. Before the entrance was piled with bodies of the dead. All these years later he could still sense the pain, and desperation of the dead as they fought with their backs against the wall with no where to go. The pain that they knew it was a hopeless battle, that they knew they would die.
On the ground he could see several suits of armour that he recognized. The Sickle-back Mantis armour of Scarlet, the Octopus armour of Lynda, and there at the very back of the group with her back against the wall was the unmistakable armour of Ursi Krak'jya. Falling to his knees ignoring the pain of as an errant piece of metal cut his knee Zed began to weep. Of everyone in the temple he had known, of everyone he had hoped had maybe made it out he always had hoped Ursi was amoung that list. She had been the first Jensaarai, no the first person to show him any kindness since his childhood. They had been close. She had been the first person outside his family that he had told the secret of his lineage too. Had the Mandalorians not began their crusade when they did he may even have one day loved her. To see her gunned down, even if only the proof of it years later tore something in him he didn't even know existed.
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Zed Bakiska
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By the three Kennedys
Posts: 287
Affiliation: Jensaarai
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Zed Bakiska on Jun 7, 2022 12:04:11 GMT -8
He did not know how longer he sat there but by the time he came back to his senses the sun was starting to drop below the trees and the shadows were starting to lengthen. Standing up he felt his muscles protesting from having been in the same position for so long. Walking over to the wall Zed found the steps that led to the top of the temple. The vines had all but made the bottom stairs unpassable, but grasping the vines he made due until his feet found steady purchase a few dozen feet up. At one point there was an even 1000 steps on this stairway, now there was no way to tell with several missing from craters blasted into the side of the temple.
The stairs was often used for training the endurance of Jensaarai students and others, who'd take wooden buckets from the base of the temple stairs, then fill them up with water at the river nearby the temple. Upon filling up the buckets of water, they'd then carry them up the stairs, as the Jensaarai's master or another official kept up in watch. Often giving the condition to their apprentices or students that they couldn't spill any of the water, or they'd have to go back and fill up the buckets again at the river. Sometimes without aid from the Force in doing so. Upon reaching the top of the stairs while carrying the buckets of water, the individual would then have to fill the fountain up with the water. It often taking at least six or eight buckets to do so, thus occasionally requiring the individual to do the task three to four times to fill the fountain with water.
By the time Zed had reached the top of the stairs he was gasping for air and sweat beaded down his forehead. At one point he could have walked up and down these stairs all day but it seemed that his death march in the dessert of Tatooine had changed him and despite feeling better he was still clearly recuperating from his time there. Here at the second level of the temple there was a slight breeze that helped cool him off, something he couldnt feel on the forest floor the trees having blocked all but the gustiest of down breezes. The doorway here was closed off but not destroyed like the one below but when he approached it, it remained closed. No doubt the power to the temple was either turned off or destroyed. Sitting down on the side of a fountain that was half filled with brackish water and leaves from the intervening seasons. Leaning down he reached under one of the alcoves and pulled out a pair of wooden buckets that had luckily been left unmarred over the years. Taking one of the buckets in his hands he dunked it in the water and poured the water over himself. After so many years in the desert it felt great to be able to waste it like that. It may be dirty, but he had been dirtier in the past and it was worth it.
Using the bucket he drained the fountain of as much water as he could, before using the force to remove the leaves pushing them into the wind. For what he had in mind he wanted, no needed this one part of the temple to be as intact and perfect as the days when he called his place home. Having climbed up the temple once he was sure Garwig would forgive him for this and he once again tapped into the force and flew down the side of the temple towards the Jiaasjen River and filled the two buckets he carried with water before returning to the fountain and he began to fill it. Repeating the process several times eventually he heard a mechanical click behind him as the door into the temple slowly slid open. It had been something he had insisted on being installed. When the younglings- the Tyrosaarai were ready to move forward in their training and become Massisaarai, and be taken under the apprentiship of Taralsaarai the equivalent of a Jedi Knight they would be asked to fill the fountain for the first time and the door would open to reveal their new teacher.
Now though he had no new master to meet him inside the temple. Just the stench of stale air. Waiting until the smell had dissipated Zed walked into the temple.
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