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Post by Lord Phantom Armageddon on Jul 7, 2013 12:38:09 GMT -8
*He pointed to the rings around her eyes and pulls his hood up and obscured his head. Taking his staff he got up and out of the booth before spinning the staff quickly and slid it into the automated hilt along his spine. A young kid shoved him and kept going without a word and for a moment he saw red, however instead he called upon the force and took the kid's cred chip and tapped it on the table's reader.
He smirked and walked to the bar and looked at the ever so attractive bartender and slid the card above her cleavage
Buy one round for everyone of the most expensive thing you have, then pay a few dancers and yourself with it
*He chuckled and grabbed one more bottle and nodded to the bartender who seemed to wink back. He waited at the door for her to catch up
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Post by Chel Garderly on Jul 7, 2013 12:58:20 GMT -8
*Chel watched him flirt with the waitress and was almost surprised that she didn't feel anything. The last time they had been together, she had found herself quite jealous when he talked to other women. She headed for the door without looking to see if he followed. Outside the door she stopped and waited for Phantom, lighting a deathstick and taking a long, deep drag*
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Post by Lord Phantom Armageddon on Jul 7, 2013 13:03:56 GMT -8
*Leaving the card he walked outside and found her, back against a wall and he cocked an eyebrow. Pulling a deathstick from his own pocket he put it in his lips and then leaned in pressing the tip to hers and lit it, his eyes burrowing into hers as he took in a deep inhale
You have gotten so very cold
He exhaled deeply, his face obscured save for his smoldering eyes
Welcome to my world
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Post by Chel Garderly on Jul 7, 2013 13:16:13 GMT -8
*She looked up at him and shrugged, looking down at the ground as she exhaled a plume of smoke*
I have had to be these last few years...
*Turning her gaze back to his eyes she finally let a little emotion show as her lip quivered before she took another drag and let it out*
I haven't had a reason not to be...
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Post by Lord Phantom Armageddon on Jul 7, 2013 13:24:00 GMT -8
do*He slid his hand under her chin and tilted her head up so she would be forced to look up at him and he cupped her cheek*
Listen closely,
You do not fall into ruin like the rest of us,
Do not wilt, do not burn and do not fall.
Though I thrive on warfare and hatred, it is good to know there is someone out in this universe who can let me be me
so you listen, no matter what, you kill as you need, you do whatever is necessary but never let it change who you are
*He let her cheek go and turned his back to her, he was literally towering above her and it was surprising a tree as large as he, was not chopped down yet. He had seen so many of his fellow trainees slaughtered, his apprentices raped and tortured, entire friendly encampments obliterated. This is what made him into a warlord, but he never forgot his family, and there was too much ruin already. Once the universe bowed to his kind, this would all end, but until that time, all dissenters would be slaughtered. He was one of the legion dedicated to bringing the universe back to where it belonged.
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Post by Chel Garderly on Jul 7, 2013 13:42:46 GMT -8
*Chel stared wide-eyed up at him as he spoke to her, her emerald eyes peering deep into his. When he let her go and turned she couldn't help but follow him as he walked away a few feet, instinctively*
Phantom, I don't know what has happened these last few years, but last time I saw you, you had just defeated the most powerful Sith that I had known. That is the Phantom I remember.
*She walked around him and stopped right in front of him, blocking him as she put her hands on his chest in an attempt to get his attention*
The Phantom I remember was a ruthless killer, yet he was affectionate... passionate.
*She took a final drag of the deathstick and dropped it to the ground, smashing it under her stilhetto heeled boot*
I may not have fallen into ruin yet... but I am on the brink...
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Post by Lord Phantom Armageddon on Jul 7, 2013 13:48:04 GMT -8
I dont know what I have become, and that is why I am telling you to keep a hold of yourself
At times I cannot even fathom what it is that I am, in my head, after I killed him, something within me broke, it's as though I have another one of me living in here
I know what I am, I know who I am and what I have done and I have no regrets, no, I am immensely proud of this.
The passion you saw, the affection, that was fueled by my desire to take and have whatever it is I want without any holds
*He looked down and saw her hands on his massive chest, under her fingers was layer after layer of weapon and cloak and yet he did nothing*
then your fall must bre prevented before you become a mindless slave to darrk passions that are not your own
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Post by Chel Garderly on Jul 7, 2013 13:52:51 GMT -8
*Chel stared up at him for a few moments in silence before turning suddenly, her auburn hair which was flowing freely in soft waves catching the lights from the Outlander Club's sign*
Come. My home is not far from here... you look as if you need rest...
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Post by Lord Phantom Armageddon on Jul 7, 2013 13:59:35 GMT -8
He nodded and followed her, the burning ember of his deathstick was close to his lips and after his deep inhale he flicked it up and before the air caught it, crushed it with the force. He blew a smoke ring around the falling ash and was gone with her
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Essence
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Affiliation: The highest bidder
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Post by Essence on Aug 22, 2013 9:53:15 GMT -8
Essence downed his fourth drink inside the fighting arena by the side; he had had two shots of Iridonia's Blood before he stumbled in, and this was his second drink of Corellian Ale in mid-combat.
He turned and barely ducked a savage roundhouse punch from his opponent, an equally drunk Bothan martial artist. Unlike the Bothan, however, the alcohol sharpened instead of dulling Essence's senses. He simply dodged back to avoid being hit by his wild kicks. He ducked under the flying kicks, stepped back with the high kicks, and counter-kicked the low kicks.
Losing strategies, the Bothan resorted to a series of sweep kicks. Essence stepped back calculatively to avoid them. At the opportune time, Essence's low kick caught the Bothan in the knee, whereupon it twisted in midair horizontally to aim another kick. But Essence caught the other leg in a scissors grip and struck the knee again, causing the Bothan to lose balance. It recovered with a series of hand breakfalls.
Essence switched stance as the Bothan forward-flipkicked; he missed the spot right where Essence's arms were half a second ago. He lifted his right knee over the Bothan's following backsweep, and as the Bothan came up, Essence blocked the followup right jab with a counter back-left, and simultaneously kicked out with his already lifted leg. As the Bothan was knocked back, Essence launched a furious assault on every major body part with pressure points, hitting about four strikes per second, from shoulder to torso, finishing with a debilitating power kick from the other leg. This overloaded every part of the nervous system; effectively paralysing the body. In finality, he launched a drop kick that snapped back the Bothan's neck. The Bothan fell back-first like a ton of bricks, lifeless.
Essence trampled over the dead body of his opponent, grabbed a bottle of Ithorian Mist and walked out of the club.
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Post by The Tattered Guardian on Sept 5, 2013 11:34:58 GMT -8
The club was too loud for the Guardian. The pulsating bass, accompanied by a high pitched shriek, followed by a wobble; all of it clouded the Jedi Knights mind, though he quickly opened his mind to the music, allowing it to flow through him, rather than against him. After a few moments, it was like the music wasn't even there.
Draconis drew the eyes of the bouncer- as any man in tattered robes such as his did. Even in the bask of the neon glow, the hard to read facial scales of a trandoshan were wrinkled in a way that suggested his disapproval. It meant nothing to Draconis, who walked straight towards the velvet rope. The bouncer stepped into his path, clearly annoyed by the fact that the human couldn't read his 'Bugger off' expression. He brought out his clawed hand, at chest level with Draconis, who stopped a clean inch away.
"Go finddd an alley to sssssleep in..." The Trandoshan uttered in his thick, dialect of basic. Draconis wasn't surprised- he was used to this reaction. The jedi knight was not the most fashionable of men- his robes had seen too many winters, and too many wars; while they were intact, the edges of the fabric were extremely frayed, and the black had worn to a deep grey, yet they never aroused suspicion. If there was one thing that was known about jedi, it was their near militant preservation of their robes. Draconis had long since come up for a solution to these scenarios. He reached down, pulling one of the flaps of his robes open to show an array of lightsaber hilts. With his other hand, he made a waving gesture that was easy to miss- it was the lightsaber that drew the eyes, though it was the hand that did the work.
"Jedi business...you will let me pass"
A slightly dazed veil fell over the bouncer's eyes for a moment, as he nodded and stepped aside.
"Jedaiii biznisss..you may passss..."
"Thank you." Draconis slipped passed the bouncer and allowed the crowded night club engulf him before the Trandoshan figured out what had just happened, pulling down his hood as he entered the fray of vice. He felt a sly smile spread across his lips- clubs always hired for big men with weak minds; the mind trick was child's play.
Now in the club, he felt a subtle sense of claustrophobia upon him as he was blocked in at all sides by gyrating bodies of verious sweaty species, each in their own personal degree of ecstasy. Draconis slipped through them, ignoring the soft bumps and shoves of staggering, dancing patrons. The music was much louder here and nearly impossible to block out, but Draconis clenched his teeth and endured it while he parted the sea of flesh, sweat and pheromones.
Soon the tide began to thin, as the Guardian passed the threshold between the dance floor and gambling tables. The music was muffled here, silenced by the cries of gamblers; some who won their fortune and others who lost their lives and dignity. He scanned the Sabaac tables and Pod Racing holograms, looking for the man that had brought him here. Then he spotted him, at a near by table, sitting in a cluster of his closest enemies, laughing about some joke that was probably crude to the ears of anyone with a slight degree of ethics. The man he spotted, easily identified by a rediculor head of lime green hair, fashioned into rows of spikes, was Vallen Dreth, a known purveyor of death sticks and spice- also known for his loose tongue.
Draconis began to make his way to him, then suddenly felt a hand on his stomach. It was not the harsh claws of the bouncer who he just tricked, nor the crude hands of a stumbling patron. These hands were soft, delicate and small. The hands of a woman. Draconis looked down at the hand, then back at the body it was attached to. A beautiful, scantly clad human woman, of almond skin, a heart shaped face and almond shaped eyes, had her amber eyes looking back at him with something the Jedi Knight couldn't quite identify. Even in the chaos of the club, her white clothes and pitch black hair were unruffled. She gave him her most disarming smile.
"Hey there handsome, how about you and I get a drink, where you can tell me about those scars..." She ended it with a wink.
Draconis paused for a moment. Most men would feel an irresistible carnal lure to the woman, but Draconis was a jedi, and far from young- he was prone to the occasional fits of lust, but he had learned how to control himself. He gave the woman a polite smile.
"I am sorry miss, I am here on business. Perhaps next time..."
Her smile didn't fade, but her eyes widened, and batted with a practiced degree of beauty and sadness.
"Oh, come on. You look like you could use a pick me up, and I know just the thing..." Her hand moved from his stomach to his hands. She brushed her delicate fingers over his knuckles. "You have fighter hands, you should try to make love, not war. I can help with that."
She added a coy wink and a giggle, but Draconis didn't flinch.
"The answer is no, now please, Miss, step aside."
The woman didn't move, but something did change in her eyes. They went from seductive and lustful, to panicked and fearful- not the sort that comes from a beautiful woman of the streets in a nightclub. Draconis looked over her shoulder at the booth where Vallen Dreth was, but found that he was no longer there. His eyes narrowed in irritation- the woman was a distraction and nothing more. Vallen must have known that he was coming. He tried to step around her but she blocked his path. When Draconis forced her aside with a gentle, yet firm push, she let out a scream which caused the club to fall silent for a moment. Draconis didn't wait for the inevitable. At that very moment tens of bouncers were going to be upon him, and then Vallen would have escaped. Instead, he brought his shoulders down low and began to plow through the patrons of the club, hopping over some and ducking under others. He one of the bars and tipped on his toes, trying to spot Vallen's distinguishable hair cut. Then he saw it, near the back of the club. Vallen was making his way to the lower levels.
Draconis pushed through the crowd once more, doing his best to keep balance from the sea of pushes, shoves and poorly connected blows. He finally broke through and reached the door for the lower levels. It was still ajar, and Draconis could hear the screams of the bouncers behind him, trying to clear the crowd. He slipped through the threshold, then pressed the control panel, closing the door behind him. The hiss of hydraulics wasn't even half way done before the snap hiss of a lightsaber over-rode it. A purple sea of light filled the room, emitting from the shoto- lightsaber in Draconis' hand. In one smooth motion, he plunged the plasma blade into the center console, frying the door's circuits and mechanisms. Had this been a regular door, it would have reopened for safety purposes, however being a door to a shady part of an already shady bar, privacy was paramount, and that meant that they would have to cut through the door in order to get through. That bought him time- time to find Vallen and get some information from him, and to find out who informed him of his coming. Turning his back to the door, Draconis began the slow descent down the narrow stair case, into the belly of the club.
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Post by The Tattered Guardian on Sept 13, 2013 12:08:55 GMT -8
It was here, within the asphyxiating space of the dark, dank stairwell, that Guardian found his mind adrift. In the club, with his mission within sight, he had a clear head; but here- where none moved but him, where none breathed but him, and the rusted, outdated ventilation system- was where the Tattered Guardian was at his weakest.
Weakness, it was the bane of all life in the galaxy, whether sentient or not. In the natural order of things, it was the weak that perished, unless a stronger being could join to shoulder the burden. The burden of the Jedi was built from this very idea. The Jedi were meant to be strong, to protect the weak, but Draconis knew he was not as strong as he could be.
He took a step, allowing his doubts to flood his mind. The slight prickle of fear tingled up his spine before being stamped out. What if he was not strong enough?
“No, stop it”. A voice chided in the back of his mind. Jedi Masters said that fear and doubt lead to the path of the dark side, a path that Draconis did not wish to walk, yet he often tempted its allure. Without doubt, how would one question their ideas and practices; without questions, how would one know their faults, and without knowing their faults, how would one fix them to become stronger. He often questioned the circular logic of his order, though these questions never left his lips to grace an ear, but they were still there, in his heart and mind- They burned within him, and the fire grew with each passing moment of silence. [/font]
Fortunately this moment did not last long, as Draconis found himself at the bottom of the landing, facing a narrow, crooked corridor. Now it was not just his breathing that filled the air; the silence was cracked, waiting to be shattered at the end of the hall. A splash echoed, as his boot hit a shallow puddle of a dark fluid. It was hard to tell what the fluid was, nor did it really matter- it was probably run off from an old auxiliary system down here. That would explain the metallic smell, which was subtly cloaked in the dank stench of mildew and dust. Pushing on, he continued down the corridor. There were no lights here, for some reason.
The only source of light was a thin strip of glow rods along the ceiling. Surrounded by the darkness, Draconis did not dare slow his pace, for fear of being engulfed in the disparity, both literally and metaphorically. The darkness shrouded what lay on the other side of the door, though it was undoubtedly sinister in nature. He reached for the door, expecting it not to budge, however it slid open- the maw of whatever great and mysterious atrocity lurked in the belly of the club.
From the maw came the light, flooding the corridor in a purging wave that beat the darkness back. For some, this would be comforting, yet for Draconis, it was the opposite, and what was left in the wake of the light was the starkest darkness that a jedi could expect. The light was followed by a great sinister cheer. he looked behind him; with the corridor now illuminated, he knew the position he landed himself in. He was not in some forlorn hallway in the sub-basement. The walls, which were draped in darkness, were now illuminated, and accented with the countless claw marks of the unfortunate. The metal floor was stained red and brown, as blood and rust ate at its once clean façade. This was a chamber that held beasts and combatants.
He looked forward once more, into the maw of the enemy. Ahead was a massive circular room with high walls. The floor was made of some sort of sand, uneven and broken with patches of blood and gore. An arena. The Guardian knew he could not turn back. He walked into a trap; whether it was one that Vallen had laid, that had yet to be seen.
Taking a deep breath, Draconis wiped away the clutter of his mind, reverting it to a clean slate. If there was one thing that the jedi taught him well, it was how to keep a level head. He was here to do a mission and that is what he was going to do.
He took one deliberate step, then another; slipping through the threshold that was often the barrier between life and death for many of those who came before him, Vallen let the lights of the arena was over him, along with the sound.
It all came in a rush- cheers and jeers; screams for blood and death. Blood lust flooded the arena- all of the minds set on one thing, violence. Draconis knew how it was intoxicating to some, though he learned to curb his pleasure of the sensation. He walked to the center of the arena- the chants grew louder as he stopped, looking to the elevated dais where he saw a cluster of men. He recognized one, Vallen, who was standing behind another man that he didn’t recognize. Unlike Vallen, this man sported a crisp, professional appearance. His peppered hair was short and combed, and his white beard was trimmed into a clean goatee. He wore a black jacket with golden ornaments on his collars- he was clearly a man of wealth. The man rose to his feet and the crowd fell to a silence. He spoke in a booming voice, one that demanded attention and conveyed complete authority.
“It’s good of you to finally join us, Jedi. Some of us were beginning to think you would never show up, but thanks to our friend Vallen, and his tendency to tell the truth at inconvenient times, we managed to get your order’s attention…”
Vallen’s shame filled eyes looked towards the ground- the distance obscured any other subtle expressions, yet he radiated embarrassment, then suddenly fear as the older man pulled out a blaster, faster than the blink of an eye. In a fluid motion, his hand went into the side of his coat, and procured a Weskar 34 Blaster, which immediately aimed at Vallens temple before barking its deadly call. The thug fell, lifeless, at the side of the older man, who made a gesture for the body to be taken away. He then returned his attention to Draconis.
“He served his purpose well…for once. Now, back to the topic at hand. You are probably wondering why I had you brought here. Well you don’t look like a particularly bright individual, and it’s not very obvious, so let me help you with a hint.”
He raised his hands and gave a firm brisk clap. After a few seconds, a new figure appeared beside him. This man was clad in the traditional beskar armor of a mandalorian commando- grey with red trim. He was a large man, towering over the older man.
“My friend Kelvan and I are in the process of working out a business arrangement. One of his main terms was that I give him the honor of a jedi execution- you lot are apparently in a rather messy war. Anyhow, a man of my resources had no trouble getting you here. Now, it is time to fulfill my second part of the bargain.”
The man clapped once more, looking to another lower dais. There was a rodian accompanied by two twi’leks in the booth; the rodian hit a key in front of him. Then came a profound silence.
One breath. Two breaths.
Then came the horn- it let a low, terrible bellow. The horn was followed by the grinding of old metal. Looking over his shoulder, Draconis saw the door behind him seal. He looked back at the older man, mentally readying himself for what was to come next. It was inevitable. When the arena grew quiet again, the old man spoke once more.
“I find regular firing squads to be rather bland for executions, so I have arranged a more entertaining means. As you can probably ascertain, these pits were made for combat, and what better way to please a crowd, than a geonosian execution?”
The crowds cried out as one, this time in a slow steady chant. The languages were different on each tongue, but each variant of the word held a chilling sensation in the force. Draconis didn't need to hear the basic variant of the word to know what they wanted.
“Blood…Blood…BLOOD…BLOOD…BLOOD!”
The older man seated himself, though the armored commando remained standing- his T-visor glistened with something that couldn’t be seen with the eyes but could be felt in the force.
Revenge.
A high pitched grinding filled the arena, drowning out the cries of the crowd momentarily before they re-surged with realization of what was about to happen. Directly in front of Draconis, a second rusted door began to vibrate before opening slowly. Draconis turned his attention to the door, sensing the enemy that lay embedded within the shadows. And that was when he felt something that he had not expected- previously cloaked by the other auras, he could now focus on it and discern who he was about to face.
Another force user…
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Exchequer Australis
Member
That's the way she goes. Sometimes she goes and sometimes she doesn't go
Posts: 625
Affiliation: Hoth Cartel
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Exchequer Australis on Oct 29, 2013 5:56:09 GMT -8
The Tiss'Shar led Kashk to his usual spot in the back of the club. He looked at the Transdoshan and then spoke.
Mysss namesss isss Jul-lan-lor. Isss thesss bossss aroundsss heressss forsss cartelsss operationsss. Yousss willsss becomesss thesss topss forsss thesss wholesss republicsss.
Theysss musstsss havesss likedsss yousss.
The Tiss'shar said as he leaned into the transdoshan.
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Kashk
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Posts: 46
Affiliation: Whoever pays the most
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Kashk on Oct 29, 2013 17:58:41 GMT -8
Kashk followed the Tiss'Shar, avoiding eye contact with the patrons of the club. He was suprised with what the lizard had to say.
I'm glad to hear it. I did nothing ssspecial. What do you mean the topsss? Which cartelsss?
It had been sometime since Kashk had been involved in an organization like this.
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Post by Randolph Beviin on Nov 23, 2013 18:08:57 GMT -8
The Mando walked into the bar all of his majors senses were assailed at once. The building smelled of cheap booze, and acrid smoke be it deathsticks or any other type of cigarette. The noise of the people cheering for their sports team, talking or music drowned out anything. Which was good for what he was about to do. Finally sight, the mass amount of lights from the dance floor, view screens and a mass of bodies could distract even the most bull headed person. Walking in he paid his entrance fee, which was steep considering this place was no longer a place of luxury but rather one of villainy and scum.
Walking up to the bartender Randolph sat with his back to the room as he ordered a Tarisian Ale. Putting the credit chip under the scanner he took a drink enjoying the taste as it made it's way down his throat and settled into his stomach. Turning around on his chair he looked around. People said that Mos Eisley was the biggest hive of scum and villainy, but this was easily comparable to it. Everywhere he saw people boldly selling and buying spices. Betting on every sport and then some and so many escorts of every species and variety it would take someone a year to go through them all.
Turning around on his chair he faced the bartender who leant in closer so he could hear what was being said. I am looking for someone! I need a hand getting some things onto the planet which would ordinarily be confiscated. For both of their sakes he kept it vauge so that neither could be turned in.
Holding out his hand the human male rubbed his thumb and two fore fingers together signally the need for money. Accepting the bribe he smiled and nodded his head. The fella your lookin' fer is over thar. Oh and between the two of us, I woulda told yer for free.
Resisting the urge the punch the man in the face he stood up and finished the drink not even tasting it. Walking over to the Tiss'Harr Beviin smiled and took his top hat off nodding his head slightly. I was told you could help me with something. Unsure of which one the bartender had meant he looked at both the Tiss'Harr and Khask in the eyes awaiting a response from one of them.
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Exchequer Australis
Member
That's the way she goes. Sometimes she goes and sometimes she doesn't go
Posts: 625
Affiliation: Hoth Cartel
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Post by Exchequer Australis on Nov 24, 2013 11:43:19 GMT -8
The Tiss'Shar slowly replied into Khask's ear.
Thess Cartelsss orss thesss Hothss Cartelsss as youss knowsss itss, wellsss maybesss, iss partsss ofss thesss Exchangesss. Andsss thisss is wheresss wesss makess ourss prescensss. Yousss willss helpss usss takesss caress ofss ourss competitionss.
The Tiss'Shar handed a data pad to Khask.
The datapad was composed of 35 figures in Coruscant's underworld that Exchequer himself had declared targets of Exchange operations. In other words, they were to be publicly executed and have their bodies dumped on the Senate Rotunda. This would be the Exchange's calling card now on civilized worlds.
Exchequer wanted to instill fear and get other organizations and factions to recognize them.
The Tiss'Shar was interrupted in thought as the strange human appeared. Hearing the words help. He quickly rose to his feet and pointed a gun at the man's throat.
Whosss sentss yousss?
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Kashk
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Post by Kashk on Nov 24, 2013 12:35:42 GMT -8
Kashk nodded at the spoken words, and smiled at the list. He knew he was in the right organization now. As Jul-lan-lor rose and drew on the man, Kashk rose as well, but instead of drawing weapons, he simply rested his hands on his scattergun, ready to draw.
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Post by Randolph Beviin on Nov 24, 2013 17:18:45 GMT -8
Randolphs eyes turned into slits as he stared at the one who pointed a gun at him. It took all his willpower not to strike the man for his arrogance. If one named his friends he would soon loose them all. This one though was hardly useful only giving a probable location of someone who might help. No names were given, no appearances, hell not even a species. Much of this was found out by the nasty ass bartender. Of course he didn't need to tell him any of this. Beviin needed to keep the mystique about this. So are you going to pull the trigger or will you be ableto get what I need? Was this just a waste of my time. Rolling his eyes the Mando waited for a few moments to see if he would in fact be eating a bullet.
Assuming he wasn't shot he would try to push the gun and arm down and away. He had left all his armour and weapons in a compartment back on his ship. Right now he was as vulnerable to gunshots as a newborn babe. In every aspect besides this though he was coiled like a spring. So whats it going to be chaps?
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Exchequer Australis
Member
That's the way she goes. Sometimes she goes and sometimes she doesn't go
Posts: 625
Affiliation: Hoth Cartel
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Post by Exchequer Australis on Nov 24, 2013 18:44:39 GMT -8
The Tiss'Shar snarled and placed his gun away. Watching the man, he relaxed. He was judging the man based on his reaction. He snarled towards the man again and smiled with an evil Tiss'Shar smile. The man had passed his test for now. He had a strange way of doing things but you can never be to sure. If anything, the Tiss'Shar would keep vetting him. He wasn't so keen on a man walking out of the blue and coming up to him like this.
Whatss dosss yousss needssss?
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Post by Randolph Beviin on Nov 25, 2013 14:22:41 GMT -8
Although he didn't let it show Randolph was relieved. This mans species was renowned for their predatory prowess and skills as assassins. He probably could have killed the large man without much problem. Thank the gods forthwith buisness like demeanour. What don't I need? I'm looking to get some things onto the planet that in this day and age aren't exactly wanted. Yay for more subtly but honestly he couldn't be to safe. What he was trying to do dangerous and possibly suicidal. However it was needed in the name of Kad.
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