The Mortus

*The Bucket of Rust touched down like Villa's mum at a Vegas all you can eat buffet. A landing pad with sturdy berm had manifested, as if by the sheer will of those dried out souls past, along the beach and as close to the Mortus as could feasibly be imagined. The Corellian freighter off gassed upon landing with the belch that could rival the Dark Lord Azreal's bung after a good cuking. The frothy exhaust fumes swirled in the sea breeze that might remind all who gazed upon it of Arkanian locks upon the dregs of iniquity.

Within the cockpit, Syren, not the last of the Thallassans, and the worst Jedi the galaxy had ever seen, dropped the kriff bomb.*
"Fuck..."

*Reed raised an eyebrow at her, unfamiliar with the word.

Syren vaulted out of the co-pilot's chair and moved through the ship quickly.* "Prep this piece of shit for the air right now, and no one get off the ship!" *She virtually screamed at Reed and Droma as she made her way to the gang plank.

Of course Desyre had made it there first, cradling the holocron of Prism. She had not only a habit of needing off the Bucket as soon as they landed everywhere, but the seething darkness outside the ship was a inexhaustible temptation all on its own. Syren reached for her apprentice just as the door to the world of Manaan touched the sand. She pulled the girl, no woman, into a tight hug.* "No!" *She hissed into the togruta's ear and the girl pulled away. But Syren pulled her tighter.* "Listen to me! Think. You can feel this wave of darkness." *She stared past the beach head to the azure waves that crashed along the island. It was so light and fresh against the juxtaposition of the evil screaming like a banshee from the bar.

Desyre stopped struggling for a moment and breathed in slowly, letting the Force wash over her. Black eyes grew wide in a pallid face surrounded by a permanent blush. She shook her head and retreated back into the hold of the ship.

Syren nodded. And looked back out at the beach. Droma appeared at her shoulder and Maeve peeked from the depths of the hold near the engines. Before either could say anything, Syren knew.*

"The sublights are going to need some work after that landing."

*She closed her eyes in a struggle to remain calm. A pack of Sith, probably on land they knew well, a busted ship and people for whom she cared deeply...* "How long will repairs take?"

*Maeve shrugged.* "About as long as it would take to unload cargo. I've got it almost down to a science with this ship as long as R9 can stay to help..."

*Syren nodded and took Droma to the cargo bay. She helped to position the repulsor lift sled over the hatch that would let them reach the sand below while Droma operated the machinery to move the barrels of ale onto the device. Luckily Maeve didn't have to leave the ship to fix the sublight engines, at least from the first assessment.

Once the barrels were loaded, Syren hit the drop and the lift started to lower.* "Stay here... go ahead and tell Reed to shoot anyone that tries to get on...if he can."

*Nobody would want the ship, it was after all an piece of junk, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

Syren pushed the sled to the back of the bar and knocked on the door, green hair tossing about on the seabreeze with a mind of its own, silver and green eyes hard and narrowed against the sunlight streaming down. By the Force it felt good to be on a world full of water again, but hell if she wanted to deal with a full cadre of dark side wretches today.

She blew a strand of hair from her face and almost missed the days of the Phoenix Imperium... almost.* "I've got more booze for you assholes, open the Force loving door!"

He watched as the angry young woman left the bar. Who knows what kind of bedtime stories she was told by her grandfather and how they painted him. She had all of her grandfather's temper but only time would tell if she had his resolve. While her exit gave them a small amount of peace for now, he wasn't convinced that this was over.

As Maximus took another drink, the burning sensation in his throat was a stark contrast to the chills he felt as soomeone else walked into the bar. The day had been exciting enough already but he hadn't expected to see a ghost from his past that still haunted his thoughts from time to time. As the figure walked into the bar, he couldn't help but lock his eyes onto them and forget the rest of the room. His tunnel vision blurred out their surroundings so all he could focus on was the people at the table with him and... her.

He didn't even notice the raging revenant that came in right behind her that was ranting and raving about things that none of them had ever said aloud. The spirit of the damned seemed to take umbrage with the fact that they were on the planet that he could no longer physically inhabit or affect. But none of that mattered because Maximus could only focus on... her.

He barely heard Lamia talking outside of his focus, but murmured a response before he followed up on his previous statement made to Nexus.

Oh yes, I'm definitely seeing this. It seems like even time doesn't want to make an enemy out of some people.

He stood up and backed away from the table, moving around it and towards the woman who had come in without registering that the bajiggity banshee was directly in his path. With his eyes still locked on the woman, he walked through the ghost almost as if he wasn't even really there. In the periphery of his thoughts he noticed being instantaneously overtaken by a feeling of misplaced rage and a scent of sour whiskey and piss, but it abated just as quickly as it had come.

Now that he was in front of her, he reached out to softly take her hand in his with a gentle smile on his face and a slight bow of his head.

Lord Sinistra, it has been far too long. I've wandered half the galaxy in the past few years and have yet to find a sight as radiant as you continue to be.

Everything happened so quickly - and so little of it made sense. It was strange enough to see Maximus and Lamia in the Mortus - but it was a welcome strange. Then the appearance of Morrigan, which left a heavy sense of unease. Yet the girl seemed oblivious to any such occurrences that befell the Dark Lord. She simply stared at him blankly, which made the Sith take pause.

Glancing down at his glass, then back at the girl, he began to wonder if his years of imprisonment and torture finally lowered his tolerance to the point of being an incoherent gobshite like the Ard Ri of the Warriors of the Iron Fist. He pushed the thought from his mind - yet like a bad hangover, it only became reinforced upon acknowledgement, as the ghost of An Tiarna himself made an appearance. For a moment, he was shocked, but that soon passed - this was, after all, the Mortus.

Though Nexus did not have a moment to acknowledge the ghost of An Tiarna, as Lord Sinistra, the woman who broke him free and raised him from perdition, entered the bar. During their prior encounter, the Dark Lord was still in a mostly incapacitated state. Yet now, he was mostly cognizant. As his old colleague greeted them with a smile, he took another sip from his glass, allowing the droid to refill it. He gave Sinistra a smile and nod as she greeted them - snatching the stopper out of the air as it made its way to him. He let out a chuckle, then placed the stopper atop the bar; he lifted his glass and tilting it towards her as his form of a silent cheer.

He took another sip of the amber liquid, taking a brief moment to admire the fact that they were all together once more - ghosts and all. The galaxy was certainly in for a treat.

As she reacher her hand out and put it in his, he bowed his head slightly at the woman. The way she spoke to him made it feel like they had seen each other just yesterday even though it had been many years since they had seen each other. After all of the things that they had been through while sharing leadership of Dark Tide, even he would admit that he owed her an explanation of where he went.

I needed to disappear for a while. Part of me didn't want to be found.

He stared off into the middle distance as his mind wandered to the years since they had last spoken. He had travelled far and done so much since then. In all that time he was gone the Force had fundamentally changed who he was and what he believed. But he wasn't ready to discuss that just yet.

He turned his attention back to Sinistra and smiled gently before gesturing to the table.

But we're all here now. Please, join us.

He returned to the table and pulled out a chair for her before grabbing a glass from the bar and sitting it in front of her. He picked up the bottle on the table and filled everyone's glasses before raising a toast to the group. He spoke to everyone at the table but he still couldn't quite take his eyes off of Sinistra.

To staying alive this long, and to the poor bastards who would try to change it.

*Syren turned from Nexus, and looked to the woman offering her hand. Before reaching out to take it, she checked that her nails were tucked away and in no danger of making a unthoughtful scratch in the woman's delicate looking skin.

Though a deep blue color from the back and a pale fish-belly white on the plam, her hand was fiery hot.* "Your reputation precedes you, Lord Lord Sinistra . The universe has taken to calling me Syren and that is as good as name as any I could give you."


*As she took her hand back, she waved in the direction of Nexus,* "I was not expecting such a...crowd as this on a simple delivery. But when one is called by a profound presence, I suppose one cannot ignore the call."

*She tipped her glass to the Sith, and took a pull while keeping most of her attention on Sinistra. Out of the corner of her eye, Syren noticed that her apprentice, a younger Togruta had entered the Mortus cradling her holocron. Syren frowned as the young woman made her way towards her and around the carousing denizens of the Mortus.*


"Master, I'm sorry, but..."

*The togruta abruptly stopped when she caught sight of both Sinistra and Nexus, then her eyes roved to Lamia and Max behind the bar. They grew wider. Syren coughed.*

"Forgive my apprentice, Lord, she is still somewhat fresh from the Jedi Academy and hasn't quite learned her manners." *Syren gave a pointed look to the girl and pulled a chair out for her.* "Desyre Akord, Lord Sinistra," *Syren pointed towards Sinistra and bowed her head in respect, then indicated towards Nexus,* "The Dark Lord Nexus...*She paused and looked around the room,* "And many others I have not had the pleasure of meeting personally." *She smiled ever so slightly.* "You're probably thinking something like this place is a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but this particular brand generally keeps the galaxy from imploding upon itself."

Lamia watched, bemused as she watched her best friend and Master be schmoozed by her old colleague.  It was entertaining to the togruta to watch the baddest sith she knew be totally taken by surprise.  Lamia poured herself another drink and took a long drag off of her spice stick.  

<You good Sin? Do you need something? A cold shower perhaps?> Lamia chuckled to herself, and turned her attention to the growing crowd in the Mortus.  

Lamia stood and called to the bar droid "Keep the bottles coming and let's get some food up in here.  It looks as if a party is brewing!"

Manaan and the Mortus were places young Reyn Australis had not yet set foot. Having grown up in the shadow of his infamous father, the young Mando'ad had begun early to strike out on his own, to avoid his father wherever possible, and to try to build his own reputation without relying on his family's support. He got along better with his myriad siblings than the old man, they understood well enough what Kaine was like, and how it was to grow up a child of a being whose name was known on every planet in the galaxy.

Having spent some time with his sister Marit on Commenor, Reyn had headed out to Manaan to see the Mortus for himself, before heading back to Mandalore, and work. He entered the establishment without his helmet, his all-red armoured bodysuit usually made him stand out in a crowd. The two swords crossed across his back and twin pistols in their holsters as well as his baton at his belt made it clear he was a warrior. His reputation was shiny and new, and not as widespread as his father's so he doubted he'd be recognized.

Juice.

Reyn ordered fruit juice and waited for the bartender to object, some did, this one didn't, just gave him a strange look, before seeing the weapons and deciding not to make an issue of it. He was allergic to alcohol, but it wasn't something he advertised. Taking the drink and paying for it, Reyn turned to look over the establishment, sipping at the juice which had a pleasant citrus taste, wondering what adventures he might find here.

*Syren nodded to Max as he made his introduction. She raised her glass to him then allowed her eyes to rove across the room briefly as she pulled a chair up for her apprentice.*

"To be honest, thought you all had retired. The holonet's been..." *She paused to take a sip of her drink while she sought for the right Basic.* "Hell, pretty boring."

*To her apprentice she raised an eyebrow and placed a finger on the table top indicating that the holocron should be placed there. There appeared to be a soundless struggle before Desyre finally placed the cube where Syren indicated. The togruta fidgeted without the box to hold onto before reaching up to stroke her lekku in agitation. *

He watched the young man approach the table and address the group. Clad in red armor that gave off an air of aggression, the man introduced himself rather calmly and politely. What was that name that the just mentioned. in his introduction? It sounded familiar, and it only took a few moments to remember.

Clan Australis? So you're one of those crazy bastards. Although I must say you seem polite enough. You'll find no trouble here unless you bring it with you. Please...

As he responded he gestured to one of the open chairs at the table to indicate that the man was welcome to sit. From what he knew about the man's father, the man's name could be a good harbinger of his reputation. From what he knew about Mandalorian culture, the importance of the name could only be eclipsed by how the armor-clad man planned to forge his own reputation in the galaxy.

Time would tell how that would turn out. For now, he offered the newcomer the bottle.

Drink? What is your old man up to these days anyway?