Trull Ordo
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Post by Trull Ordo on Jun 16, 2013 18:46:36 GMT -8
Trull's ears heard Corr's greeting, but his synapses were lazy, and so it was a moment longer before he registered the salutation and responded. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the gear press into his back and prevent him from being fully comfortable as his eyes lifted and sized up the new arrival, then narrowed as they recognized him. Trull's armored fingers scratched into his scalp, and he nodded cordially to the general.
"And you as well, aliit'alor," he replied in Mandalorian. "How may we humble priests serve you today?"
He'd heard rumors about this man; Corr Vhett. Leader of the legendary clan Vhett, consort of Mand'alor, a general and a deadly warrior. This was his ship they rode, and now this man greeted them courteously, in the name of their own god. It was a credit to the Mandalorian way; all brothers were equal, warriors together. Not for nothing did they say "Mhi vode an."
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Bralex Ordo
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Post by Bralex Ordo on Jun 16, 2013 19:20:30 GMT -8
Bralex smile at the familiar voice that entered his earpieces. It had been too long since he had spoken to Corr.
Su'cuy ner'vod. It has been too long. I await further orders. Slana ti parjai.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jun 16, 2013 19:33:43 GMT -8
"Kad jorso'ran gar runi, Vhett," Darian said as the echoes of his pain resonated in and around his flesh, lifting either hand to his blood-soaked cheeks, runnings his fingers through the turgid slosh of red, feeling the rush of heat validating him. He reached out, looking up now into the hardened eyes of a born killer, and he knew heartbreak again. Truly a child of Kad Ha'rangir, this Aliit'alor of the Vhett clan. He had lost much- so much, in a way Darian related so closely to. Even untouched by the foul magicks of a forceling, Kad granted Darian sight, and he saw.
Lifting his hands up, now dripping blood, there was a silent connection between them, in a way that only true faith could give rise, and Darian lifted up this lost soul to Kad. Though me, come to face your god. These were the ancient words that went spoken through aeons, through ages that turned to ashes and flickered into oblivion. As was the way of Kad.The warm, visceral fluid came to rest on the rugged, grizzly Mandalorian's face, and with strength that was deceptive for one his size, Darian gripped Corr and held him fast. The man could easily flick him away or rip him off, but the pain Darian offered him now was something... else. "Kad sees you now, Corr of the Vhett clan. If ever you had wished to know him, take solace in that he now knows you. To the faithless, it is a hollow thing, for they do not- they cannot know what this gift is.
But you know. In your soul, you can feel it. This is a life beset by chaos. This is war unending. This is, more than anything, the life you have chosen. And Kad rewards the faithful." Darian's body shook with intensity as his breath left him, and his hands locked in a deathgrip, nails digging into flesh, ancient rites breathing new purpose outward into open wounds.
Corr might feel it after a moment; the rush of stimulants into his bloodstream from the blood of the High Priest- Darian had been dosed endlessly, his blood was riddled with poisons that drove the nervous system and the adrenal glands to work above themselves. He had become- or made himself- a conduit for strength when his brothers had none. His blood would be the ambrosia of champions. His very essence Kad's own resolve.The fire in his eyes went wild as he released Corr, his fists slamming into the floor as the throes of momentary insanity left him, his lungs gasping for all the air they could gluttonously manage to horde. He looked up at the beast of a man towering over him, and in his being, he could feel it. "Let us bring war to these Jetiise," he managed through gasping breaths, "to these mocking creatures of Arasuum. Let us make of all they know, and all that they love, a ruin."
Silently, he added, 'thy will be done.' |
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Jun 17, 2013 5:37:23 GMT -8
He stiffened as the priests hands locked on his massive forearms, nails biting deep into the scarred flesh, puncturing sinew, muscle and vein. He resisted the mighty urge to swat the man across the deck, eyes narrowing with the effort to contain the instinctive violence that rose unbidden in is soul. Darians words reverberated through him as the prophets blood mingled with his own, coursing through his body like the holy nectar of divinity. He trembled silently as the searing agony of change wrought his nerves, strengthening a resolve already iron-hard, promoting his ideals to a plain far higher than the mundane in which they walked.
His bare arms, lacking the usual armouring he war into combat, tensed ferociously, muscles bunching as if in some sort of wrestling match with Darian, forearms still locked under the truth of the priests touch. The stimulants of the blood now merging with his own caused him to break out in a sweat, the fluid streaming down his face. His eyes hazed over red with what he thought was beckoning unconsciousness. He blinked causing the true meaning of the scarlet highlights to dribble down his cheek in twin lines of purifying plasma, marring the scarred visage with meandering red lines as they sought their way down, at the mercy of the ships artificial gravity.
"Kad hiibir ni..."
{Kad take me...}
He remained standing as Darian sunk to the floor to beat upon the unyielding deck with righteous fists of belief grinding out the assertion of his desire to take the war to the unwashed minions of Arasuum. Swaying slightly, eyes unfocused as they gazed upon the divinity that Darian had revealed to him, Corr Vhett nodded his head slowly his buy'ce still gripped in his right hand.
"Mhi slanar ibic tuur bah vaabir te vercopa be Kad..."
{We go this day to do the will of Kad...}
The words were whispered, a near silent benediction to assert his intentions to none but the Destroyer himself, to once again give himself to the will of their God. His eyes seemed to regain focus as they found Scotrull, portraying meaning and intent with the look of his eyes.... the set of his jaw.
"Prep the ship."
He said, referring to the Skipray that stood silently besides them, separating them from the girl working on the X-Wing at the far end of the hangar. Returning his eyes to Darian, a delicious fluttering of intimate purpose rushing through his system, he reached forth a hand to the man, small puncture wounds spilling surface veins of blood across his forearm.
"Motir, ner tat. Motir bal akaanir par te kote be Kad. Duumir mhi eparavur bat te runi be te arasuum'la... te Osi'yaim."
{Stand, my brother. Stand and fight for the glory of Kad. Let us feast on the souls of stagnant... the weak.}
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Trull Ordo
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Post by Trull Ordo on Jun 17, 2013 7:09:05 GMT -8
Trull watched in silence, standing as Darian clamped his hands onto Corr's arms. It was electrifying, watching how Darian could ignite people with words that, from anybody else, would sound like ravings. Helmet in hand, Scotrull smiled softly. It wasn't so surprising, though. Darian had an edge that few others had - not just the drugs pumping in his veins, though certainly those were part of the equation. Corr, eyes hazy, turned and managed to push through the fervor that Darian inspired to give a coherent command. Trull nodded slowly, donned his helmet, and walked towards the Skipray. As the HUD booted up and he ran a systems check on his armor, the warrior shook his head. Darian had an advantage that transcended the physical, any Jetii magic, skill or legend. It was as simple as this: Darian truly believed, and in that belief, he was somehow more powerful than any other warrior in the room. Trull shook his head, muttering prayers as he sat down in the cockpit and began the pre-launch check-up.
"Forgive me, my unhearing god," he whispered, throat choked, "for being an unbelieving believer. I will offer up great sacrifice today to blot out my own stains, may it be worthy of you."
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jun 17, 2013 8:14:27 GMT -8
No god or man, nor child, nor any manner of beast could step in the way of their lord's fury. Love and lust were governed in their seasons by long forgotten deities, and Arasuum held peacetime close to his wretched and withering chest; but new life, war, death and rebirth- these things were Kad's own. staring up through the abyss- for he had become used to this surge of psychotropic delusions, the black walls that swirled endlessly, the world looking so far away noe- Darian's soul disjointed from the rest of his being watched as his hand reached out to find Corr's own, and the grip slowly began to sober him.
Blood washed over his hand in small rivers, and as he rose to his feet, chains clattering around his body like a collective chorus of tortured souls, whining as they railed against the injustice of the world only to be beaten back down when the Priest stood composed once more. "Ib'tuur mhi dinuir te a'den be Kad." His words crept from his throat in a rasping voice, his hand unconsciously having gripped Gorehound, which now hung limp at his side, hungering voraciously for blood.
And his sudden scream shook the fabric of reality. "OYA!" His eyes stretched to a wideness that encompassed the full spectrum of his fury in jade green, and he thrust the tomahawk bearing hand skyward- were there a sky in the emptiness of space- and he brought the weight of it down to point evenly at the moon below them. "Let's give them hell."
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Jun 17, 2013 12:46:08 GMT -8
He hauled Darian to his feet, a grim nod signifying his appreciation of the blessings bestowed. The slate-grey eyes narrowed as he listened to the other mans diatribe, holding up a cautionary hand to ease the righteous zeal, to forestall the madness he could see in the others eyes. Though fervent in his devotions he also tempered it with logic and reason, channeling the fanatical edge with the guidance born from experience.
"Udesla, ni buy'ca."
{Patience, my friend.}
He smiled as he released the others hand, turning to begin walking around his ship hand reaching out to caress the hull of the Tra'vod as he walked.
"Cuun ca'nara bic olaror."
{Our time will come.}
They came around the nose of the blastboat and into sight of the X-Wing and the girl working on it. Corr paused for a moment, once again analysing the feelings of trepidation she always seemed to arouse in him. It was the evil Jetii magicks again, the shameful taint of his birthright refusing to remain buried. He sighed and started forward, speaking quietly to Darian as he replaced his helm.
"Ke'shu ni, vod. Rejorhaa'ir ni iba'gar mirdir be cuun buyc'ika."
{Attend me, brother. Tell me what you think of our little guest.}
Together they approached the X-Wing, Corr once again ensconced behind his visored helmet.
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Joshua
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Post by Joshua on Jun 17, 2013 13:36:40 GMT -8
The droid had facilitated the call with little difficulty so far, managing to keep the channel open and hidden despite the Mandalorian closing the channel. Running an encrypted call through one of the Star Destroyers comm relays wasn't particularly difficult. It was doing so without being noticed, on a ship that was under wartime alert, that was the trick. The Dragon Squadron encryption's were already in place, in Plug himself as well as the X-Wing within which he was housed. The receivers were down on the moon, in the form of his peers, and more than able to decipher the call. All he had to d was make the bridge believe that their commander was still talking to his friend on the moon below. Piece of cake...
As Alena, or Eliana, conversed with Dav Plug was doing the same, but at about seventeen times the speed, with Dirty. The two droids, long time allies and friends, if droid could be said to be friends these two could, exchanged information furiously. Data streaked over the link, what Plug could pinch from under the nose of the Aggressors super computer went one way information on the siege of the Praxeum going the other. The little droid tweeted mournfully to himself as Dirty informed him that they'd had no news on Joshua, his domed head turning back and forth in mute worry.
His short range sensors alerting him to the approach of two contacts, one certainly the Mandalorian commander, he left a quick message for Dav with Dirty and tweeted a warning to Alena that the Mando was returning.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jun 17, 2013 22:05:24 GMT -8
Curling each finger in turn, Darian calibrated the settings in his gauntlets in silence. He had not worn a proper buc'ye in many seasons, and so, looking on Vhett as he did now reminded him of fond days, his time as a weapon master and beroya. The all too familiar recollection of his head's up display came to mind, and even without it, he remembered the blinking lights and chimes that responded to each of his commands. Those were better days than this, he mused in silence, but they had gone away.
That was the nature of things; impermanent. Not sacred. Fleeting. Kad's blessing was change, and change was good. But some things could never change. Not the fire in the Priest's eyes, even as he glanced over the girl in question; a staunch youth, feminine in all the ways befitting a Mando'ad- but there were, as always, minor discrepancies. She looked as one embraced by the Resol'nare, but not born into them. Which was not a damning thing, to be certain- all the children of Manda'yaim, who came to it for whatever reason- birth, choice, inevitability- were blessed for it. One could not choose the manner in which they entered the world, but through Manda, they could certainly choose their family, and how they left the world.
Short life or long, the woman certainly was no grizzled veteran; something about her screamed of pestience, and though he could not feel the ever present field of energy that surrounded all things- a typical notion, the dogmatic and atrophic "force"- he felt a chill creep down his spine when he looked at her. She spoke intimately with a machine- and not a machine for war, but a machine meant to speak to machines- and he distrusted her all the more for it. She smacked of the ill-fated complacency that the Stagnant One instilled in his chosen, an odd air of calm like a field of negation where there ought to be the throes of excitement.
Surely, this woman did not belong. And Vhett knew it. "Ibic ad... ke nu solus be cuun. Kaysh ganar jehaatir." He spoke the words in a low voice as they neared, keeping the conversation between himself and Corr, so as not to invite alarm in the girl. But, if Darian was right about her, she wouldn't need to hear them in order to stiffen and get twitchy. Best not to approach this with his axe looking so thirsty- accordingly, he banished Gorehound beneath clattering beskar chains, and brushed his thumb over the fingers of his clenched wrist, reflexively priming his wrist laser should something go awry. "Tion'ad kaysh, ner'tat? Gar duumir kaysh juaan cuun." It was more of a statement than a question or skepticism.
Just what did Corr have in mind? Darian's gaze narrowed slightly as it flicked past the woman and her newfound droid friend, out toward the wall, and the stars beyond. His mind stretched toward a distant world, toward the promise of glory in the taking of lives, even as his cheeks wept blood. Truly, this was the life of a great man.
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Jun 18, 2013 4:03:18 GMT -8
He stopped a few meters short of the X-Wing, close enough that she surely noticed them there, but far enough to keep the low-spoken conversation to themselves. He turned to face Darian, putting his back to Alena and the droid, head titling to the left to convey the impression of the raised eyebrow that lurked beneath the visor.
"Gar tionas ni, shekemire be Kad?"
{You question me, priest of Kad?}
The words were quietly spoke but contained a hint of steel that was somewhat eased by the heavy lacing of amusement that came with them. The whimsical lilt at the end of the sentence was enough to give away the sardonically wry humour inherent to anyone with the linguistic skills to decipher the tone. He would not be questioned in anything he did and the priest would do well to remember his place. Still, one of the reasons he liked having one such as Darian around was for the unbiased candor the man possessed in expressing his views. There was also the fact that Darian had only one agenda and it matched one with which Corr progressed through life. Darian was an uncomplicated man who sought not to hide his goals from his peers, who saw no need for tact and deceit in achieving his ends, trusting implicitly that Kad would not allow things to pass him by that were his to have. Consequently he saw no need to overreach himself and that meant that he didn't seek to displace his superiors and usurp their positions. To say that the man wasn't ambitious would be wrong. It was just that his ambition was for his deity not for personal ends. An excellent man to have at your side, Corr though smugly.
He waved a hand to forestall any possible defense of the previous statement, indicating that the question was valid despite the irksome nature of it. He glanced over his shoulder, not bothering to hide the gesture by using his three-sixty degree view, peering at the girl curiously. There was little that Darian had said that Corr didn't concur with but he wanted the priests view, uncoloured by what Corr himself thought of the situation.
He turned over the words in his head for a moment, deciding on how to pursue this conversation.
Gar mirdir kaysh jehaatir...
{You think she lies...}
He turned his gaze back to Darian, head tilting again in apparent curiosity as he pulled a datapad from a compartment on his thigh armour..
Tion'jor?
{Why?}
He ignored Darian's own question, judging it both rhetoric and irrelevant, as he began inputting orders into the command log of the ship. Soon transports and fighters would be getting ready to make thee run down to the planet, to join Ashrah in furthering Kad's will on the sorcerous heathens below..
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jun 18, 2013 9:22:41 GMT -8
"Te verd meg ke nu tionas kar'taylir shuk'la, Vhett," he said in a measured tone that was at a mismatch to the look in his eyes as they came to on the woman once more, regarding Corr's question. There were multiple possibilities regarding someone who did not belong on a Mandalorian flagship, none of them usually ending well for the stowaway. Of course, if Corr knew and had said nothing, he had come to suspect a certain usefulness in their prey that Darian was currently oblivious to. His gaze flickered back to the much larger man now, a sage nod bobbing his head in careful contemplation. He blinked his eyes closed slowly, and said in a harsh whisper. "We can use this one... but when you finish, put a blaster bolt through her skull. Jetiise don't die with honour."
His eyes, low hanging bags and all, now locked on Corr, and he smirked mirthlessly. "That's just my suggestion, anyway." He looked at all of the magic weaving aruteiise that way- Sith, Jedi, anyone with their formal agenda of control or annihilation, anyone tied in any way to the sins that had stolen the life from his beloved and their son- all of them needed to die. Kad accepted warriors- he accepted the children of Manda'yaim, of all of those who strove toward a glorious death and an eternal war for His glory, but he desperately hated those who stood against them.
Arasuum's lot had many masks. Siit tempered their gluttony with bloodlust; fitting, then, that they got fat and ragged in age, and sought to persist. It fell to the Mando'ade- now more than ever- to jettison the ballast from the galaxy. Short or long, and by whatever means they saw fit. He broke his gaze free of the menacing buc'ye and crossed his arms.
"Lead, Corr. Lead, and Gorehound will follow, a meager Priest in tow." His smile was malicious, though his gaze was distant, and he simply waited. In time, Vhett would give answer. The only answer Darian cared about. War.
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Post by Eliana Shan on Jun 19, 2013 15:37:40 GMT -8
Alena's visor had alerted her to the two approaching Mandalorians seconds before Plug's tweeted warning. She was still outside of eavesdropping range, but still, she dropped her voice lower anyway.
:: Kriff, they're coming back. ::
She touched the side of her visor, quickly cycling through the options and setting the comm channel to remain open until she spoke a predetermined codephrase. That way, Dav could still hear what she and anyone else within earshot was saying, gleaning any possible information from what the Mandalorian general was saying. The Mando'ade, though, would not be able to hear anything the Jedi Battlemaster was saying, nor would they realize the comm was still open (Alena was well aware that the general had closed the comm previously, but she had coded the signal to stay active; the bridge would be none the wiser, for the moment).
The multicolored-haired girl strode across the X-Wing to the cockpit, running her fingers along the seal where the transparisteel canopy met the titanium alloy hull, then bringing up her wrist-mounted holodisplay -- she hadn't just been idly chit-chatting with Dav, after all, she actually had been working on the X-Wing, if "getting Plug to give her access to the systems" counted as working -- and signaled for the craft to open. There was a faint hiss as the canopy lifted open, and the smile that visited her lips was only half-forced: she loved getting something to work, even if it was handed to her on a silver platter. She ran her fingers through the crimson half of her hair, then hopped into the fighter's cockpit, looking over the controls and the computer system.
It was fairly obvious that she wasn't stupid enough to try and use the X-Wing to escape the ship. The only reason she would have been allowed to make it out of the hangar if she tried was because the Mandalorians wouldn't have wanted the starfighter to explode and potentially damage any of their own ships; but again, she wasn't stupid enough to try.
She smiled again and started humming Vode An, loudly enough for the tune to be recognized by the Mandalorian warriors who would have heard it. As far as they needed to know, she was just enjoying her work.
And even if there were Force-sensitives among them, her visor's special Force-blocking properties would have shielded her from their prying senses..
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Jun 20, 2013 9:02:36 GMT -8
He nodded the demonic visage that his buy'ce presented as he absorbed Darian's words. The advice was nothing he hadn't considered and brought no real surprise, the only anomaly being that the priest hadn't insisted upon her death, perhaps going so far as to attack her despite Corr's orders. There was still the possibility of that happening, a scenario that Corr was tempted to let play out, at least for a little while. He could judge the prowess of each before he reigned them in, learning much. It was a risk though and one that would have to be seriously considered before being allowed to interfere with any plans he had laid down. Maraak should have the comm code from the Admiral by now and would soon be moving on the the Kuat system. All his carefully engineered schemes should be starting to bear fruit, and Corr was anxious to eat his fill.
He looked at Darian, seeing the zeal and fanatical glare in the other mans eyes, reaffirming again how dangerous this man could be. He was filled with righteous rage in a way that Corr could barely understand, but where this could make the man dangerous it also made him predictable. Corr could see problems with Darian but the fact that he could see them made it a little easier to bear. Darian, like Corr himself, was a weapon to be aimed at the Jedi and unleashed and Corr would get the maximum use out of such an asset.
He tilted his head as he pondered his next course of action, watching on his HUD as drop ships checking in their readiness. Here in the private hangar they were isolated from the hustle and bustle of a warship preparing to deploy lander's, the quiet stillness broken by the girl opening the X-Wings canopy. He turned slowly, watching as she dropped into the cockpit, casting one last glance at Darian as his voice growled out of his helmet comm in a low snarl.
Ogir'olar, gar enteyor koor ti kaysh bid gar haa'taylir staabi.
{Either way, you must deal with her as you see fit.}
He chuckled softly, the sound coming out like some engine struggling t start, as he resumed his approach towards the X-Wing.
Tion'tuur kaysh jaon ti daysh bora, gar ver vaabir ti daysh bid gar vercopa.
{When she's finished with her task, you can do with her as you wish.}
He stopped besides the Jedi fighter, evil red glare of his visor blazing forth to take in the slight girl, distrust and evil intent seeming to seep out of the demonic visage. By handing her fate over to the priest he sought to teach Darian to mind his opinions while also kind of bestowing a reward. Should the other man prove right about this girl then he'd be allowed to deal with her, to make an example by sacrificing her to Kad. If he was wrong... well... he'd probably let him kill her anyway. No loose ends.
Gar buircan jii, ner tat.
{Your responsibility now, brother.}
That last was said within earshot of Alena, and at a normal volume, the grating voice like a Phrikite nail scraping across beskar. It didn't matter. She wouldn't know that it had been her fate they had been discussing. Her death they had been plotting...
Me'vaar ti gar olaror'ade, ad'ika?
{How are you coming along, kid?}
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Bralex Ordo
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Post by Bralex Ordo on Jun 20, 2013 13:03:25 GMT -8
Bralex left his pilot's seat, keeping his headset on, waiting for the word to jurkad. He checked and re-checked his equipment. MAking sure everything was working and ready to be used. He only wished that Mir'ika and Koty could be here, could join in the destruction about to be delivered to the jetii...
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Post by Eliana Shan on Jun 22, 2013 12:37:33 GMT -8
Alena turned to face the Mandalorian general, her eyes flitting between him and the other man with him, apparently sizing them up. It was just for show, however, because she had already noticed them before; might as well make them think that she hadn't, though.
"Veman iviin'yc, jii."
{Pretty fast, now.}
She turned back to the controls before her, typing commands into what appeared to be midair with her right hand. From her point of view, there was a holographic keyboard floating over her left wrist; a relatively simple -- for her, that is -- user interface that she had programmed into her visor. She hadn't been able to work with her AIs or her regular systems in the past seven years, so she had been forced to upgrade the only thing left to her: herself.
"Te beskar'ad gaa'tayli. Ni'liniba jurkadir kyash sol'yc. Ni kar'tayli tion jorhaa'ir at beskar'ade..."
{The droid helped. I had to threaten him first. I know how to talk to droids...}
A smile graced her face as the keyboard started blinking, an indication that she had gained access to the security that Plug had set up. What Corr would think had taken her from the time he had left her, had actually only taken a few minutes.
Then again, Plug wasn't actively trying to kill her for getting into his friend's ship.. even though he could, since she had disabled the restraining bolt. She didn't know the droid that well, but she trusted him enough to not betray her on that count, or to tell the Mandalorians. It wouldn't have made any sense for him to do so, but she had learned over the years to be wary...
"Tion gar burc'ya?"
{Who's your friend?}
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Jun 22, 2013 14:44:35 GMT -8
He glanced at Darian then moved his head to the right to gaze at the fighters strike foil, reaching out to run a hand over the hull in a strangely meditative way. He ignored Alena's question like a boss as he continued to look at the X-Wing, seemingly recalling some past memory as he did so. He'd seen a craft like this before, not just the view of it from another ship, but up close. I had been sat not far from Cassus' Firespray on the fertile soils of Concord Dawn. So long ago now...
Val'ade ori'jate can'gale...
{They're excellent starfighters...}
He drew his hand back and stared at his fingertips, as if the very essence of the Jedi craft had rubbed of on him, staining him with the slovenliness of Arasuum himself. He rubbed his fingers together with a disdainful sniff, knowing that the Destroyer would guard him against such impurity, his faith a shield against the taint of stagnation and mediocrity that was Arasuums want. His grimly archaic mask turned back towards Alena, visor flaring from its sooty red he to a sickly, deathly green.
Mhi slanar dayn jii bah vaabir teh vercopa be Teh Naast...
{We go forth now to do the will of The Destroyer...}
He turned slowly as he spoke this, his voice booming from his helmet speakers in the usual dry snarl, and made his way with measured pace to a cargo crate a few meters away, leaving Darian stood there watching her hungrily. A engraved case, inlaid with mystical runes and glyph's, rested on top of the crate with its lid open and thrown back. Reaching inside Corr removed one of his crushgaunts, turning to face the fighter once again as he pulled it on with agonising slowness.
Bid rejorhaa'ir ni... Tionir gar gotal'ur ibic Jetii kebis borarir par mhi?
{So tell me... How can you make this Jedi toy work for us?}
There was a not-so-subtle threat in his question. It clearly said that if there wasn't one then she was no use to him and would be turned over to the crazy priest for whatever decadent shit he could dream up.
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Trull Ordo
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Post by Trull Ordo on Jun 22, 2013 18:33:10 GMT -8
The Skipray was ready for liftoff, engines humming quietly and all the consoles lit up like eager pets. Scotrull extricated himself from the deadly machine and looked for Corr and Darian. They had walked over to where an X-Wing fighter sat, with a young Mando woman working on it. Odd, that a fighter not typically used by the vode was here, but the oddness of its presence did not explain Darian. Even from here, Trull could tell that his superior was on edge, and it wasn't just the drugs in his system. He had that predatorial aspect which Trull had long since learned to respect, that attitude which bespoke impending bloodshed.
Scotrull leaned his spear against the Skipray and jogged towards them, just as Corr retrieved a crushgaunt from a decorated box and, with an amusing theatricality, posed a question to the technician. Scotrull tipped a quick nod to Corr, briefly stating, "We're ready," before falling silent again. Something was going on here of which he was not aware, and Trull was too old a dog to contribute to a situation without knowing what it was. So he kept his mouth shut and eyes and ears open.
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Darian Beviin
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Affiliation: Kad Ha'rangir
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jun 22, 2013 20:30:43 GMT -8
His dark eyes set deeply on the woman who looked him over, boring into the recesses of her soul- not in the invasive manner that a force adept might, but in the more judgmental, intimate sort of a man looking at a woman, deciding her measure for himself. She might mistake it for lust- battle seemed to do that to so many men- but Darian's only thirst now was for truth. And whispers in his soul deemed this woman a liar. He had naught but suspicions- she played long with the droid, toiled over the x-wing's systems, but Darian knew; a Mando knew their chosen trade better than anything else. A warrior like himself was versed so intimately with weapons that any tool they handled could be harnessed to it's potential. A strategist spent years immersed in the art, to the point he could walk onto a bridge and play games with the best commanders. And slicers- slicers could make systems sing in minutes.
There was no way it had taken her that long to "seduce" a droid and reign over the codes. With that much time, she could have hacked the Ori'gehaat'ik itself, even turned the ship back for Concord Dawn and masked the route for long enough to make the hyperspace jump without being noticed. But if this woman had done anything like that, it had gone over smashingly. And Darian's blood boiled at that thought.
Her game was perfect in every way- she spoke the language, she wore the armor, she took the commands- but Darian had little faith in humanity. Call it paranoia, but she was the only one NOT itching to go to war. And that, to a Priest of Kad, was unacceptable. He stepped forward slowly, swaying evenly with each purposed movement, reaching into his chain robes, producing a large gourd, uncorking it as he came to stand next to Corr- netra'gal, infused with herbs that dulled pain, that hiked adrenaline, that rushed all desires into the brain and increased neural function- and he held it out to her in silence.
If she drank, he might just give her the benefit of the doubt; her reaction to the herbs, to the way her body went to war with itself- these things would preach scriptures about her soul. But, if she refused the drink, well- he could just as soon kill her on the spot. What Mando refused alcohol? Darian himself refused to indulge, save for on the Eve of Battle- and this was his private stock. Corr would have the truth of it, soon enough. His actions did nothing to interrupt the preexisting conversation- rather, he seemed to go completely unnoticed throughout.
As Trull came to give them the news that their blastboat was ready to go, Darian half turned and offered him a soft smile, nodding his head in their silent, Priestly language to give the affectation that he was testing her. Faith, duty, and of course, adherence to more than just the religion. Adherence to the Resol'nare. Her tenacity as a Mandalorian, or lack thereof.
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Post by Eliana Shan on Jun 23, 2013 0:02:53 GMT -8
"Gar rejorhaa'i ni meg gar copaani, bal ven'bana."
{You tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen.}
She understood perfectly that her life was at stake now. She couldn't exactly prove it to the Mandalorian general -- showing him that his new toy could fly and shoot would be a very bad idea -- but she could tell him what he needed to know. What he wanted to hear.
It was then that the general's friend approached, and her sky-blue eyes locked with his dark ones. There was an almost immediate narrowing of her eyes and a raise of one of her eyebrows: she saw this man reading her, reading her in a way that she knew Corr had not. From what she had seen of the general, he was all about grandstanding and proving himself, his importance. He liked to keep people in line with his name and presence alone, and everything he purveyed was his, to have as he pleased. He was arrogant to a fault. A veritable soldier, by all means, but still very arrogant. Perhaps he had earned his arrogance, but it was a trait that always came in greater amounts than had been earned. And she knew all this without ever having looked into the man's eyes.. into his soul.
The approaching man, however... He was different. She could see his eyes, she could see the intelligence there, and she could see him reading her. She was used to the fruitless attention of males -- she had held a position of power in the streets of Nar Shaddaa -- and she could tell the difference between the many ways she was looked at. And she knew this man was reading her. Whereas Corr enjoyed bossing her around, making it like she was his possession, something to be toyed with.. this man seemed to look inside of her. He was powerful in his own right, and she couldn't help but smile once she recognized that power.
What Corr still had not gotten from her was respect, and this silent man had earned it in a single moment.
Her eyes flicked back to Corr's ever-changing visor.
"Ibic jetii can'gal. Jetii can'gal, ti jetii daditase. Gana umaane ti jetii aranove? Mhi gaa'tayli dirycir val."
{This is a Jedi fighter. A Jedi fighter, with Jedi codes. Having trouble with Jedi defenses? We can help bring them down.}
The silent man completed his approach in the middle of her explanation and held something out to her. A gourd. She raised an eyebrow again, a single inhalation telling her that it contained alcohol. She knew a test when she saw it, and she was never one to back away. She also doubted that Corr would allow someone to kill her with poison right here in front of him. There were far more honourable ways to sentence someone to death. Without hesitation, she took the gourd, nodding once before placing it to her lips and drinking the ne'tra gal. There was a rush of heat as the ale went down her throat and settled in her stomach; a few seconds later, she pulled the gourd away and handed it back to the man.
"Dral kebi. Vor'e."
{Strong stuff. Thanks.}
She could already feel the initial effects; the flood of heat throughout her body, the quickening of her heart, the slight flush to her cheeks. She knew how to handle her liquor. Her thoughts suddenly went back to the last girl she had shared a drink with, and she started to frown before consciously keeping the expression off her face.
She could work just as well under the influence as she could while sober. It was just a matter of knowing herself.. which is why she had just said the codeword. The word, "Vor'e" was not something one would expect to hear coming from a coerced slicer on a Mandalorian ship, so it was something that wouldn't be said accidentally, but could be made to sound that way. The timer counted down, and in five seconds, the signal to the Jedi Praxeum was cut.
Now, she was alone.
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Corr
Member
You can lead a fool to knowledge but you can't make him think.
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Affiliation: Clan Vhett
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Post by Corr on Jun 23, 2013 13:29:27 GMT -8
With a diffident air did Corr continue to work on his gauntlet, sliding it over the crimsons stains that had wept from the puncture wounds of Draian's embrace, encasing the forearms up to the elbow and solidifying Corr's left arm inside the cloth of Kad himself. The girls words sounded inside the vaults of his mind, pleasing to him if not for the desperation he sensed behind them as she fought valiantly to make herself useful to their cause. He fastened the last of the clasps and held his hand up before the dull cerise glow of his visor, studying it as if surprised such a limb existed. With a sudden tensing of his forearm he clenched the hand into a fist with a suddenness that made a dull crack sound out in the hangar, causing the twin fifteen inch beskar claws to extend with a sibilant hiss. With a grim nod he flexed his hand open and back on the wrist, a movement that retracted the claws with the sucking reversal of the sound that accompanied their deployment.
It may seem like grandstanding to those observing but there was an actual reason why he did such a thing, and did so every time he armed himself thus. Once, a long time ago, he had sought to deploy these claws to block a savage attack from an Amphistaff wielding Yuuzhan Vong. The claws had failed to advance resulting in the head of the Amphistaff biting painfully into his right cheek, just below the eye. The scar is still there to this day and the effects of the poison had rendered him ill for weeks. He had been lucky to survive such a calamity and now always tested each bit of kit before he ventured forth to do Kads will. I would describe what had happened to the Vongese shabuir but that would be a digression of the most grandiose kind so I'll avoid that for now. Suffice to say, Corr was making damn sure the bloody thing worked and was in no way showing off to those present. *Snrk*
He flicked a brief nod towards Scotrull, who's indication that the blastboat was ready for departure was well received, and reached in with his clad hand to bring out the other gauntlet. Never did he take his gaze from Darian and his antics with the gourd. A flash of amusement washed over him as he allowed the Priest to play out his little game. It would tell them little he knew. Corr had already made his mind up about the girl and was only seeking affirmation of his decision by bringing her to the attention of the fanatical zealot, knowing that he'd get a much harsher judgement of her than from anyone else, even Ashrah. Still, it was interesting to see such a thing play out to its conclusion.
As she took the drink Corr smiled, wondering whether he should put it on Darian with a "What do you think now?" She had clearly passed his test and Corr imagined how wrath the Priest would be should Corr base his decision to let her live on her drinking from Darians chalice, as it were. Perhaps he would do so and watch the man seethe for the duration of the trip down the well. It was something that would amuse him as they descended to see about their holy crusade. After all, Kad liked a good joke before the storm of blood and beskar washed away the joviality in rivers of righteous combat.
He held off such a decision for now as he began fastening the straps on his right-hand crushgaunt, turning over Alena's statement in his mind."We can help bring them down" she had said. A bold statement and one that required further elaboration.
Ruyot taylir dirycir val, ad'ika...
{Then take then down, kid...}
He finished securing the gauntlet and repeated the performance with the claws, holding them extended a little longer this time (Yes. This is done with theatricality in mind) before re-sheathing them and folding his arms across his massive chest. His visor now glowed a iridescent hue, shifting colours at will now as if seeking a mood with which to settle on. It portrayed the feeling of insecurity, as if he were awaiting an outside factor with which to base his next emotion, if he ever displayed any that is, and was probably more frightening than anything he had done previously. Like watching a madman discover how a gun worked in a room full of children. >_>
Ca'narade go'naasire
{Times a'wasting}
He had effectively called any bluff she may be making. He assumed Darian would be amused...
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Corr Vhett - puts the "Laughter" in "Manslaughter"..... 
