Boethiah
Dark Messiah
BASTION
-Imperial Palace-
19:00 hours
The evening set over Bastion, a former capital of the Fel Imperium and once in the hands of many great empires. Now in the Imperial Palace resides a rather reclusive woman; a witch by the name of Anja Aj'Rou. Her people--The Primeval--have conquered Bastion from the unscrupulous rule of Mandalore the Usurper, who holds his people hostage with false wisdom and weakness. Now with new star systems under her control, the Host Lord seeks to defend them from coming war and from that motive seeks the aid of someone she met some time ago. A man who represented a company whose name never went without notice. Titan Industries.
Inside the halls of her palace, the Umbaran ruler of The Primeval waited in a rather adorned meeting room. The Imperial emblems to some surprise have not been removed; in fact they're regularly polished. It's a simple of strength held over an empire, to prove to those who see it that even the mightiest succumb to the fall of arrogance. Pride, greed, desire... All of which she would rid her people of. In due time, of course. Making enemies with the wealthy can wait for it is those wealthy that enrich the possibilities for fanatics and terrorists, zealots who see no wrong in their right ways.
Footsteps echoed, clacking down the marbled halls of the fortress-esque palace. "Your Worship.", the voice came as a man entered the room; a sliding door closed behind them. Standing before her was a well-dressed human whom formerly was the steward to the previous resident. A governor in loyalty to the Mandalorians. His face was quite gaunt and his build slender to the point it seemed frail. Two unsettling brown eyes wandered away from the woman's face as if to fix their gaze on something that wasn't there, then they turned back. Lips pursed, "I've prepared... Refreshments... For you and the guest.", his words were rather slow in coming to point.
Anja's far more emotionless gaze--wide and uneventful--met his wandering one, no displeasure was revealed. "You're dismissed, provide them when ready.", she muttered. The reason for her lack of vigor was merely the result of deep thought. Half paying attention and half theorycrafting. It became somewhat of a bad habit, the Host Lord's curiosity, for it lead to insatiable adventure and passions that went beyond the previously accepted notions of what their religion allowed. In all but name she was part of the occult and nearly ventured into the path of heresy.
The steward nodded lazily before scuttering out of the room itself, once more the sliding door shut behind them. Their guest should be arriving soon and from the palace's main entrance lead into the meeting room by the same eccentric steward.
[member="Alric Kuhn"]