A line drawn in space...

[Reverance]

Selvaris

Mid Afternoon

In orbit, above the planet

Developed to come with a multitude of recreational rooms, it felt oddly vexing to sit within his wooden room of books and tables and laquer and sickly yellow flourescent bulbs, amidst the Teleute Vong Class Destroyer. Created by the now rogue Titan Industries, this masterpiece was the perfect offset to the long range Immortal. Miniaturized but now perfectly adapted for it's sister vehicle, the two rotated in tandem around the Vong formed planet below: Selvaris. Gabriel, Warmaster, Wrath, propped his foot upon the desk: a divot had formed just in that spot, a dent in the enamel that indicated wear and tear and constant use. Sparks flew from the flint as the striker made false promises of a flame, only to remind the seasoned war veteran that he needed to replace the fuel source.

Rummaging through the desk, he pulled the drawer out, grinding upon wooden rails, to reveal a nearly empty space. Except for a box of matches, cardboard with a scuffed red strip across the side. He shook the box next to his ear, it rattled rebelliously in loathsome realization of it's destined use. As he slid it open, he pulled the cigarra from his tactical vest before striking the stick against the box and breathing a crescendo of life into the cylinder. Each pull, each puff, was a resuscitation to an object that had known life once and would know it once more, burning brightly to the very end. Perhaps that was a metaphor to the One Sith and the universe around them, bringing redemption and grace to a thing that had long been absent. Giving it a purpose beyond the monotony of just existing, being saved repeatedly for the inability to save itself.

No word from electrical device would echo the arrival of his guest, one he had longed to meet and speak words of war and turmoil. It had been some time since the Primeval and One Sith had interacted in any form resembling appropriate. As the cogs turned, and the war machine found lubrication from the bloodied victims beneath it's tracks, it was time to recall alliances formed from mutual agreements. Sinew and tendons and flesh would strengthen the discourse, and the alliance would gain a formidable level of recognition and strength as the Sith Lord broke words with the Witch Elder. And her arrival would be relayed by the quivering moan of the beast he now found solace in. And the shouts of his brethren, settled beneath the wings of the One Sith for what destruction lied in their immediate path.

@Anja Aj'Rou​

 

[Boethiah]

One could say a lot has changed since the Sith and Primeval had first mingled. A single Voice of the Dark Lord was sent to speak with her and her people, and back then it was appropriate to realize that their then alliance was little more than a prospect. Six years of carnage has passed since then and the position of power has shifted greatly in the galaxy. The Sith controlled the core, and The Primeval were battering against the gates of Mandalore. Both the One Sith and The Primeval are facing enemies that have fallen short of glory but it would be a foolish mistake to count them out until they've drawn their last breath.

A warship was heading towards Selvaris, aboard the Dreadnought was Anja Aj'Rou, Host Lord of The Primeval and long-time ally to the One Sith. The Witch of Bastion waited near the docking port of the destroyer as the starship dropped out of hyperspace. She saw clearly through the viewport the 1,800 meter flagship of [member="Reverance"], an intricate design befitting of anything made by Titan. The lumbering warship slowed down to a steady halt, each ship had their guns bearing down on the other in a dance of predatory might. The Aj'Rou-class vessel slothfully drifted closer to the Yorik Coral monstrosity, leaving only a relatively small gap between them. There was a pause in action, the silence of space could not even sound a whisper as the airlock's walkway extended outward to link with the Teleute's docking port.

The air hissed as tubing the walkway normalized pressure to match that of the opposite ship before allowing Anja and a small contingent Gulandi to enter.

 

[Reverance]

Fingers fiddled, palm across the top of a rolled cylinder. Back and forth, the ignited objected trudged across the grooves of the table in methodical and repeated rhythm. The Wrath had waited quietly, crimson eye devouring the minutia of such a simple spectacle, entranced by the odd feeling of the firm yet supple skin of the cigarra. With a shake and tremor, the Teleute signaled it's acceptation of the bridge between the vong yorik coral and the groaning dreadnaught metal. Using his hands, feeling the ache of catharsis, he pulled his legs down from the table and stood up, placing the burning fuselage of tobacco between subtly parted lips. Patting himself down, he squinted as he exited the room and was met with a few of the Legion Yun'Do. They gave a wandering gaze to his appearance, simple in nature. Black pants, black vest, arms slick with the shine of swirling ink and that intermingling of scars. The masquer hid the nature of his right arm beneath something resembling a thing belonging and normal. Normal for the Wrath.

To their gaze, he braced his arms in a lock against his chest and smiled. "Has the ship arrived?"

"Yes." The answer was guttural and succinct, the tongue of the Vong of the Legion Yun'Do escaping from the chitin of the mask. Gabriel's eye twitched slightly as he cocked his head, before looking towards the docking tunnels and making his away across the short distance. The vents and air units made quick work of the stream of smoke following in his stead, lifted upwards and out, to leave not a single trace of it's existence beyond it's currently burning station. As he approached the organic door, resembling that of a grashal, he initiated the completion of the merger between the One Sith vessel and the Primeval vessel. As the organic door opened, the two leaders would meet upon even ground for the first time in a very long time, if ever.

Despite his stoicism, Gabriel anticipated the value of this meeting with a form of his own enthusiasm.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]​

 

[Boethiah]

Footsteps echoed throughout the hollowed tunnel that they traversed, Anja walked forward ahead of the few Gulandi that made up her personal guard. She did not dress in anything ornate or prestigious, handcrafted armour for ceremonial purposes was clad around her shoulders and torso, the nakedness along her upper arms revealed the pale complexion of her species down to the bracers wrapped around her forearms. She did not care for appearances, only wearing what was necessary of her in her position as Host Lord. Feet took her to the living door of the Teleute which opened almost silently, the last barrier between her and the Sith allies she hadn't come in contact with in a very long.

Truthfully she did not recall a time she met this man face-to-face, only having spoke briefly with the Sith Lord over intercom. Two warships in the black were side-by-side, connecting intricately the soul of each nation, a fitting metaphor for their alliance. They've fought in battles, conquered, and now they would finally speak in more traditional circumstances. Is this the dance of demons? There were no silver tongues between them, they became allies by spilling blood and waging wars.

Anja looked to the Sith in front of her, her eyes adjusted to the change in colours and light. "What affinity do our hearts bear that this has lasted so long without even a whisper?"

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

A tilt of the head, a squint of the eye, and he couldn't help but smirk. "We must be kindred spirits." And just like that, the prospects of the Host Lord had molded into the folds of the Teleute, as if they were always attached from the very first breath. Now bated and ecstatic in the long lost touch, the monster grew silent in the embrace as the Sith Lord inspected the leader of the primeval. Having the cursed didetic memory that assisted him constantly in his endeavors, he couldn't recall having ever seen the woman in person. She appeared young, he thought, though looks were always deceiving in a universe adapted for deception. And as he mentally toiled over the woman's presence, her slow walk through the vestibule now spanning the strength of two nations, he slowly pulled on the cigarra with his own form of glee. Turning his head to a member of the Legion, he spoke with a thick Vong accent in the native tongue. "Sparkbee honey."

Smoke lifted and was jettisoned out in the large organic room as the Wrath gesticulate towards his wooden room, slow in his own form of wave. He was prepared to discuss many things, including the prospects of conquest with neighbors. Particularly, the Primeval and the One Sith had assisted each other immensely in the conquest of planets during the great disappearance. The reckoning, as some would call it. Nevertheless, he wished to a see a repeat showing of such spectacle and promises of services. With a smile, a form of his own quietness, he would lead the woman if she would follow. The place was not meant for spectators, the Legion worked best when given their own space. "Follow me, we can share whispers and promises over drink."

He was a brutal man. But one that knew the time and place for such things.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]​

 

[Boethiah]

An Umbaran, Anja was essentially akin to deception in itself but an added oddity was her strict sense of justice. She wouldn't lie to people outright, not even about her appearance but that didn't mean she was an honest individual. The Primeval existed for so long as less than a whisper due to their secrecy, even when they did mingle with others it was rarely in mention of their agenda. In fact; when the alliance between The Primeval and One Sith was first formed it was done so out of military interests in the strictest sense. She was sure that today they'd find more mutuality between their interests.

"Kindred indeed," she remarked with enthusiasm and a nod. The woman rarely ever gave any show for emotions which was usually a good sign that things were going well, and why wouldn't they be? Her eyes found the Vong soldier, her Gulandi had praised with them for decades, prizing their technology left behind during their great war against the Galaxy. Only tales remain of those days but their presence still lingers all around, if not especially within the One Sith.

At the gesture of following, Anja turned her head back to the Gulandi Warriors, signaling them to stay put at the entrance to her ship. The Sephi stood still like statues in response, freezing into place and becoming a bulwark for their Host Lord. Pale eyes returned to the Sith Lord, "Yes, we have much to talk about I'm sure." She would follow his lead.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

Pushing the glass doors open, breathing a stench of wooden enamel into the living breathing carapace of the Teleute, Gabriel led the woman and what entourage she felt comfortable with into the one area of the ship that he considered his own. By and large, the ship was built for war and destruction, but he required a moment, brief as it was, to pander to his more basic needs and anachronistic pleasures. The room was taller than one might expect, libraries lining the walls and the image of a window that pierced out into the emptiness of space. A desk on once side of the room, a large singular table in the middle. Walking past a member of the Legion, Gabriel grabbed the decanter from his hand and excused the warrior to get back to his day to day duties. Which was fine, by his expression, as he obviously detested the appeal of the room.

Gabriel waved the woman to take a seat across from him on the small table, the backgdrop of Selvaris in the view screen added a modicum of class to an already classy room. He poured the sparkbee mead from the decanter into the tumblers, the cast of amber through crystalline shimmers gave wafting notes of yeast and breadiness. Pushing a glass over to Anja, he cracked his neck and looked out to the view screen.

"We have conquered Telti, cutting a gash into the membrane of the Republic domain. But it's merely a flesh wound, nothing more." He took a sip of the mead, rolling the cigarra across the desk. "We currently engage them on multiple fronts, including endeavors of testing the waters with small battles here and there...chipping away." He looked back to Anja. "But in earnest, I'm more curious about your current predicament and the inclement attacks with the Mando's." Perhaps it was because of Titan industries, perhaps it was because of proximity to the mandos, or perhaps it was because he just hated the civilization. It might be a mixture of all three. "How goes your attempts against their domain?"

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]​

 

[Boethiah]

The room he lead them into reminded her of the comfort of Bastion. She took a seat as he offered as well as a mental note of his courteous behavior; of course that may very well stem from formalities. She offered a nod of respect in return, an alcoholic beverage poured into a tumbler was pushed her way. Reaching out, a pale hand wrapping its fingers around the transparent material, bringing it to her lips. The liquid fell into her mouth and slid down the back of her tongue when she swallowed. Her face subtly winced, taste buds scrutinizing the ingredients, a light exhale escaped her.

Eyes locked onto his as he explained the Sith's military success over the Republic at Telti. An expression of understanding was one she did not have, but she didn't seem lost on the topic either. She could understand what it was like to have a victory that wasn't exactly the victory you were looking for. The formerly galactic expanses of the Republic would've made it a very tough target, the fact they are only a shadow of their former selves is a sign of impending collapse. No matter what, every empire falls in time.

A question asked, now that was an unexpected one... The Primeval's affairs were usually not the interest of anyone, concern surely, but interest? Of course the Sith would care of how their allies fared, it gave an outlook on how to judge the future. Anja had no reason to be dishonest with him on the matter, "the Mandalorians are stubborn, they don't seem to care too much about our presence but raiding parties have been sent to Echoy'la." Of course they may have been independent from any true government sanction, it was still clear the Mandalorians were unhappy with anyone other than them having access to a Beskar mine; their prized metal.

"In all honesty, we've begun preparations for a full-scale invasion... A fleet moves from Dantooine to Wayland, and from there a small detachment will strike Mandalore directly." She explained, her voice remained quite low-key despite the subject being of a very serious matter.

Continuing, "I don't expect a victory at Mandalore so soon but as you say, testing the waters."

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He nodded, absentmindedly but understandingly. "I've dealt with them in my time, they are a difficult sort. Not ones to accept the certainty of their passing." He laughed into his glass, the shimmer of the sparkbee honey mead casting vibrant glows against the table. "But then again, in their position, I'm sure we would all act similarly."

His crimson eye twitched as he heard the words of intention, movement towards Wayland and Mandalore. Cracking his neck, he broke away from the eye contact for the moment as pulled the cigarra back from the holds of a porcelain ash tray in the center of the table. The odors, full bodied and earthy, lifted with a laziness as he pinched the cylinder between a rolling thumb and index knuckle. "The plants burns quite brilliantly, if I dare say so. It's strongest and most refined tones are found towards the cinder edge...the foot." He pointed to the cigarra, showing Anja where the burn began. His middle finger strafed down the shaft, moving towards the cap. "As the burn progresses, the plant resists the annihilation and accepts a sort of turbid...murky flavor. Some would even call it repugnant."

He placed the cigarra back between his lips. "It's the nature of things to resist their own destruction. But just as this cigarra burns, so will the Mando's...eventually." He pulled a lighter from his pocket and danced a flame across the edge of the cigarra once more, enhancing the burn once more. "A foundation crumbles with time. And with mutual effort, it crumbles faster. I would double your efforts and cement our bonds formally considered mere...affinity."

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]​