Kainan Wolfe
Shadow of War

Attn: [member="Juniper Weiss"]
- Soceras
Wild Space
The massive warship that hung above the planet, cast a baleful reminder to the world's inhabitants that their forgotten rock in the middle of nowhere, had attracted the attention of those with power and resources far beyond their own. Gliding lazily across the sky, was the infamous and much feared Invictus, personal flagship of Darth Tacitus, the autocratic ruler of a far-away frozen planet known as Nelvaan, home to a hardened nation of warriors that were known as one of the Confederacy's most brutal hammers.
The immense battlecruiser's presence over the planet, had been the subject of much speculation and gossip and had caused quite the stir and although there hadn't been any signs of overt hostility, tensions had certainly risen, especially with the influx of supposedly off-duty soldiers, some of which marched around in full combat gear and armor in what looked more like military patrols, rather than servicemen enjoying some shore leave. The fact that most of them spoke in a language that, to the inhabitants of this remote planet, was completely foreign and alien, certainly didn't serve to calm down some of the more paranoid conspiracy theorists and rumors of a military occupation periodically spread like wildfire.
The truth, however, was more bland and benign than most people suspected. The leader of these unexpected guests had simply visited the planet to discuss a potential business deal with one of the world's governments, particularly the sale of military equipment, the meeting having, unfortunately, concluded in the failure to reach a satisfactory agreement.
With the ship not scheduled to depart for another twenty-four hours, many of its occupants had been left with nothing to do and so, a brief shore leave was offered and the armed personnel had simply been mobilized for reasons of security, given the status of the visiting officials.
Most of the off-duty personnel did what soldiers always did when on shore leave - headed for the nearest cantina for a drink. One of these establishments, known as the Dive, had found itself suddenly facing an influx of officers and servicemen dressed in black-and-crimson uniforms, sporting armbands with some kind of triskellion emblem. Unusual for soldiers on shore leave, these new customers were remarkably quiet and orderly, keeping to themselves and conversing in hushed tones in a language which probably none of the locals understood, only switching over to Basic when ordering drinks. The dancing girls in their provocative outfits were mostly ignored, except for the occasional disapproving glare which made it clear that whatever nation they hailed from, these soldiers' culture was highly conservative.
The arrival of another man, along with his fully-armed and armored escorts, caused an immediate reaction amongst the visiting soldiers, which suddenly rose and saluted, fists crossed over their hearts. The stranger swept his slitted, feline eyes across the crowd, eyes tinted gold by the Darkside of the Force and returned their salute, saying a couple of words to them in the strange, harsh-sounding language which they all shared and the soldiers resumed their seats. Even amongst these strange visitors, this stranger stood out. Metallic-looking, silver hair flowed down to his shoulders and a jagged scar marred the left side of his face. Unlike the others, his uniform was a pristine white, the trappings of rank, although foreign and unknown to the inhabitants of Socero, clearly identifying him as a high-ranking military official of some kind, perhaps an admiral, or a general. Four lightsabers and a longsword hung from his belt.
His escorts fanning around him, the stranger made his way towards the bar, picking a random seat and setting a hand on the counter, as the other one reached for a credit chip hidden somewhere in a pocket. His fingers ended in sharp black talons that looked as if they could tear someone apart and everything about him projected a dangerous kind of authority and confidence, like a man used to having his every command executed to the letter, who expected complete and immediate obedience from anyone he interacted with.
He spoke in a clear Basic, his voice raspy and hard, like gravel, the tone, like his eyes, holding just the faintest hint which pointed that, beneath the facade, was a tired man who carried an immense burden. "Wine, please. The best one you have. Keep the change," he said, sliding a credit chip across the counter, which held a sum of several thousand credits, the casual manner in which he discarded it suggesting that his wealth was vast, perhaps incomprehensibly so, for many of this planet's inhabitants.
