Dev A Very Particular Set of Skills

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar / Adonis Angelis IV / Open!
--------------------------------------------

It wasn't all too often that Darth Strosius found Himself on a more civilized world without having to smuggle Himself planetside. Let alone one that was within the boundaries of a state that wasn't the Sith Order. Rishi was a surprisingly pleasant place, and one that the handfuls of soldiers that He'd brought along were sampling the delights of whilst He was ensuring that the meeting room was properly laid out and prepared. A couple of officers were aiding Him in that matter, mostly shifting around some crates and uploading files to the holotable in the center of the room before their hosts arrived so that they needn't waste any time with setup during their talks.

This visit was entirely unusual for a variety of reasons, normally Darth Strosius and His Order of Wonosa didn't simply arrive and cordially request a meeting with any local officials for a start, but it was a necessity. As they moved to formalize their military arm it had become quite apparent that relying on their small number of veterans and whatever leftover training programs they had from the days of the last Sith Empire simply wouldn't be enough to properly fulfill the needs of a proper force. Especially when it came to any sort of specialized soldiers. Which inevitably led to their humble request for an audience today to secure such training and insight from the Mandalorian Empire.

Of all the organizations that would even consider accepting their meeting at all, the Mandalorians could provide not only opportunity but specifically a skillset and insight into a method of warfare that none within the Order of Wonosa possessed. Their usage of jetpacks was famous for a very good reason after all and it was a bold manner of combat that Darth Strosius didn't wish to risk His soldiers undertaking without expert insight and instruction. But of course He didn't expect to simply be granted a meeting nor a training regime or equipment advice for nothing in return.

An idle glance was cast towards the crates that His officers had just finished arranging, examples of weaponry and other equipment that He was more than happy to offer up in compensation for the Mandalorians' services. Even more valuable was information though, and He'd made sure to bring a diverse spread of data along for the occasion as well which the holotable would show off in due time. He hadn't had many interactions with Mandalorians in general, certainly not any positive ones of note at any rate, so He wasn't quite certain what they might expect in return for their time and expertise. All He could do was hope that He'd prepared properly. He wouldn't be left wondering for long though, not as the doors to the meeting room opened and His officers assembled in formation behind where the Sith Lord sat waiting.

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Ever since his capture, Adonis hadn't been the same. The Imperials fundamentally changed something in the wiring of his brain while he was in custody. A darkness he had become all too familiar with, something intangible, but noticeable. A tinge of red in his vision when his emotions got high, the instinct to inflict pain when understanding was hard to come by. Little things that were eating away at the perception the knight had of himself. Darkness didn't swallow you whole, it forced you to make compromises and chip little bits away at a time. It was frightening how often those compromises made sense.

Leadership was compromise. Every title, every promotion, every new responsibility had taught him that lesson. A warrior could afford principles that a ruler could not. Adonis was no longer responsible for himself alone. All decisions carried consequences for Vaal and the people who called it home. His people didn't have the luxury of him sticking to his principles, but they also didn't deserve a despot who justified any means. Balance would be the best case scenario, and revolt would be the worst. He had been an effective leader so far, and he had no plans on letting Mand'alor down now. Even if his assignments were putting him closer and closer to the edge he was desperately trying to back away from.

Being sensitive in the Force, and also an absolute juggernaut on the battlefield, Adonis was uniquely qualified to take part in the training mission on Rishi. Even if he hated having to do it, he knew that it was good for the Empire, and what was good for the Empire was good for Vaal. He looked out over the lush jungle planet with equal parts duty and dread in his eyes. Adonis knew what he was sent here to do, his duty lay before him, though he still couldn't think about it for longer than a beat before it put a knot in his stomach.

No matter their differences, Adonis did respect competence where he saw it. The Sith had been waging a war against the galaxy for years now, carving their way through expanses sometimes untouched by the outside galaxy. Darth Strosius was a Sith Lord who had been a boogeyman to the Jedi Order for decades, his reputation preceded him in that regard. He also hadn't demanded anything from the Mandalorians, a small courtesy that was rare among Sith. Every practical instinct in Adonis's mind could find a reason to accept his request.

That familiar darkness agreed with every one of them.

He pushed it down again as the transport came in for a landing. Green ferns and tall trees reaching for the hot tropical sun whipped around as the ship touched down on the landing pad. Adonis looked back toward the other Mandalorians who had traveled with him. Hand picked for the mission ahead, just like he had been. He wondered if they worried like he did, about the Sith, or if they were more pragmatic.

When the ramp finally lowered, Adonis let another from the delegation lead the way. Today he wanted to listen rather than speak.

TAG: Itzhal Volkihar
​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Rishi, Outer Rim Territories

Time dwindled like the fading wisps of a dying star, its radiance dimming with each fleeting second, as intangible possibilities faded and Itzhal Volkihar found himself perpetually short of the rarest of commodities. Every confrontation he faced became yet another diversion, a siren's call that pulled him away from the innocent lives crushed under the weight of ruthless crimes driven by fervent passions and cold, calculated intentions. Each unoccupied moment felt like a case slipping through his fingers like fine sand, unravelling into nothing with every tick of the clock, until it inevitably faded into the unforgiving abyss of unresolved mysteries and cold cases that haunted his conscience. The Galaxy, vast and indifferent, marched on relentlessly, paying no heed to the tireless efforts of those such as the Protectors, upholding a social construct as ethereal and conflicted as the law itself.

The journey to Rishi was far from straightforward—while credits could be gained or lost in an instant, and weapons and armour could be crafted or reforged at will, time remained the one commodity that could not be reclaimed. Nestled far from the bustling core of Mandalore and well beyond the confines of Mandalorian Space, the expedition to Rishi was an odyssey that unfolded over the span of days and hours, with each tick of the chronometer marking the distance and the sacrifices made along the way.

Since the expedition commenced, the Lawkeeper had become a ghost of sorts, rarely making an appearance. When he did emerge, it was for fleeting briefings with his fellow Mandalorian, where discussions flitted between different strategies and the goal of their meeting, often before he hastily retreated behind the iron seal of his makeshift office. The faintest of murmurs and holocomm beeps slipped through the gaps to provide what little assurance that he remained alive until his next appearance.

Amidst the disorder of hurried communications and the painstaking transfer of pressing assignments to those he deemed capable, Itzhal found himself lost in thought, contemplating the hassle orchestrated all in the name of a single Sith Lord and the contract they wished to forge between himself and the Mandalorian Empire. Images flickered in the Morellian's mind of Sith soldiers, grizzled and disciplined, rigorously trained in the art of aerial warfare by the Mandalorian experts such as himself, raining death down upon their foes.

It should have clarified his doubts and made the decision clear-cut: the exchange of resources for Mandalore weighed against the peril that could be unleashed upon the Galaxy by a Sith with a cadre of adept soldiers under their command. And yet, as the Mandalorian wrestled with a choice that should have been clear as day, the Order of Wonosa dared to defy all logic to the contrary. Itzhal's investigations into their organisation had unearthed something exceedingly rare for a Sith—a functional conscience.

In truth, Itzhal wasn't even sure he believed it. But the order wasn't quiet about its intentions, often to its own detriment, though he could respect its defiance regardless of any self-inflicted struggles. There were few more noble goals in the Galaxy than the eradication of slavery.

And so, despite all logic to the contrary, Itzhal Volkihar found himself stepping through into the meeting room to negotiate with a Sith of all things, torn between the promise of Mandalore's gain and the danger of what might be unleashed.

The chamber beyond unfolded like an expansive canvas, its high ceilings adorned with the interplay of light fixtures and subtle shadows that concealed embedded defences and less glamorous necessities. At the centre lay a holotable, pulsating with a luminous glow that spilt over its raised edges in faint hues of blue. The shimmering light danced across the ceiling, the durasteel plates reflecting the glow in a flickering halo that enveloped the table in a wave of soft light.

Around this central feature, officers manoeuvred with practised ease, navigating the carefully delineated lanes that marked their paths. Pressed against the walls, a selection of crates stood, their rugged exteriors hinting at the secrets they held within, while a select few were unsealed, their offerings displayed like a crude buffet line.

With a deliberate tilt of his Buy'ce, Itzhal Volkihar swept his gaze across the room, eventually settling on the distinct visage of a man who sat at the centre point of the chaos, "Darth Strosius, Prophet of Bogan and founder of the Order of Wonosa, I presume?"

Tags: Darth Strosius Adonis Angelis IV​

 

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar / Adonis Angelis IV / Open!
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Darth Strosius rose from His seat as the Mandalorians entered the meeting room, His dark visor tilting to silently regard them for a moment before He pressed a gloved hand to His chest and offered a slight bow of His head. "You presume correctly." A hand that was then swept back to gesture at the officers assembled around Him. "And these are some of my people. We're all thankful for the opportunity to meet with you this day." He wasn't fully certain what disposition Mandalorians preferred but keeping the greetings formal at least might give Him some clues.

"To whom do we have the pleasure of speaking with? I must admit that I'm not quite as familiar with your empire as I perhaps should be." That wasn't to say that He was entirely ignorant of course, He knew enough to even consider such a meeting as this possible in the first place. There weren't many organizations operating within the Outer Rim that the Order of Wonosa by and large didn't consider outright threats in need of dismantling and intervention, but the Mandalorians thus far had proven themselves to be more than palatable.

If nothing else they were far better than the typical scum and villainy which oozed from each planet and system on the Rim, wishing to bring some form of order and civilization rather than simply reveling in the chaos and near-anarchy of it all like most did. That was something that they could agree on at least and it was familiar enough ground to be solid. So He hoped anyway, from what little He did know of their shared past there wasn't exactly a shortage of bad blood between the Sith and the warriors of Mandalore.

The masked man sincerely hoped that He wouldn't have to navigate around any such previous incidents, He wasn't too experienced with the art of mending divides after all. Quite the opposite some would say, although He'd have to disagree heartily. "Come and have a seat, I'm sure you have other matters to attend to beyond parleying with me and mine so I shall do my best to make your time worth it. As you know we have come to request that the skills and training of your commandos spread to our ranks, and we are of course willing to provide various forms of payment for your services."

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Strosius Adonis Angelis IV Itzhal Volkihar​

Strange turns had become a recurring theme for the Darkseeker. Stranger, lately, than the violence that had always been his native tongue. Ever since the attack on New Cov, it would appear he found himself less entombed within Wonosa's enclave on Mustafar. Unfortunately, anything outside the Black Wall registered as hostile territory, and this place was no exception.

Today, only the alien humidity of Rishi was present. Sunlight upon any of the tropical world registered as some chaotic intrusion; rather than warmth, the Sagnir would feel exposed of secrets better left in the dark. He was neither armored like the Mandalorian conquerors nor draped like traditional Sith; he was adorned in simple black garb for functionality, tailored for the cessation of heartbeats. Deception was a foreign language he cared not to speak, and the role of executioner was the only truth he dared to acknowledge.

Boots traced a ghost's path across the floor. For all his years in service, his interactions with the warrior adorned in beskar had been minimal. He knew fragments of their history, gaps filled with rumor and half‑truths. But he recognized some overlap.. a respect for strength, for testing one's mettle, for the clarity that only came from combat. In another life, perhaps, he might have understood them better.

When the Prophet spoke, there was an unsettling cadence to them. Sincere, or close enough to it that, he truly couldn't tell the difference. Diplomacy to Kasir was but an abstraction, a detour from the path of blood which was the only reliable map. Confusion rippled through the internal void. Breath left the pale figure in phantom exhales, chin dipping just enough to mimic a bow.

For the time being, he took his place behind and to the left of the Prophet.

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

The mountain of beskar moved with certainty toward the meeting location. The jungle planet sounded alive around them, animals calling out, trees moving, but the Mandalorians were here for business. There would be time for outdoors later, when the training began. For now, Adonis tightened his posture, standing as tall as he could before he entered whatever the Sith had prepared.

Jungle gave way to metal as the soldiers filed into the building. Adonis let Itzhal Volkihar take the lead, falling naturally to the back. Until they were hired and started working, the Warden was going to keep to himself. He stood tall over the other Mandalorians who flanked either side of him to the front, he was an effective warning against anyone who wanted to try anything.

He wished they did.

As the doors to the meeting room slid open, Adonis felt that familiar pressure settle in the back of his mind. Being surrounded by Sith always seemed to wake something inside him. A heat behind the eyes, a tightening in his chest. A voice that insisted every problem had a simpler, more permanent solution.

Where other Sith had been violent and rude, Darth Strosius was measured and respectful. A quiet confusion settled over the Mandalorian, he had thought it would be easier to hate him.

The alarms were still sounding in the warrior's head, like he was walking into a trap ready to spring. Everything told him not to continue, but the Sith was giving them no reason to pause. The masked Sith then asked for introductions. Adonis stood in the back of the room as he had stood in the back of the formation. His height in his armor seemed to be well over a head taller than the rest in the room. His words weren't needed to convey his message. There was not going to be trust until the Sith showed their hand.

Even if the Sith Lord appeared respectful and fair-mannered now, Adonis was all too aware of the fickle beast that was a Sith's mood. It could change in an instant, and the only sign you would have was a broken neck. Adonis scanned the room again, not for exits or escape routes, but for life forms. The Force tightened around him, urging him, not in fear, but in recognition. It was different than the masked Sith before him, it made his stomach turn like he had just discovered a dead body.

The Mandalorian looked around, unable to see anyone hidden, then the door opened and in walked Kasir Dorran . Dressed not in armor or robes, but in simple garb, taking a silent place behind the other Sith. The feeling of death hung over the room, like the Sith before them had just clawed his way out of the grave. It was the same feeling Adonis remembered from the Gravesong War, and Harrow 's army of Netherese beasts.

The statuesque Mandalorian still didn't move under his massive armor, but his eyes and brain were firing on all cylinders. The hair on the back of his neck was on end, and his blood was pumping harder, like someone was listening to his heartbeat harden each second. Military training took over, his breath calmed, and he assessed the situation.

So far, no one had made any moves, and Adonis hoped it stayed that way.

The one movement that betrayed the otherwise still warrior was his crushgaunt shifting ever so slightly toward the hilt of his broadsaber.

​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Rishi, Outer Rim Territories

As Darth Strosius rose to commence with the formalities of the occasion, Itzhal glanced over the men and women that stood beside their Sith Lord, his gaze concealed by the reflective glint of his visor. Each face was a carefully crafted portrait of professionalism and pride, composed in a way that was uncommon for those who found themselves facing armoured Mandalorians. There was no hint of fear in their expressions, only a steely determination that burned in their eyes, whether it was zealotry or simple loyalty to their cause, he could not say. Some questions required time and patience. Or as was common with Sith, perhaps, they'd just grown used to hiding their fear for the sake of their own necks.

Assumptions would provide no boon here, so with a moment's thought, the opinions were discarded; saved for a more fitting time, when he could analyse everything they'd observed so far.

"I am Itzhal Volkihar, Lawkeeper of the Mandalorian Protectorate," he declared, his voice measured to carry without the need for excessive volume—to be listened to because what he had to say was important, not because he drowned out all that surrounded him. And what did it say that the Mandalorian Protectorate had taken interest in the Order of Woonsa?

Regardless, he did not rush to introduce the others; they would do so when they felt appropriate.

Before he could continue, the door opened, a sleek unwinding of the metal plates that concealed the silent steps of a figure in black as they glided through the entranceway. With each step, they moved with a fluid grace, their presence almost ethereal, as if they were a whisper carried on a slight breeze. Falling effortlessly into step behind their Dark Lord, like a blade returned to their sheath—ominous, yet unthreatening for the moment. Itzhal, intrigued, tilted his buy'ce slightly as his visor centred on the visage of Kasir Dorran, before with a slow, measured movement, he redirected his gaze to Darth Strosius.

With a calm yet purposeful stride, the Morellian lawman approached the table, his armoured hand curling around the back of the chair as he pulled it out, the subtle scrape of metal against the floor barely more than a murmur. Sitting down, he noted the Mandalorians that followed, and those who decided to remain standing against a threat that none of them hoped for, but found themselves expecting all the same.

"That aligns with the broad strokes we've gleaned so far, but now it's time to clarify your expectations," Itzhal stated, his voice steady as he tapped a finger against the polished metal surface of the table. The rhythmic drumming created a rasping sound that punctuated his thoughts, each tap tinged with contemplation. "Our training regimen is rigorous; recruits often dedicate years honing their skills before ever stepping onto a battlefield, and even then, the process of growth is unending. I don't express this to dismiss your offer. We are certainly capable of training others; we've done so countless times in the past, and we will do so again in the future. But if we want to get anything out of this deal, for both of us, it is crucial for us to establish clear expectations now, rather than later when our aspirations might be revealed as nothing more than fragile dreams."

Tap.

Taking a slow, deliberate breath, Itzhal focused his gaze on the polished visor of Darth Strosius, allowing himself to see the reflection of his own beskar-clad frame on the other side of the table.

Tap.

Just over a year ago, he'd been hunting a Sith Lord with a fellow Mandalorian, half-buried in snow and regretting nothing of the discomfort that carried him onwards; now he was facing one with a genuine offer of assistance—then again, if he could tolerate a Republic, he could tolerate a man who'd done no harm to him and his. At least, for now.

Tap.

Itzhal was growing sick of that qualifier—for now, not yet, later, in time, when the moment's right...

"Therefore, I must ask you decisively, Darth Strosius: you desire forces trained by Mandalore, but that's merely a means to an end; what is it that you genuinely wish to achieve?"

Tags: Darth Strosius Adonis Angelis IV Kasir Dorran​

 

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar / Adonis Angelis IV / Kasir Dorran / Open!
--------------------------------------------

There was no real visible acknowledgement of the Darkseeker's presence, His gaze was hidden after all, however the subtle waning of His presence within the Force did allow for some additional "room" for him as it were. The more paranoid part of the Sith Lord's mind most definitely appreciated Kasir accompanying Him this day, far away from familiar territory and seeking the assistance of a people that had many altercations with their own. And for once there was actually an argument to be made of whom was more to blame even if none of them were personally responsible either way.

Ideally of course none of them would have to fight their way off-world or get into any altercation at all with the Mandalorians but one could never be certain. Darth Strosius wasn't known for His diplomatic successes after all and Kasir wasn't trained in any such manner at all, not that He knew of at least. Yet those concerns could hardly be shown or even hinted at of course. Exposing one's throat during negotiations was a swift way to get saddled with the worst deal possible, if not outright attacked first.

It seemed as though their hosts had similar notions in mind what with the sole introduction, keeping their cards close to their chests as well. A wise move to be sure. "Thank you for your time this day, Lawkeeper." Darth Strosius idly considered mentioning His Order's own penchant for bringing law and order but decided against it for the moment. Instead He remained standing as the matter at hand was broached by their hosts, His visored gaze largely remaining on Lawkeeper Volkihar with the occasional hidden flicker towards the other Mandalorians alongside him.

One of their number was particularly imposing and silent, yet quite observant it seemed. Observant enough to pick out Kasir from amongst the others assembled behind Him, even if it was for but a moment. He decided to keep one eye trained on that particular Mandalorian even as His head tilted to regard the Lawkeeper's question properly. "I am under no such delusions that you would have my soldiers trained in but a few months or even in the span of a couple years, have no fear. Nor will I offer you fresh recruits that need to be instructed entirely from scratch, as such would be a waste of your time and effort."

Now came the time for the true pitch, as it were. "I desire to achieve what most within our galaxy wish to see and revel in. The safety of a home, the security of a border, the strength of our protectors." He gestured off to the side with a gloved hand. "You need not look far to see no shortage of dens brimming with vile criminals of every sort and caliber. Those that would prey upon the weak and defenseless not out of necessity or even greed but out of simple malice and detestable want. The people of the Outer Rim and of course beyond have been subjected to such mistreatment for countless years and generations. The Order of Wonosa seeks to bring an end to that."

A click of His tongue and the return of His hand to His side punctuated the end of one statement and Darth Strosius didn't hesitate to continue onto the next. "My forces have honed their techniques and tactics against every pirate and cartel that the Outer Rim has to offer, they have been engaging them at length in an effort to cleanse their homes of barbarity and chaos. The elimination of the slave and spice trades in particular have been our most key targets and areas of focus, however as we've become experienced in one realm of warfare we've found ourselves consistently on the backfoot in another."

The masked Sith Lord produced a holoprojector from His robes and set it on the meeting table, clicking it to life and displaying a brief recording of what was undoubtedly Wonosan forces engaging some professional soldiers in an urban environment. Likely planetary defense forces or elite mercenaries, perhaps even Republic or Imperial troops, it was hard to discern exactly amidst the volleys of blaster fire and explosions. While the scene itself was brief, it did quite clearly illustrate what was at best a pyrrhic victory and at worst a crushing defeat.

"Our facilities for training and rearing soldiers that can match the armies of our greater foes are few but respectable and efficient enough, yet it is a lack of true doctrine and experience in full battlefields that have time and time again costed us even when we can muster equal forces and equipment. We have no shortage of willing troops or arms and armor, but they lack the guidance needed to make them a proper military force to be reckoned with. My expectation, and indeed my request, is that you can fill such gaps in my soldiers' capabilities." The display shut off with another click.

"I have been told that the Mandalorians are among, if not the, premier warriors of the galaxy and I believe that this is true. I would not dare trust any but the finest to train my forces in a manner that I cannot provide."

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Strosius Adonis Angelis IV Itzhal Volkihar​

Kasir's weight lived between the balls of both feet; he never committed to either side. The chin only moved only once as an acknowledgement of the exchange. Breath came so infrequently it may have been difficult to tell whether lungs served purpose.

Sharpened senses began to pull threads of scent from the air. Rather than armored enigmas, to a creature governed by the grave, they were identified by their pulse more accurately than by what they wore. Attention drifted to Adonis Angelis IV in intervals; never long enough to challenge, but not accidental either.

A year ago, a room like this would’ve made him hungry in the wrong direction. That him that used to exist would’ve been rooting for the whole thing to curdle, begging for the familiar language of a violence to settle some sort of score. What he did not understand was why, standing here now on this humid green planet in this rather unremarkable room, he found himself wanting the opposite.

A sparing glance was afforded to the holoprojection before returning to the Mandalorians. The Prophet sounded no smaller here than upon any battlefield. Just.. different. Negotiation, by contrast, demanded a patience that defied the entirety of his being. Perhaps it was time to learn the steps to this strange dance of words.

"Looks like someone's trying to guess the real price," he began, gesturing with one open palm, "Trying to figure out if there’s a hidden catch beneath the surface, aren't you?" No warmth touched the Sangnir's voice. "That’s exactly where my mind would go too. What I can tell you is that He doesn't negotiate to lose. If He's here, the terms He's brought are terms He intends to keep. The question isn't whether you can trust that. The question is what you're bringing that's worth the same confidence. In my experience, hesitation usually means someone's running numbers that aren't on the table. I'm not pressing. I'm just saying this particular conversation gets longer every time it doesn't happen."

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

There it was again.

Red.

Running across the corners of his vision like heat lightning. It was a darkness that wanted him to strike, to leap across the table and end the Sith before they could speak. Adonis wasn't sure what infectious shadow the Sith before him cast, but he could feel it seeping in through his armor. It felt like a mire weighing down on him from all angles. As quickly as he felt himself slipping, the Warden pulled himself back. He wouldn't give in to whatever creeping evil the Sith brought with them. He was a Mandalorian, not some Dark Side slave. He would serve the will of the Mand'alor. Today, that meant duty, not agreement.

Adonis pulled his attention back toward the Sith in front, the malevolent being wrapped in robes and shadows, adorning a mask not unlike the Mandalorians'. He noted the creature's presence was significantly more powerful than those around him. The others seemed to orbit the Sith Lord, their attention and purpose naturally drawn toward him as though he were the center of gravity in the room. Adonis had heard stories of Sith reducing their followers to little more than extensions of their own will. Yet the men and women before him carried themselves differently. There was discipline in their posture, purpose in the way they stood. Whether born of loyalty or fear, he could not yet tell.

Itzhal Volkihar spoke truth, Mandalorians were the best for a reason- hard, consistent work over years. People had offered endless credits to get some sort of 'secret' from them, something that would give them an immediate edge in combat. Every time, they were turned away and told it would take a lifetime. A feeling of dread washed over Adonis as he realized he may be stuck working with the Sith for years to come, granted they didn't betray the Mandalorians before then. Subconsciously, as Itzhal finished his question, Adonis prepared for the worst. His muscles were on a hair trigger, ready to ignite his lightsaber at a moment's notice.

But nothing happened.

Instead, the Sith greeted the other Mandalorian with respect and thanks. Why? The more he searched for an obvious answer, the more frustrated he became. There was no obvious answer, there was nothing to point a finger at. By every measure he knew, the Sith were being genuine...and that's what scared the Warden. He could feel the vein on the side of his head pound as he looked for anything to hold onto that said they were being disingenuous. Nothing. Even the quiet follower in the back, the same one Adonis saw slinking in late, had bit his tongue.

Then, Darth Strosius made a move, his hand reached beneath his robe and out he pulled a...holoprojector? Adonis was puzzled as it flashed to life. On it was displayed a raging battle, something everyone in the room likely understood. The barrages being exchanged by both sides made it hard to see what side anyone was on, but even in the chaos, Adonis could spot bad form. The Order's fighters were fierce, taking out many of their enemies with them. They were just not optimized, not to the level that the Sith likely wanted them to be. That's where the Mandalorians came in.

Still silent, Adonis noted in his head the looseness of some of their shots, and the blatant lack of high ground advantage. The Mandalorians would have controlled the vertical before the enemy knew the battle had begun. The Order possessed disciplined soldiers. Courage was not their deficiency. Doctrine was. They fought well enough to win battles, but not efficiently enough to dominate them. That was where Mandalore excelled. The same dread from before caused a stitch in the Warden's side as he took a breath in. Though his armor betrayed nothing, Adonis couldn't shake the thought that he might be sharpening the very blade destined for his own throat.

Then another flash of red across his vision.

He blinked heavily, trying to cast away the darkness before it had a chance to take hold again. It was too late. The Vaalan warrior had flashes of violence in his thoughts, unstoppable, unflinching violence. It whispered that the meeting could end with a single stroke. That no deal was worth the risk. That the galaxy would be safer if the Sith never left this room. Again, he pushed the thoughts away, focusing back on the situation at hand.

He felt a moment of reprieve again before Kasir Dorran spoke. The hairs on the back of Adonis's neck stood at end with every word. Where as the masked Sith was confident in his vileness, unwavering, the smaller one was less forward. He was a knife where Strosius was a gun. The same anger stirred in the Warden, this time less intense, but focused directly on the Sangnir's direction.

Still, Adonis remained silent. Nothing had been worthy of his words yet.

He was just waiting for someone to make a mistake.

​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Rishi, Outer Rim Territories

Adorned in intricately forged plates of beskar, so richly dark they seemed to absorb the very light around them—the abyss between stars—leaving only the crimson sheen of secondary colours, drawing the eye away from vital parts and over reinforced segments. Itzhal Volkihar sat, his back straight and resolute, his emotions sealed behind layers of transparisteel.

It was here he made his mark—not in the motion of action but in the assessment that followed.

Among his people, his presence was crucial; a steadfast pillar of calm that marked the delicate boundary between mistrustful Mandalorians, their visors darting with suspicion, and the wary followers of Wonosoa, who forced themselves into familiar routines for the sake of familiar comfort. Here and now, in the moment where men and women alike stood face to face, their hands never far from their weapons, trust was an ideal—both alluring and disquieting—no more tangible than an oasis in a desert, flickering between mirage and reality. Whether it would become something more, Itzhal could not say, just as he could not pluck the future from the stars.

After all, he was but a man.

All he could promise was that order would stand today; regardless of the hot-headed fools nursing grudges carved so deeply into their souls they wore their scars like armour or the smiling vipers lurking on the edges, waiting to exploit the venom seeping from bleeding rents in the history between their cultures, if only for this fleeting moment, he would ensure that peace remained. He would make it so.

At least, in that regard, he was not alone.

In the quiet that settled following his question, his fingers came to a rest, the previously timed tapping diminishing into a solitary finger pressing down against the stark, unforgiving slab of metal that defined the stark divide between both realms. It was within that charged gap that Darth Strosius, with an air of calculated intensity, began to articulate his proposition. At the same time, Itzhal remained, poised and attentive, absorbing every word—and in the examination, the lawkeeper saw something of the man that lurked beneath the mask.

Before him loomed a blade that was not—an ethereal steel forged in a darkness that had chipped away at uncertainties like a master sculptor unveiling their hidden masterpiece from within the stubborn stone. If he peered deep enough, Itzhal could almost discern the bloody hilt, carved with the haunting marks of old chains, removed but never forgotten, themselves a chain of a different kind. It was no easy thing to stare upon a mirror. The finely honed edges of the blade gleamed, remnants of crimson echoes trickling down the length, each droplet dripping to the ground with the clink of another chain shattered, and another lake of blood spilt.

The display that followed was just further evidence of the lengths one man would go. All for the sake of breaking the chains that had defined their life, the type of man that would be told a price and pay it, not because they believed it was fair or because it was just, but to deny it would be a price they couldn't fathom. Not credits, not resources, but chains left unshattered.

It was the type of offer that Itzhal did not want to lay a price on, though he understood the necessity.

With a deliberate and almost imperceptible ease, reminiscent of the slow but profound shift of tectonic plates deep within the planet's crust, Itzhal Volkihar turned to face Kasir. Soft blue light from the holotable in the distance played upon his visor, capturing the pale skin in a distorted hue, and staring upon the piercing green eyes that could not conceive a negotiation without veiled knives and cutting words. Perhaps, though, it was Itzhal who was the fool.

"The real price is what we make of it," he stated, his buy'ce holding their gaze for a moment.

Then, with a twist of his neck, he returned his focus to Darth Strosius, their offer lingering in the space between them.

He did not rush to fill the quiet; instead, he sat in the calm of the storm, taking a moment to observe the tense stances of the men and women behind him. He noted the subtle shifts in their body language, the tight clenching of fists, and the anxious tilts of buy'ce's leaving short glances shared between visors. His gaze then shifted to those standing before him, keenly assessing their reactions—every furrowed brow and twitch of the lip. He watched every straightened back, every prideful smile that crept over solemn lips, and every face measured in the reflective glare of transparisteel.

"It would appear then that our expectations align, Prophet," he began, smoothly running through the affirmation that this meeting might become more than just posturing. "It won't be quick, it won't be cheap, but it's hardly the worst baseline to begin with that I've seen. An actual syllabus will need to be created and refined after we've had more time to assess your order's current doctrine. After that, it'll be a case of training regiments and courses to bring them up to shape, while we reduce whatever deficiencies we've discovered in our examination."

"At a glance, I would suggest that the priority be upon officers who can trickle down our knowledge and, if you possess them, special operations groups that would require a more personal touch," he pushed forward with his hand, the finger pinned to the table rolling forward into a closed knuckle that landed with a sharp rasp. "If you insist, we could also train the entire army, but that's a bloody waste of both our time, and at that rate of credits, you may as well just hire us to purge your target instead. So, what did you have in mind in terms of numbers?"

Tags: Darth Strosius Kasir Dorran Adonis Angelis IV​

 

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar / Adonis Angelis IV / Kasir Dorran / Open!
--------------------------------------------

There was a genuine surprise evident in how the masked Sith Lord's head snapped to the Darkseeker when he spoke up, even in spite of it being a rather unprofessional sight. He'd never known Kasir to be all that interested in chiming in during affairs such as these, though what he actually said wasn't all that surprising. Reading a room and those within it was a rather essential skill in his line of work of course. Beyond even that, such a skill was essential for any aspiring Sith's survival both within and without the company of other Sith.

It was as candid as one could expect from a man of few words but Darth Strosius did nevertheless appreciate the support at such a crucial juncture. None of the officers assembled behind the pair of Sith were as eager to share their minds however, for better or worse. His gaze drifted back to the Mandalorians and settled briefly on what was perhaps the most stalwart and silent amongst them. There was no shortage of uncertainty and tense dispositions within the room of course, but one of the more heavily armored of them seemed particularly...stiff.

Something was off about him, something that He was tempted to probe for answers yet He smothered that idle inkling before it could develop. Undoubtedly of all the factions and cultures which had steeled themselves against mental intrusions the Mandalorians would be the most likely to master the strength of will necessary to do so as well as the personal insight needed to notice such an attempt anyway. Perhaps it was merely His own overthinking, however He didn't see the want for investigation surpassing the need for this arrangement to be made.

Whatever it was that was keeping that Mandalorian on edge was best left unknown for the moment. So long as it didn't spill out into some scene then it didn't matter, the Lawkeeper at least didn't seem nearly as silent if it was some sentiment that they all shared. Their reservations were quite valid after all. Valid enough that his first remark, one made in reply to Kasir rather than to Him, was met with a raise of His head as though in silent agreement.

The masked Sith Lord didn't rush for any further comments or responses, knowing that one would come in time. He could imagine that what He asked was something to be cautious of for sure even without the long histories between their two peoples taken into account. He could scarce imagine how He would respond if someone came around and asked for training in the Sith ways and methods in spite of being an outsider. Let alone what He would need to be offered to even consider such a proposition.

Much to His surprise however there was no such call for compensation as of yet, rather it was a question of logistics. Progress had been made for such a request for further information to be asked yet Darth Strosius didn't allow Himself to feel comfortable yet. "Of course, I wouldn't expect this arrangement to be on too grand of a scale. Not at this stage at least. I would ask that you train one battalion of my soldiers, one thousand total, in your ways. Chiliarch Osheb,"

One of the officers behind Him bowed his head as a gloved hand was gestured towards him. ", has volunteered himself and his forces for this undertaking. The 20th Formos Battalion is a seasoned fighting force but far from veteran beyond being capable enough to wipe out a cartel stronghold without guidance. They are hardly stuck in their ways and are eager to prove themselves capable of mastering whatever you can teach them. If you would prefer to test the 20th's officers first then they will abide by your wishes ahead of their comrades."