Private And Who Do We Have Here?

[R'ayne Asara]

and who do we have here?

weapon: draconic scourge
outfit:X™
tag(s): Zavik Maltheris

The name reached me as a whisper carried through the endless machinery of Mahporeem, Zavik Maltheris . A promising young student of the Force, they said.

Strong potential.

Unusual instincts.

Perhaps even the makings of something greater.

I listened without expression, allowing the name to settle somewhere within the dark recesses of my mind. Zavik Maltheris was unfamiliar to me, but then, most people were.

I had never possessed the patience for friendships, nor the sentimental weakness required to cultivate them.

My time was far too precious to squander upon attachments. To me, people were instruments; living things to be sharpened, bent, corrupted, and ultimately broken when their usefulness had been exhausted.

Even the Force itself had taught me a simple truth; everything that lives can be made into a weapon, provided one is willing to carve deeply enough.

I stood upon a rusted observation platform overlooking one of Mahporeem's sprawling junkyards, where mountains of discarded machinery rose beneath the bruised twilight like the bones of some dead industrial guru. Below, scavenger droids crawled between heaps of durasteel and shattered starships, picking through the carcasses of things that had once been deemed valuable.

I found the sight strangely appropriate.

Every object here had once possessed a purpose. Every object had eventually become disposable. My gaze lingered upon the distant capital before I wondered where this Zavik Maltheris might fit within my designs.

Perhaps the Ezaraa possessed enough darkness to become an Apprentice; a blade worth keeping close to my hand, tempered beneath my instruction until it could carve open the galaxy itself.

Or perhaps this Zavik would prove to be nothing more than another useful instrument, one to be twisted until it accomplished whatever purpose I required, and then cast aside among the refuse.

I smiled faintly beneath the shadows of my hood. Either outcome suited me. A Sith Lord does not mourn the loss of tools. She simply finds better ones.​

 

[Zavik Maltheris]

R'ayne Asara
Legs are like this
Theme

Mahporeem had proved its self to be more then just a useful stop. The near endless scrap meant near endless resources, well technology wise. Though the rust was more then a little annoying but could be fixed anyway so did it truly matter?

Inside a old rusted out front third of a old hollowed out marauder corvette Zavik had set up a large half circle with three makeshift tables. On the left table and the ground around it lay numerous parts, the table on the right had several tools on top of it arranged neatly.

The middle table however had a human male, mid 30's, unconscious and every now and then being poked in the neck my a syringe from Zaviks finger on his left hand. The man had his head and neck moved forward to align with plating on his shoulders. His torso was cut opened, several metal braces where placed along his spine to reinforce it as well as his ribs. His left arm stopped at the forearm, a large metal plate was at the end, from it Zavik was in the prosses of installing pistons. The right arm and everything from the waist down was untouched for now.

Zavik was intending on making this one capable of lifting things he couldn't. Well he could use the force but he had other things to focus on out here, was he really going to use the force to hold up some large slab of metal while he looked underneath for good parts? Of course not.

 

[R'ayne Asara]

and who do we have here?

weapon: draconic scourge
outfit:X™
tag(s): Zavik Maltheris

I entered the hollowed Marauder Corvette and found, to my mild amusement, the one called Zavik had transformed its ruined forward section into something between a surgeon's theatre and a butcher's workshop.

Three tables stood in a crude half-circle beneath the corroded ribs of the vessel, their surfaces crowded with mechanical organs harvested from machines that had long since ceased deserving the name of life.

On the central table lay the unconscious human, opened and reinforced with the cold confidence of someone repairing machinery rather than flesh.

Metal braces embraced his spine and ribs, his left arm ending in a brutal plate from which pistons were being fitted one by one.

I watched the syringe disappear into his neck again, the man's body twitching faintly beneath Zavik's ministrations. The sight should have disgusted me. Instead, I felt the familiar little stir of curiosity. Flesh was merely another material, after all; soft, fragile, temporary.

Metal was simply more honest about what it intended to become.

I stepped closer, my gaze passing over the neat arrangement of tools before settling upon the unfinished thing upon the table.

This Zavik wished to make a creature capable of lifting what he could not, freeing his hands for more important work while this poor wretch became his living apparatus of brute strength.

I almost laughed.

There was something wonderfully pathetic about the practicality of it. Mortals possessed the Force and yet somehow still found ways to complain about lifting heavy objects. I placed two fingers against the edge of the table, listening through the Force to the faint, miserable rhythm of the man's life as metal slowly claimed him.

“How wonderfully mundane,” I whispered, watching another piston disappear into the machinery of his ruined arm. Around us, the dead corvette creaked like an ancient beast dreaming of its own extinction.

I smiled beneath the darkness of my hood. In another age, such a place might have been called a workshop. To me, it looked far more like an altar; and Zavik had already chosen his sacrifice.​

 

[Zavik Maltheris]

R'ayne Asara

Zavik didn't react much at first, merely scanning her with his pale, pupilless yellow eyes under his mask. "You are unwise to walk into a man's workshop unannounced, you know." He said as the man on the table breathed shallowly, the fluid Zavik had injected beginning to circulate through him.

A booted footstep could be heard behind Zavik and R'ayne, then another until a man emerged from the shadows, his helmet off. To Zavik, its face was a beautiful blend of machine and flesh, its body covered in a suit of armor, a long cape flowing from its back. A single blaster was in its raised right hand, a vibrosword in its lowered left hand.

"Do you think I would leave myself undefended? Of course I have someone watching." Zavik raised up slightly on his four legs to his full 2.5 meter height with the legs. No longer slightly hunched over, he gave her a quick scan with his cybernetics. "I do not believe we have met yet have we? Who might you be exactly, and why have you come to my workshop?"