Faction (Black Sun, Sith Order) Primeday Night Firefight

[Vestra Tane]

For decades, The Squared Circle had been notorious as the sort of establishment frequented only by the brave, the evil, and the stupid. It catered nigh-exclusively to the sorts of clientele for whom morals were either a distant memory or entirely absent, and for whom violence was second nature. It was dangerous even by the standards of the Smuggler's Moon, and maybe worst of all, the booze wasn't even that good. Perhaps predictably, business had only boomed since the Black Sun moved into town.

Today, the Squared Circle is home to one of Nar Shaddaa's many fighting pits. Here slaves fight for their freedom, Syndicate heavies duke it out for glory or pleasure, and the truly desperate brawl for credits.

From the V.I.P. Lounge, Syndicate Agent Vestra Tane watches the fights. She surrounds herself with pretty faces and fair-weather friends, and spends credits and clout in equal measure. In a spice-fueled haze, she has collected a treasure for which she has no use: Sith Acolyte Naamino Zuukamano , plucked fresh from an Academy by mercenary hands. She intends to have her catch fight in the pits until she grows bored of the spectacle, and then leave him to be picked clean by the rest of the Syndicate wolves.

Little does Vestra know that her plans are unlikely to unfold so smoothly. Elsewhere, Naamino's Academy allies plot his rescue, having determined his location in no small part due to Vestra's propensity for loud bragging across unsecured HoloNet frequencies.

Tension! Drama! Vengeance! Scheming Sith and Sinister Syndicate Agents! It's the perfect recipe for a...

P R I M E D A Y N I G H T
F I R E F I G H T​

The Black Sun: Xeykard V1-L8 Enric Hask Annasari Koda Fett
The Sith Order: Varin Mortifer Leshanna Dromar Haro Aven Lysander von Ascania Soah Ty’Jyn

 

[Avarice]

The Squared Circle stank of blood, smoke, and cheap spice, an atmosphere Avarice inhaled as if savoring a kind of perfume. Silver hair caught the pit's lights as his crimson gaze continued tracking the violence below with a hunger that looked, at first glance, perfectly in step with the rest of Nar Shaddaa's wolves. He had heard and followed the threads of rumor and now sat as if he belonged, a phantom stitched seamlessly into the crowd. To the Syndicate, he was just another bold face in the dark.

Naamino Zuukamano should be here… an opportune moment to linger in the haze and watch a would-be peer tested beneath the pit's lights. Avarice leaned into to watch the spectacle. How would the boy fare when stripped of Academy walls and thrown to Syndicate wolves? No doubt others would come; eager acolytes, perhaps even rivals that found out , each with their own reason either to reclaim or silence the wayward black nerf. For Avarice, it was a chance to take their measure, and to decide which of them might be worth remembering.

 

[Arris Windrun]

The door to the VIP lounge opened, and in stepped Arris Windrun.

Usually, she spent her time in locales that were even more trashy than this, but since becoming Mauve's Chief Enforcer, the cyborg has begrudgingly accepted the Vigo's advice to 'branch out' as it were.

She saw Vestra Tane watching the fights.

"Hey, I know you! From the Hunter's Lodge, right?"

Arris looked at one of Vestra's fair-weather friends. It was less glare, more blank stare, but it sent the message. They awkwardly pushed themselves into the back and made room so the Talusian could occupy a space right next to the Syndicate mystery.

"Got an akk dog in this fight?"

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Rescue Party: Leshanna Dromar | Haro Aven
Lysander von Ascania | Varin Mortifer
Soah Ty’Jyn

Open

Theme​

An indeterminate period of time elapsed between Naami hitting the cold durasteel after taking a stunning shot to the chest and him snapping suddenly awake, heartbeats racing as if they were both vying for the chance to jump out of his chest. The teen lapsed in and out of stony faced consciousness, not bothering to ask his captives questions and flatly refusing to speak when spoken to.

All the while he seethed and schemed, full to the brim with cold fury and a determination to fight his way free.

Eventually his ankle was fitted with a maddeningly secure and effective Force suppressive shackle so he could be bundled off the ship he'd found himself on. Naamino soon found himself press ganged into service as a pit fighter, was beaten soundly for his stubborn selective mutism when faced with the pit master, and a day or so later was hauled back into the hyogeum beneath the fighting pits proper where beasts and fighters alike were being readied to perform in the bloodsport above.

With his Rakghoul robes torn and dirty, Naami found solace in unwrapping and re-wrapping the moon blue hand wraps he nearly always wore. These too were looking worse for wear but the ritual of the movements settled his mind. Since the Force wasn't accessible to him, he had to make do with what he did have.

You will not break me, he swore to himself.

The keening death knell of some wretched beast being put out of its misery echoed through the underground staging area. Naami grimaced as he repeated the mental mantra and finished wrapping his hands. Not a moment too soon, as the pit master rounded the corner with an angry gleam in his eye.

"Ay, spiky bastard— Up wit ye! You'll fight if ye wanna eat tonight."

The zabrak stood slowly and stoically allowed himself to be led toward the ramp that rose up to one of the main fighting areas. He'd considered making a grab at one of his captor's weapons more than once but he knew he had to be smart. Surly disobedience might preserve his pride, but outright retaliation against them in the wrong moment might earn him a premature execution.

With his horned head held high, Naami stepped into the dazzling light and roaring crowds. Scowling at the sudden brightness, his jaw set into a tight clench while he worked to remain otherwise neutral to his circumstances. These jeering, hooting and slavering commoners hadn't earned his interest or passion. They would not get a rise out of him so easily.

If he faced a worthy opponent? Well, that might be a different story.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sith Order: Leshanna Dromar Varin Mortifer Naamino Zuukamano Haro Aven Soah Ty’Jyn Avarice
Black Sun Syndicate: Arris Windrun Vestra Tane Xeykard V1-L8 Enric Hask Annasari Koda Fett

Lysander gripped the yoke of the Bevelle-class light freighter, its twin drives humming beneath him. The cockpit seemed to shrink around his frame as he leaned back into the pilot’s chair, sinking into it almost too comfortably.​

Naamino’s capture was etched in his mind like a scar. The very day his friend was taken, he and the other Badawans wasted no time dwelling on it, instead diving right into the endless ocean of space.

From the viewport, streaks of hyperspace cut past like threads. Gradually, they faded as he eased the freighter out of lightspeed with gentleness. Nar Shaddaa came into view from a distance, coordinates already locked. His fingers danced across the navicomputer's keys, each tap like a code, precise and deliberate, ensuring their arrival.

A half smoked joint dangled from the corner of his mouth, the ember pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, heavy bass leaking from a single earbud tucked in. Perhaps, it was a silent testament to the tolerance carved through his time on Korriban, amid the Neti’s greenhouse and other acolytes.

The cockpit was thick with smoke, hazy, and blurring out the presence of others. Lysander couldn’t say if he was truly alone or surrounded by allies. Either way, his focus was sharper than a vibroshiv. In truth, the medicinal herbs were the only thing keeping his brewing temper at bay, especially since the idiot Zabrak had proven himself weak enough to be captured.

A warning light would flicker as they pierced through the planet's atmosphere. The ship shuddered slightly. But the teen’s mind was focused on more than just rescuing Naameh. Madrona A’Mia had given him a specific task, to deliver a shipment of potent flora to one of her contacts. After all, credits were running low after the recent invasion, and this delivery would buy them some breathing room.

His attention flicked to the displays, locking in on the coordinates for a rooftop pad arranged by Haro, the crew's top rizzler, like a support character from a HoloDrama who magically pulled the biggest fanbase.

As he began to adjust the descent, a menacing screech ripped through the silence, throwing them off course. The ship clipped a ledge, jolting violently and throwing Lysander back into his chair. Luckily, the straps held him in place.

Once they touched down, he knew it was time to get active.

​

 

[Haro Aven]

​

LOCATION: OUTER RIM TERRITORIES > HUTT SPACE > NAR SHADAA​

EQUIPMENT: NONDESCRIPT MERCENARY ARMOR | VIBROKNIVES | BLASTER PISTOL | BODIE ​

OBJECTIVE: RESCUE Naamino Zuukamano ​

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE: Xeykard | V1-L8 | Enric Hask | Annasari | Koda Fett ​

SITH ORDER: Naamino Zuukamano | Lysander von Ascania | Leshanna Dromar | Varin Mortifer | Soah Ty’Jyn | Avarice ​

The ambient hum of hyperspace had a way of helping Haro focus—of grounding him in the present and calming his nerves, and Force knew he needed that now. Since receiving that initial message from Lysander von Ascania about Naami being taken, he'd been on edge. Though he tried to project calm optimism and a sense of leadership in the absence of his Lieutenant Horns, he couldn't ignore his growing sense of dread and worry. Once he'd gotten the full story of what had happened, he'd immediately launched into information gathering and action steps, but he still had trouble believing it. Despite the evidence, despite Varin Mortifer and other witnesses corroborating Lysander's story, it was just hard for him to believe that Naamino Zuukamano — Kor'ethyr's star pupil and one of the most capable people Haro knew — could just be snatched up like that. He'd heard stories and read holocomics about Mandalorians so he was peripherally aware of their reputation as merciless and competent warriors. He supposed if anyone could get away with kidnapping his buddy on home turf like that, it made sense it'd be Mandos. If the stories were anything to go by, they were probably working with advanced stealth systems, so Haro knew he needed equally advanced systems to track them down.

The group of friends had decided to take the task of rescuing Naamino upon themselves. Haro didn't want to risk getting Naami in trouble with his superiors in case they perceived his capture as negligent or weak on the Zabrak's part. Besides, Haro wasn't convinced the Sith cared enough about a single student to expend resources to track him down and find him, even if he was among the best, and he feared they may even go so far as to mandate that Haro and the other students couldn't go after him either. So they decided, in this case, it would be better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

As one of Kor'ethyr's shipyard mechanics, Haro had clearance to access some of the military starships on the maintenance schedule so, after pulling a few strings, he'd gotten aboard one of the Vodal-class Strike Frigates and used its "Divine Eyes" sensor suite to track the Mandalorian corvette's movements and any hyperwave transmissions or HoloNet activity that could point them in the right direction. With the help of the ship's advanced systems and Bodie, they were able to glean enough information to triangulate a general location, but since they couldn't take the sensor suite with them, they would need some other way to hone in on Naami's exact location, which is where Soah Ty’Jyn came in. One of the newer students of Kor'ethyr, the Felacatian was known to have some very specific tracking abilities which made her a crucial part of the rescue team, despite her decidedly abrasive attitude.

So that was how Haro found himself aboard Lysander's freighter with a motley crew of Sith acolytes about to emerge from hyperspace into Black Sun Syndicate territory, Nar Shadaa to be exact, with nothing more than whatever weapons and equipment they'd cobbled together and far too much youthful optimism. During their hyperspace travel time, he'd taken the opportunity to step away from the co-pilot's seat and seek out Leshanna Dromar to check in with her and go over the plan. His girlfriend had been uncharacteristically quiet, almost distant, as they'd made their preparations for the rescue mission. Even now, she felt far away, despite being within arms reach. That fire behind her eyes seemed to roil restlessly just beneath the surface, fueled by a singular focus: find Naami and bring him home.

Having stopped his pacing, finally falling silent after rambling about the plan and what equipment they should bring, Haro just looked at her, really looked at her. His gaze softened and he almost winced from the ache of seeing her so upset. He saw his own concern and determination reflected back at him in her sapphire eyes and he offered a small sympathetic smile. He had to believe that Naami was alright, that they would find him before it was too late. The alternative was too much to bare. He took a step closer to her, trying to offer reassurance and warmth, hoping it would be well-received.

"We'll get him back. I prom—"

The ship lurched and Haro stumbled, catching himself against the wall before he glanced back over his shoulder. He gave Lesh a brief befuddled look before he took off toward the cockpit. Lysander seemed unchanged and unconcerned and the cockpit reeked with the stink of familiar herbal smoke. Haro practically threw himself into the co-pilot's seat, stealing a moment to give his friend an incredulous look as his hands danced over the controls and re-adjusted their course before they ran into anything else. He pulled up a quick diagnostic of the damage but it appeared to be mostly cosmetic, the ship's many layers of armor plating having absorbed the impact.

"What the kark is wrong with you, man? I walk away for a few minutes and you almost crash the ship? You realize this is our ride out of here, right?" Haro chided his friend, shaking his head. There was an uncharacteristic tension to his tone, one that betrayed just how worried he was about Naami and getting them all out of this alive.

Fortunately for them, the fumble was likely to go unnoticed considering Nar Shadaa was under-policed and riddled with far worse crime than a hit and run. The urban sprawl of the moon reminded Haro of home as they coasted over and through dense clusters of skyscrapers covered in neon holoadverts glowing bright in the hazy night air. Ahead, Haro could see the rooftop pad for The Squared Circle—a name he thought must've been the product of a spice-addled mind—and began preparing to land.

"I can take it from here. Get yourself ready," he suggested, forcing his tone to be more relaxed, but it was clear he was on mission. "We gotta move fast once we land." He spoke to the whole group next, keying the ship's internal com if not everyone was within ear shot.

"Alright, crew. We touch down in T-minus thirty seconds. Focus in, stay calm, stick to the plan, let Lys and I do the talking."

Once they landed, Haro addressed both his Bodie droid and Leshanna's droid as they both stood at attention atop the control panel.

"You two are in charge of getting the ship ready for take off when the time comes. We're counting on you." The little droids chirped in unison and Haro grinned, giving them a brief salute before ducking out of the cockpit and heading for the ramp to join his friends.​

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: No one, Being a Broody Teenager Cause Ya'll Stink
Nearby: Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer Haro Aven Leshanna Dromar Avarice

The ship bucked hard enough to rattle its bones, and Soah's low hiss sliced through the stale cargo hold air, sending the thick whips that were her braided hair around her shoudlers as she lurched. Her lip curled back over sharp fangs as her claws punched into durasteel, gouging deep furrows to keep herself from being flung like loose cargo. The sway finally eased, but the Felacatian's dusky face was still shadowed with a broody scowl, tattoos shifting in restless ink across her skin as if the sentitent ink was also pissed.

SHe had chosen the cargo hold on purpose -- alone -- where she could sprawl and stew without the stench of teenage hormones clashing like some awful spice mix. Ugh, it was like they had rolled in a lepi pile and decided to rub all their scents together.

Disgusting.

A deep breath steadied her ribs, though her shoulders twitched with the effort to keep the shift at bay. Hyperspace was hard enough on her bones without the added insult of a pilot who clearly didn't know what the hell they were doing. She was going to make sure Kasir Dorran heard of this. Not that he wasn't going to have his own complaints waiting for him when he found the little surprise she'd left tucked aboard his little secret room back on the ship.

Served him right.

With a flick of her tail, Soah kicked the cargo box in front of her, the thud and its content ringing sharp in the empty space. What she'd hunted for him to eat was better anyway. She'd even left him a whole plate full of bloodtarts and plenty of other treats.

She'd recently made a whole tray of Sanguine Red Velet cakepops. Those would make him happy.

​

 

[Leshanna Dromar]

TAGS:
Sith Order: Naamino Zuukamano // Haro Aven // Varin Mortifer // Soah Ty’Jyn // Avarice // Lysander von Ascania
Black Sun Syndicate: Vestra Tane // Arris Windrun // Xeykard // V1-L8 // Enric Hask // Annasari // Koda Fett (hope I got everyone!)


​

She was still in disbelief that Naamino, of all people, was the one who had been snatched by mercenaries. While some would scoff and think the Zabrak warrior weak, it told her the exact opposite. Whoever had targeted him had been well equipped and well prepared to handle a Sith like him. Even though he was still in training, still “young” in terms of his strength and prowess…he was by no means someone you could simply shrug off.

For what purpose he had been captured eluded Leshanna, but as she and the Badawans had assembled to go and get him back, she fearfully wondered what they might find at the end of their journey. Though she tried so hard not to think about that…it was hard not to.

What if they arrived too late?

What if Naami was gone? Sold? Dead?

A tightness squeezed her heart, and at her sides her fists clenched tightly. She kept her jaw set tight, her face expressionless. She tried to keep her emotions, her feelings, to herself - but she knew the others would feel it.

Haro approached her as they all rode aboard Lysander’s ship, hurtling through hyperspace towards a destination she’d only heard about on the holoscreens: Nar Shaddaa. He went over the plan with her, and where she normally was alert and present for such things - this time her face was stony and unreadable, but when he stopped to truly look at her and take her in, he would see the fiery determination in her eyes.

She was going to get Naami back, one way or another.

And Force help anyone who stood in her way.

Haro stepped into her personal space, hoping that it would be a measure of comfort for her. She had just started to return the gesture in kind when the ship lurched and forced both of them to stumble and catch themselves. Onyx eyebrows drew down in a scowl as she shot a perturbed glare in the direction of the cockpit. Words, sharp and mean, bubbled up her throat like bile - but she swallowed them back. Her gaze to Haro was direct and pointed: Go figure out what that dumb blonde is up to.

He seemed to catch what her silent words were saying and dashed off, and she exhaled silently.

Soon - they would have boots on the ground, working together (or so she hoped) to track down her missing boyfriend and comrade.

Haro’s voice came over the ship’s comms, informing them all that they were touching down in thirty seconds. Lesh took that time to check herself and her equipment: namely, that she still had her lightwhip. She hoped it would come in handy for this. Bodina - her little purple droid - was tasked with staying on the ship with Bodie to get it prepared for whenever they all returned.

Then she and the others made their way towards the ramp of the ship. Lesh’s nerves were heightened and her heart fluttered in her chest; she was hyper alert and every sound and movement was noticed and processed within the blink of an eye.

I’m coming for you Naami. We all are. Just hang in there…wherever you are.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Quiet, sweet rest. A time for meditation and battle readiness. The gang had all assembled as a gaggle of rescuers for their comrade. The energy around the ship was quiet, full of tension and unease. While Lysander piloted the ship and while Haro tried to comfort Lesh over the fact that Naamino, a close ally and an even closer partner to her, was in trouble. Deep trouble.

Varin tried his hardest to keep them from taking Naami, and for that he took the brunt of the blame. He knew that he would be trying to make up for it for the next while to his crew. He had let them all down. The thoughts swirled in his head and built up into a storm of blame and negativity. So his body responded in the best way suited to take care of this, he fell asleep on the ship. Resting his eyes while he prayed it was the first real wink of sleep he had gotten in a long time. The rosary hung loose in his grip as he repeated his three prayers over the mission.

The jolt of the ship caused the rosary to fall, as soon as it left his grip he stood up, back billowing in cinder and smoke as he grabbed his mace from right beside him ready for any action.

“WE ARE UNDER ATTACK, GET TO YOUR PLACES TEAR THEM LIMB FROM LIMB”

His harsh breathing began to slow as he realised all was completely fine, a slight clear of the throat as he slowly sat back down all he could do now was sit in awkward silence.

Scooping back up his rosary he placed his mace back down by his leg, leaning towards his lap. He could feel the thoughts most of the crew were having. Doubts, anxiety, determination. Varin stood and walked over to Haro and Lesh giving them both a determined glare.

“We will get him back. If we have to dismantle the entire building, then that is what we will do.”

Gently he placed the rosary in his pocket.

“If there is anyone on this ship that I know of that could hang in there for us, It's Naami. He has a very smart head on those shoulders. But if they harmed one horn on that head of his…”

He went quiet for a moment as heat began to radiate from his body.

“There will be hell to pay.”

Gently he placed a hand on Lesh’s shoulder as he walked by her towards the hangar door, sliding the mace on his back holster and checking his saber hilt on his belt.

Leshanna Dromar Haro Aven Lysander von Ascania Soah Ty’Jyn Naamino Zuukamano Avarice
Vestra Tane Arris Windrun Xeykard V1-L8 Enric Hask Annasari Koda Fett
​

 

[Mercy]

Direct tag: Naamino Zuukamano
Others: Leshanna Dromar | Haro Aven | Lysander von Ascania | Soah Ty’Jyn | Avarice | Vestra Tane | Arris Windrun | Xeykard | V1-L8 | Enric Hask | Annasari | Koda Fett
Objective: One ordered beat-down coming right up

If he faced a worthy opponent? Well, that might be a different story.

As Naamino Zuukamano stepped forward onto the proverbial plate the crowd went quiet.

It parted above him, too difficult to see, as if something or someone was cleaving through it like a slow-running glacier. The footsteps came next, steady, relaxed, one might almost say it was lazy. Like a predator prowling for prey, but not having made its mind up just yet. Until the shadow reached him from above.

Crimson hair, stained like blood, amber eyes burning warm. An arm straight out of a nightmare, golden, metallic yet liquid as it shuddered on its own. Then the woman dropped down into the pit with him. The ground shook slightly at the sudden weight forced on it. She rose up, still that lazy quality, and glanced down at him.

"Mm..." Head tilted as Mercy took the measure of the Zabrak. "I don't do this that often anymore, I should tell you, I might be... rusty." She purred softly as she began to roll her shoulders and the crowd took up a laughter that seemed a bit forced. None of them wanted to be known as the sentient that hadn't laughed at the Vigo's quip.

She breathed in and noticed the ankle-braclet.

Nodding there Mercy shrugged.

"You can have the first strike. That seems fair, no?"

 

[Xeykard]

Xeykard had seen this before -- a young Zabrak, condemned to the fighting pits, among those who did not understand the strength of the Sith. Too tough to die, too weak to free himself; not without a push. A shame, then, that Mercy had chosen to fight today. The prior tale had ended in liberation. This one would end as a mashed pulp on the floor.

Cruelty was her strong suit. Somehow, though, he found all this in poor taste. Pits like these were simultaneously a proving ground and a waste of resources. Even the weakest could be put to work in their service. Throwing their lives away for sport...

But he made no comment to Tane, ostensibly the host of tonight. That he was playing the Black Sun's games now sat ill with him; even Mercy had a better grasp of what she wanted. Yet, they were simple creatures. He would have use for them, or ignore them.

Ah, but one still demanded his interest. "Fett," he greeted. "Are you working tonight?"

He was surprised anyone could let their guard down here, but the other guests had, for the most part, ignored them both.

Koda Fett | Vestra Tane Arris Windrun | Mercy Naamino Zuukamano | Varin Mortifer Leshanna Dromar Soah Ty’Jyn Haro Aven Lysander von Ascania ​

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Blinking eyes adjusted to the lights and that hulking shadow came into focus. Neutrality gave way to a scowl as the huge, muscle bound woman sized him up and Naami returned the sentiment. His gaze followed hers briefly to the Force suppressor and a faint zing of annoyance lanced through him.

"Yeah, you lot strike me as the type that care about fair," he finally spoke in a surprisingly deep voice for a man still shaking off the vestiges of youth.

The zabrak began to circle his opponent, hands coming to a ready position as he tipped his chin down a bit to bring his horns to bear. Naami knew he needed to be cautious— he knew nothing about this odd woman and her capabilities, but based on stature alone… Well the odds weren't stacked in his favor. Her reach would be superior and he had a sneaking suspicion based on her bravado that she knew something of the ways of the Force.

Without warning, the young man launched himself at Mercy , juked left and stutter stepped to the right where he swung with a fast right handed jab. It was a test, an offensive move to be sure, but his purpose was to test the proverbial waters with this unknown combatant.

 

[Koda Fett]

He was busy with a dejarik game when Xeykard turned to him, leaning over a sticky and fluid coated bar with his visored gaze focused on the holochess board. His protocol droid opponent began to flounder, sending out moves that were quickly countered with others that crushed them.

"Depends," answered Fett, pressing a button that saw the droid's final piece destroyed. He turned back to the Barabel, "How much are you paying?"

Xeykard

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano

Mercy didn't respond to his first jab.

She considered herself fair. Sure, she cheated like a fether at every opportunity, but there was fairness in that as well. You created an expectation and you lived up to it. There was nothing that couldn't be more fair than that. Mercy's eyes tracked his movements, but she didn't fall into a battle stance and she didn't begin to move herself.

No, where she stood, she remained until Naamino burst into action, lunging at her to strike her.

She didn't respond to the second jab either. That was to say, when he lunged to test the waters, Mercy didn't move a muscle and his fist slammed itself into her stomach without any defense offered by her. It was a good solid jab, if it had been aimed at anyone else, it might have caught the wind from under them.

Instead it was like trying to punch a mountain. She didn't step back, didn't so much as grunt, instead Mercy just tilted her head a fraction as she watched him quickly retreat once more.

"Was that the hunger of a Sith, boy?" Mercy finally growled, taking a step forward towards him. "The daring of the Darkside?" She spit on the floor between them. "That was weak. Spineless. If you don't commit everything you have, if you don't embrace the passion of the Dark, you aren't worthy of the title Sith."

She snapped her fingers, like an instructor rather than a fellow combatant.

"Again. Make me bleed or I will rip you from arse to mouth and drain you dry."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

What did this woman and her rabble know about being a Sith? The discipline it took, the commitment and fortitude. He sneered at her even as he adjusted his movements. Her taunts and what he took as mocking instruction were something he didn't deign to respond to with words.

Adrenaline and the steady thrum of his heartbeats picking up speed drowned out any dismay at being faced with the living boulder that was Mercy . After taking a small bit of distance from those initial testing jabs, the zabrak decided to put his Juyo expertise to use and launched himself into a jumping roundhouse kick. Naami aimed to knock her thick head squarely off her shoulders.

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano

The most dangerous Threat was one that you didn't see coming.

Mercy was an obvious threat. She was big, a titan resembling a glacier that slid down and took anything out in its path. But her presence in the Force was tightly wrapped around her, skin-deep, practically none of it radiated out. Even the most accomplished seer would just see a big slab of meat and muscle wandering around and making it everyone else's problem. Dangerous in a bar fight, certainly, but not something the average Sith really had to worry about.

The moment you touched her flesh the capitalized Threat was revealed. That was the only time someone could truly sense what was going on underneath her skin.

Naamino's foot connected and connected well. it would have snapped someone else's neck, perhaps even taking their head clean off and sending it flying into the crowd. What a sight that would have been. Instead the Sith Acolyte's foot connected, Mercy's head snapped to the side and metaphorical lightning would burst through him as he came face-to-face with the fury that was wrapped underneath her skin.

The extent of her strength, the sheer control she held over her madness, the reason why Mercy's eyes blazed like a Sith Lord.

It's because she was a Sith Lord. One that was entirely infused in the Darkside, steeped in it, thriving in it. Her head came back around, some blood seeped down her lip. She rubbed it off of her chin with her thumb, cleaning it off between her lips and then smiled at Naamino.

"That's better, youngling. Now... let me demonstrate."

No sooner the words left her lips or Mercy became a blur. It took one heartbeat and suddenly she was already upon him, her fist connecting hard with his solar plexus to send him flying into the wall opposite of her. Mercy could have followed it up, but she didn't. Instead she paused in the center of the fighting pit and dusted her fist off against her tank top.

"See? Commitment. I wanted you to feel it, I envisioned your body wrapped around my fist... and I made it real. That is what it means to be a Sith. You take what you want and if you can't, you carve it into reality."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Momentary satisfaction was immediately replaced with gut churning dismay. There was a tenth of a second that stretched on into dawning realization before his entire world became pain.

Naamino flew back and thumped into the wall with a sickening crunch, his breath arrested in his chest for a time. The zabrak slumped down the wall a bit but caught himself before he fell.

Ice cold fury simmered behind his eyes, more prevalent even than the pain. It took all his strength to straighten up without a grimace, to begin breathing again.

"Who are you?"

He growled the question with all the authority of someone conducting an interrogation despite his disadvantaged position. Naami used the brief reprieve to ready himself for violence once more.

Mercy​

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano

The grin she flashed next had more teeth than smile.

"Mercy." She responded simply before extending her arms, as if to offer a hug except Mercy didn't seem like the hugging sort. "Give it another go, pretty boy. Make me bleed, really mean it this time."

And again she simply stood there, soaking up the screams and hooting from around the arena. The spotlight was made for her. She swam in it, she buried herself in the adoration.

No matter how many battles she fought, there was nothing quite like being in an arena and being cheered on.

"Carve your reality."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Nostrils flaring, chest heaving, the young man's fists tightened. Unable to call upon the Force to bolster his physical form, every move he made was marked with a sharp pain in his ribs. At least one rib, if not more, was fractured from that wicked blow.

It was no small thing to mar the bone of a zabrak, their musculature and skeletal systems were denser and stronger than most sentients. Instead of lighting the fire of fear within him, that knowledge enraged Naamino.

She wanted to bleed? He'd love nothing more than to oblige.

Without further pause or preamble, Naami pushed off the wall to build momentum quickly— dashing toward her with deadly intent. He couldn't bank on her holding still and taking the blow as she had with his first few jabs, so he kept his guard up and again feinted but this time it was turning a punch into a grapple so he could try slamming his horned head into her.

Even whilst fighting, the zabrak had a tendency to not waste his voice. This time though, Naami practically roared as neck muscles strained and he drove sharp horns toward Mercy .

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Haro Aven Mercy Varin Mortifer Lysander von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano Vestra Tane Xeykard


THe hum of the engines faded into a steady thrum, and when the ship finally leveled without another gutwrenching sway, Soah let out a low, slow whossh from her mouth, her cheeks puffing out briefly before her lips set in a line.

Good. At last, they were where they were supposed to be.

She dragged herself from the quiet corner of the cargo hold she had claimed, padding forward with that predatory nimble grace until the noise of voices and gear clatter reached her ears. There they were, all gathered near the airlock adjusting straps, checking weapons, and bristling in a cloud of nerves, the stink of anticipation, and ...something else.

What was that? The Felacatian hadn't been exposed to much spice or whatever Lysander von Ascania grew in his greenhouse, so Soah wasn't sure how to process that.

Either way, she was one nostril twitch away from walking out of the ship to get fresh air, but she had to at least ask what she needed to move forward.

So her eyes flicked from Varin Mortifer to the boy emerging from the cockpit, Haro Aven was it? she thought, then settled on the one whose scent matched what she was after. Leshanna Dromar .

She stopped short of the brunette, her body going still in a way that felt like predator freezing midstalk. Only her claws moved, flexing in a soft scrape as if testing the air by her side. Her chin tilted the slightest degree to the right just before she spoke in a detached flat tone.

"I need something that belongs to him."

She gave a pause, with only the faint lash of her tail giving any indication of the coiled edge beneath her calm.

"Nubs," she said first.

Then another blink, she clarified further.

"Naamino."

Just in case there happened to be more than one stubby horned stinker in their little pack.