Faction (Black Sun, Sith Order) Primeday Night Firefight

[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 exhaled another slow plume of smoke, his eyes drifting closed for a moment as the deep bass throbbed through his earbud. Everything just blurred at the edges. Almost lazily, he caught a flicker in the corner of his eye; Haro appeared out of nowhere. There was something tense about his half-Kage friend, like static in the air, but he didn't seem to care enough to tune in much deeper. If anyone earned a free pass to stay cool, it was him. After all, he’d exchanged more joints with Haro than anyone else aboard this ship.

A smug grin settled on the blonde's lips, holding on just an extra beat, as if savoring a memory. This moment wasn't much different from their arcade night, chasing high scores, landing impossible shots. Piloting this freighter hardly felt more stressful.

“Chill out, bro, we’re still airborne, yea?” he murmured, voice thick with herbal warmth. He shut down all worry, refusing to poison the chill atmosphere. Worry wasn't necessary anyway; Haro's piloting skills were pretty well known back at the academy.

Then came a guttural shout, unmistakably belonging to Varin. The muscle in his jaw barely moved. “Ignati must be on some banthachit again."

The teen stretched out at last, his joints popping, fingers cracking. Only after the ship's landing gear hissed, did he find the urge to rise from his seat. Smoke tendrils clung to his hair as he began heading down the corridor.

Upon entering his personal quarters, he made his way to a corner where crates sat beneath a wall decorated with travel stickers. He flipped the latch to one, removing a small pouch inside that contained glitterstim; it was a precious ration he decided to keep after a recent visit on Taul with Skye Mertaal . Still potent, still personal. He slipped it into an inner pocket, and from there, moved over to a small locker that was more decoration than anything else, but he liked to keep personal things in it. Lastly, he retrieved a vibroshiv, one stim patch, and a shattered datapad.

Making his way further down the hold, he came upon the others, and it was impossible to miss the jagged claws that scarred the floor, there was only one person here who could've been the source. His focus shifted to the Felacatian, then back to the scars, then back again, maybe five times between them in total.

A half smile appeared, almost amused. Except he wasn't. Lysander shook his head. "Gurl, you got more anger than sense. You can pay me for that when we’re back on Korriban."

He pivoted, already on his way to the hatch, eyes flicking to Lesh along the way, though they didn’t linger for too long. Lysander already knew she didn't like him; that truth had been sealed since a single comment that landed in botany class. Maybe helping rescue her idiot boyfriend would finally smooth things over.

For all they knew, Naamino was out there living his best life right now.

Varin came last, and he placed a palm on the slugslayer's shoulder, offering a knowing look, basically bro-code language that said, 'I'm hyped for this.'

Almost as if rehearsed, the cargo bay hatch began its descent just as he approached. He proceeded to walk down the ramp, stretching an arm over his body like waking from a long nap, inhaling the air. Somewhere between Korriban and Nar Shaddaa, he'd gone over a brief plan with his co-pilot. With enough spice to drop a rancor twice, and Haro's effortless charm, he already knew they were about to rizz the feth out of Smuggler's Moon.

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano

It was not often that someone chose willingly to grapple with her. Most people tried to avoid close-quarters with her, it was one of the most annoying things that Mercy had to deal with.

The opponents that flitted about, shooting from a distance, running around to avoid her grasp.

It was a pleasant surprise when Naamino ended up being born from a different stock altogether. Once more Mercy didn't do a thing to prevent him from his goal. The punch would have been taken in strides, but instead mid-move he grabbed her. Then he slammed his head into her body, horns first, and forced an agonizing howl out of Mercy's throat.

His horns pushed in, breaking skin, burying itself into her flesh. Blood began to seep royally, but before Naamino could get away again Mercy suddenly grabbed him by the back of his neck. Easily done now that her meat was practically wrapped around his horns.

What happened next might surprise the Zabrak. She didn't try to pull him out of her or yank him away. Instead... Mercy yanked him in deeper, from skin to meat to muscle, and the pain flooded her body so wonderfully. Her eyes burning brighter, the sound out of her throat continued, until Naamino might realize she wasn't screaming anymore.

She was laughing, violent, like a predator because now Naamino had nowhere to go in that position.

Nowhere to flee when her knee came up like a piston to slam itself into his chest, once, twice. Holding him down to force him into absorbing the full punishment.

No mercy.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Theme​

Lysander’s hand fell on Varin's shoulder, momentarily breaking his focus. But Varin also gave a knowing look of excitement. His eyes burned for battle and blood. Lysander had seen the look in his eyes before, Varin was ready to let go and tear anything apart that was in his way. His hands began to shake as his fists clenched, tightly, tight enough to draw blood down his hands. The heat from his body began to radiate as his eyes began to take a maroon color.

Gently he grabbed his rosary, smearing the blood upon the runic bone beads, mumbling quietly his three prayers. One of ferocity and strength, one of speed and blood lust and one of constitution and victory. Slowly he followed behind the group as his back billowed in smoke shrouding his back and head like a cloak and hood. The air smelt of heat and embers. Each step he took forward from the landing pad was a promise and a testament to himself and his crew. They will all be reunited, they will all find success and victory and they will show each individual in this building the power of Sith.

Something's brewing boy, you can feel it? The electricity in the air? The excitement? The pain and fear?

Ignati growled deep in Varin’s ear, an invisible entity to anyone but himself. A silent conversation hissing like water on burning hot stones.

Ignati’s voice deepened like tectonic plates scraping together.

There’s a fight going on in there. I can smell their blood, taste their pain.

Varin said nothing, lost in his thoughts as he subconsciously followed his crew, praying to himself. But he heard every word. As the heat began to build his shirt began to burn off, revealing his sith brands that have now traveled from his upper back to his lower, spreading around his ribs and curling around his shoulders. The ancient language of Ur-Kittat. Silent prayers burned into his flesh.

For now, until given the command like the attack dog he is, he remains docile. Speechless but understanding to everyone's words.

We will show them all, the intensity of stars. How I was known as The Eater of Suns. You will not know pain, but your enemies will. Show them our ferocity, boy. Let me feast.

Further on he traveled with his crew. Ever silent, ever watching, waiting. Ready.

Tags:
Haro Aven Leshanna Dromar Lysander von Ascania Soah Ty’Jyn Naamino Zuukamano Avarice

Mercy Xeykard Koda Fett Vestra Tane​

 

[Haro Aven]

​

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

EQUIPMENT: NONDESCRIPT MERCENARY ARMOR | VIBROKNIVES | BLASTER PISTOL | FIELD COM​

OBJECTIVE: RESCUE Naamino Zuukamano ​

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

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

As they all stepped out onto the ramp, Haro eyed the Felacation scenting the air curiously.
"I need something that belongs to him... Nubs," she said.
He gave her a quizzical look, never having heard the nickname before.
"Naamino," she clarified.
"Oh, right." He dug into his satchel and pulled out Naami's Bad Ewok band shirt he'd grabbed from his dorm for this exact purpose and handed it to Soah. Then he stepped up to walk beside Lesh, taking her hand in his as they descended the ramp.

"Hey," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "We've got this."

Glancing meaningfully over at the Felacation and the smoking visage of seething rage and promised retribution that was Varin, he muttered a goodnatured tease into Lesh's ear, "good luck with those two." He winked at her and gave her a kiss on the cheek before he slipped the field com-scan link into his ear. He made sure it was on then synced to the proper encrypted frequency that the Badawans all shared.

"Captain Aven to Badawans, comm check, sound off." Once everyone responded to the test, Haro continued.

"Alright Badawans. Team Rizzler will keep the VIPs distracted while Team Retribution extracts Naami. As soon as you've got him, comm in and we'll rendezvous at the ship and get the hell out of here. Best of luck and don't kark it up."

With that, he made his way to entrance of The Squared Circle, dawning his best badass smuggler act. He could hear the roar of the riotous crowd before he even walked inside. The sharp acrid scent of spice smoke filled his nostrils upon entering and threatened to make his sensitive eyes water, but he fought down the urge to react, instead channeling the sensation into a stoic smolder. Casting his gaze around the room, he took note of the various denizens, gauging how dangerous each of them might be, how well-armed they were, and how they reacted to the newcomers if they did at all. He also made sure to keep an eye out for any other points of ingress or egress in the room as he waded further into the room. The view of the fight pit soon opened up before him, and it took every ounce of his will power not to visibly react to what he saw below. Relief that his buddy was in fact still alive mingled with a sickening sense of dread upon seeing the state he was in. Haro took a deep breath in an attempt to keep his anxiety under control, casting a look at Lysander that carried a subtle but clear sense of urgency.​

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE: Xeykard | V1-L8 |@ Enric Hask | Annasari | Koda Fett | Mercy
SITH ORDER: Lysander von Ascania | Leshanna Dromar | Varin Mortifer | Soah Ty'Jyn | Avarice

A distinct flick of her tail and barely the side eye from Soah were all Lysander received for his comments regarding her level of anger and for the supposed credits he'd need for the damage.

A chuff fell from her mouth, and Soah turned away to catch Haro Aven be the one to provide what she needed.

At least it was a t-shirt. It would do nicely.

SHe took it from Haro and sure enough, her nose crinkled at the distinct funk that was the Zabrak. Not that it would have seemed particularly strong to anyone else, the Felacatian senses, especially her nose when it cames to scents, were just that sensitive.

For once, her expression gave a subtle twist as her nostrils flared, but she did her job and took a long whiff.

Yup. Got him. She locked that scent to memory.

She slipped the field com-scan link over her ear. It felt… strange, but she understood the necessity. Hopefully they woldn't be blowing up her ear with constant chatter.

Yet as soon as she thought it, the team names came through as Haro chirped out the plan.

Badawans? Team Rizzler? Team Retribution?

Weird names, but at least she was on Team Retribution. Better than whatever Rizzler was supposed to mean.

As they stepped outside, Soah tilted her face toward the buildings. Her eyes narrowed, dark pupils thinning into vertical slits. Drawing on the Force, the Felacatian inhaled deep, channeling the instinct of the hunt. She had the scent of her quarry now so she just needed to pull it from the sea of odors crashing together. Spice. Piss. Alcohol. Sweat. Putrid rotting trash. And there…

Blood. Not just one person. Many.

But she had to narrow it down further. Closing her eyes, she pushed deeper, chin tilting to the side, brows furrowing in concentration. In her mind, her senses spread out like a web, every tremor and flicker of life sparking against it. Closer… closer still.

The musk grew stronger. There. A familiar scent.

Nubs.

Soah's eyes snapped open.

"This way," she said curtly, already moving with purposeful steps toward where the Force and the scent were leading her.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Obviously he hadn't thought about the vast disparity in their weight classes before charging headlong into the woman. All he'd wanted was to make her bleed, determined to make her regret goading him.

Naamino now paid dearly as that cruel grip about his neck tightened, holding him in place despite his attempts to pull away. The breath once again knocked from him as two terrible blows crunched into his chest.

His left arm instinctively curled against his chest, hand gripping his own ribcage as her onslaught continued. With his other hand still grappling her, to basically no effect, the young man hazily tried to think through the pain as he squeezed his eyes shut against the rivulets of blood his horns had loosed.

Between blows, he curled his body up to drive both feet toward the knee Mercy balanced on, using her own grapple on him to hoist himself up into the ballsy maneuver. If he was to die this day, he intended to make her pay for it.

 

[Avarice]

Avarice let out a quiet sigh as his gaze lingered on the carnage unfolding in the pit. His frown deepened, brows knitting together in calculation. This was a rare opportunity to study. To weigh each fighter by their brutality,and by the flaws that revealed themselves in the heat of violence.

Naamino Zuukamano was Reckless; He had charged in headlong without accounting for the disparity in size or strength. His stubborn pride gave him spirit, yes, but it also left him vulnerable with an eagerness to draw blood that blinded him to strategy. Avarice noted the grit and tenacity in the boy's horns-first strike, but also the danger of such desperation. It was the kind of move that left you with nothing if it failed.

Mercy , on the other hand, was a different sort of creature. She didn't just endure pain...she seemed to just devoured it and twist it into fuel.

There was a method to it, though; the way she locked Naamino down, the way she forced him into close quarters where her strength could grind him apart. Yet even that ferocity carried risks. A fighter so enthralled by pain and violence might press too deep, too fast, and leave openings for a clever opponent to exploit.

Avarice's eyes narrowed, his thoughts balancing between the two. Naamino was fire untamed, burning bright but fragile. Mercy was iron, heavy and unyielding, but perhaps too enamored with her own strength.

Between the two, the pit became a study in willpower versus cruelty, as well as pride versus predation.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Haro Aven | Vestra Tane

​

The last tendrils of smoked curled form the roach pinched between Lysander's fingers. As the group broke apart, he flicked it away. As they drew near the stadium, the spice heavy air was like an old memory on the breeze, so he inhaled deep, drawing in as much as he could.

His shoulders sagged, but the gaze remained sharp, slicing through the crowds, scanning every angle, logging and storing different exits as he drew the mental map. The abruptness from the field com snapped him right up though, his half-lidded eyes widening a notch, now fully awake and charged, all sense alert. He yanked the lone earbud free and tucked it inside the inner pocket of his leggings.

As Team Rizzler drew closer to the stadium, he might've shot Haro a dozen glances. Gamblers, spice-heads, smugglers, and every other type of the unsavory together under flickering holographic ads.

The brutal tableau was what held his attention the longest though. There he was, the Zabrak they all sought. But it wasn't sorrow that washed over Lysander. No, it was raw, simmering anger, fierce even if quiet. It was more than about the fight he was currently witnessed, but at something deeper, more personal.

Focused on the VIP's trajectory, he turned to Haro once more, a touch of wicked familiarity graced him. Lips curled into a sly grin, revealing teeth that gleamed with mischief. "I shall divert the bouncer's attention, Captain," his voice low, but confident, "keep him busy long enough for you to slip past." A pause, then mirth splashed across his features. "If this succeeds, I shall forever be hailed a genius. But.. if by some twist of fate, it fails.. well, then it shall be deemed your fault, and you shall owe me a stim patch and a new jaw."

There he stood, a towering Besalisk with arms like durasteel and a face that only knew scorn. Lysander approached. “You ever get tired of standing here looking terrifying, or is that just your natural resting vibe?”

The bouncer didn't blink once, but Lysander was prepared to press on.

Ready to wield charm or glitterstim.

Whichever it took to buy Haro more time.

 

[Leshanna Dromar]

Direct Tags: Varin Mortifer // Soah Ty’Jyn
​

Leshanna was quiet, even as they all prepared to disembark from the ship the moment it touched down, checking for weapons and comms systems. Before they did, however, a hidden guest appeared from the belly of the cargo hold and settled unamused eyes upon them all, before she approached Lesh, who turned to face the Felacatian more directly. Something about the cat-girl didn’t settle right with Lesh…though she kept her thoughts to herself. At least they had been willing to help locate Naamino, and for that she was thankful.

“I need something that belongs to him.” the Felacatian said, pausing for a moment as her tail flicked, before saying further, “Nubs…Naamino.”

Lesh huffed, “I know who you’re talking about.”

Lysander’s voice cut through to them, addressing the cat-girl, commenting about some damage she’d done to his ship. As he passed by, he cast a brief glance towards Lesh, though his look didn’t linger. They hadn’t exactly started off on the best foot, though she was again thankful that he had agreed to help in the search and retrieval of her boyfriend.

Haro was the one who stepped in and passed their tracker something that had belonged to Naami, a Bad Ewok bandshirt, before he stepped past her and to Leshanna, taking her hand in his as they descended down the ramp and onto the surface of Nar Shaddaa.

“Hey, we got this.” he said to her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before he looked back over his shoulder towards the others and then leaned in to whisper into her ear, bidding her “good luck” with the others. She gave him a sort of half-hearted smirk, before returning the hand squeeze as he planted a kiss to her cheek.

“See you soon.”

There was a brief comms check, before Haro briefed them all once more on the plan. They would split into two groups - one to deal with locating Naamino, and the other to act as a distraction. Varin and the cat-girl, Soah, were with Leshanna to go find Naami, while Haro and Lysander would act as their diversion. As soon as Haro and Lysander split off, Leshanna turned to Soah - waiting for her to do whatever it was that would help them locate the missing Zabrak.

Soah, having caught Naami’s scent from the shirt, took a look at their surroundings before she set off in a direction. The hunt was on, and Lesh’s state of alertness heightened significantly as the trio began to move further away from the ship and into the surrounding cityscape. As they continued forward, Lesh quickly came to realize that she despised Nar Shaddaa. It reeked, carrying the scent of refuse, rot, piss, and death - among other things.

Despite her heightened nerves, Leshanna forced herself to appear as any other face in the crowd that moved through the crime laden city. She followed along behind Soah, keeping an eye on the other girl. She was their ticket into finding Naami, and Leshanna wasn’t about to lose her in the crowd. She glanced back at Varin to ensure he was still keeping up with them, before turning her attention back to what was ahead of her.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The Felacatian acted swiftly after receiving Naamino’s shirt. Latching onto its scent she did not hesitate to start her trail. While she led, Leshanna was not far behind her and keeping up the rear was the smoldering sith apprentice. Kept up with them with ease, moving with their footsteps as they made their way through the city that smelt of nothing but unpleasantries. He could easily live the rest of his life without ever stepping foot on Nar Shaada, but Naamino was that important to him, to his crew. Everyone played an integral part in The Badawans. Though he was large and usually had no issues letting anyone know he was around, Varin moved relatively quietly.

Usually during a mission where he is tunnel visioned he would run through anyone who would be walking past him, without a care if they showed any aggression, but his steps were more calculated. Opting to weave through any other persons that would hinder his travel. It was best to avoid small confrontation at this point. There was a time and a place for more abrupt action and then there was a time and place for a more delicate approach.

His time for aggression would approach soon. He was starting to get an itch. The itch for a fight. The itch to tear something or even SOMEONE apart. To stamp down this feeling his fists remained clenched until he was ready to use them.

Leshanna Dromar Soah Ty’Jyn​