Zenva Vrotoa
The Crimson Devil of Nal Hutta
It had started insidiously, slowly over the last few weeks, in pairs or small groups, Zabrak had begun to appear on Roon. It went unnoticed, they didn't disrupt anyone's life, or cause a disturbance that drew attention to them. Over time however, certain residents of Roon began to take notice that these Zabrak continued to gather, almost exclusively in a night club controlled by a small splinter group of the Pyke Syndicate. It had been the same for weeks, in groups of twos and threes, Zabrak entered the club, seemingly enjoyed themselves, and left without incident.
That changed one night as the small groups of Zabrak visiting the Club continued to pour in off the streets. It quickly became apparent to those in the Club that night that something was going on. The innocent bystanders visiting the Club soon began to make excuses to leave. As local time neared the midnight hour, the nightclub had become a staring contest. On one side of the room Pykes sat in a small cluster, while some eighty Zabrak sat on the opposite. Gunfire erupted shortly after. The nightclub closed its doors for a single day. The next night, when the business resumed its normal hours of operation, there simply were no Pykes. The Bouncers at the door had been replaced with Zabrak men in fine suits. The bartenders now strapping young Zabrak men, or lovely Zabrak ladies.
At the back of the club, in VIP booths once reserved for the Pykes themselves, sat the Crimson Devil of Nal Hutta. She wore an evening gown that clung to her like a second skin. The black whirls of lace blending with the fierce tattoos that decorated the Crimson Lady's body, leaving it difficult to be sure where tattoo ended, and fabric began. Behind the Zabrak Matron a pair of I.G. Droids stood watch, while a golden Droid served her drinks. The neon glow of the club blurred the Zarbak's sharp features, replacing them with a blazing Death's Head tattoo. Zenva reclined, sipping whiskey, and snacking on a tray of roast meat. Her eyes shifting constantly behind her glowing mask. Someone was bound to answer her brazen capture of the club. Time would tell who, and how they came to answer.
