Come All Ye With Hearts of Stone (Ask for Invite)

[Nicair Claden]

The streets have been running red with blood for days. No one's absolutely sure what started it, no one seems to be able to end it. Coruscant had simply gone mad, taken by a lust for blood that it had never seen before. Predators stalked the streets at night but daylight wouldn't stop them if the mood was set just right. Monsters and men mixed together in a menagerie of sin and death. Hunters flocked to the call of blood, worthy prey beckoned. The ancient question of who's hunting whom drawing the best into the pits of the streets. Perhaps it was the heat that drew out the wicked and decrepit, the hottest days in Coruscant history loomed ahead and were holding on with an iron grasp.

The sticky night air of the cramped city chokes the life out of the weak. The strong try and fight the rising tide of death, but they too fall by the wayside to be cleaned up in the morning. Law and order is broken in the area, the government too busy with its war to pay attention to the war being waged in the streets. The sentient predators lick their chops and sharpen their knives in the darkness, sending sparks into the night sky. Only the brave or the foolish venture out when the lights go out, but light cannot save everyone. Even those that hold tight to their families are struck down in their beds.

Creatures of all manner heed the drawing of the blood. Monsters of every calibre strike with savagery. Will avengers rise to stem the tide or will they too be taken?

Come one come all ye with hearts of stone. Come to answer the question of what makes the difference between predator and prey, hunter and killer. But remember, those that answer the call, he who fights with monsters must look to it that he himself does not become one.

[member="Azlyn Ike"] | [member="Drogh"]

 

[Mark Cross]

"This...is why I need a ship..." Mark Cross muttered to himself as he wiped down the bar at the friendly local Coruscant watering hole where he'd been working at since arriving at the planet.

What had initially been a teeming hub of trade and activity, where he'd have plenty of drinks to pour on-shift, and many willing patrons to exchange a good pair of hands for credits off of it, had turned into a living nightmare. Something in the air had changed, and while you could never completely let your guard down in somewhere as populated and diverse like this, he'd felt relatively safe milling around it up until now.

Mark did what he had to do to get by. He was handy with a blaster and he could wield a blade, but in a Galaxy of trained killers, he was very much outmatched in both. He took note of the accounts given by patrons and tried to get as clear a picture of what was going on outside. Slowly but surely, he was piecing it all together. One thing was for sure, he'd spend very little time walking around at night until it all blew over, or until he could get himself off this rock and to pastures new.

 

[Azlyn Ike]

Her arms stretched out, the force had something for her to do.. maybe or she was hungry... the hunger pains as her stomach growled saying feed me.... that was there before she was looking at the city. her lightsaber was on her hip and the blade had its crossguards set up. The phrik cord she was able to use was there as well when her eyes flicked over the people. Where she could look through some of the buildings, some of the streets at the people. She wasn't antsy in some places, killing for the crusade had been more about the decadence of it all, indulging in what you wanted to do at the time and well you didn't ned to kil everything.. just things that looked at the albino funny. She was reaching out with the smokestone necklace at her throat before bowing her head and feeling some fo the others.

 

[Darth Chagrin]

Deep in the bowels of Coruscant, Corinne tailed a shadow across several psychedelically lit streets. The doctor had a different appointment today; she had not been assigned to cure her target, though he was most certainly ill in some way, but to kill him. A Duros by the name of Lommar Nol, he was reportedly infamous enough as a killer that he could be recognised by name by those who paid sufficient attention to the HoloNet News, yet Corinne had only been dispatched to investigate him after an SIS intelligence operative ended up as one of his victims.

Careful to keep herself at least 30 metres behind him, Corinne pursued him around another corner. His movements were suspicious, and even her danger senses, modestly trained at best as they were, tingled in a way she hadn't felt very often before. Resolving to be more cautious, she proceeded in tracking him, wary of the fact that he might have chosen this night to carry out yet another murder...


[member="Nicair Claden"] [member="Mark Cross"] [member="Azlyn Ike"]

 

[Jack-ei]

Jack-ei followed his target, shadowed him perfectly. Step for step, light as a feather. The Mandalorian was well known in the area, too well known to live for very long. His name was Nicair, Nicair "Claden". The man, if some deemed to call him such a thing, scowled at the surname his quarry had chosen. Jack-ei though? Jack-ei called him brother. Nicair may be a couple inches taller but Jack-ei remembered his face, even when the younger Mandalorian was just a babe being sold to Hutts. Such was the way of things on their homeplanet, Nicair was born different. He cried. Such a thing was a blatant sign of his weakness, so their parents did the intelligent thing and sold him the instant they could. In all regards it was probably a more merciful fate than the alternative, at least in slavery Nicair had a chance. And based on his armor and the way he held himself he had thrived in the killing fields. Jack-ei felt something akin to pride, but such was a foolish thing, Jack-ei felt nothing and he was trying to decide if his little brother was the same. Perhaps, like some others, Nicair had developed his gift later in life. The Sociph (will be explained once the codex is back up hopefully, cross your fingers) would genuinely like that option. He'd never had a brother before, a true brother.

The Mandalorian stopped his walking, knees bent, aggressive. He turned his head to the side, listening, scanning. He knew he was in danger, his instincts told him so but he just couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Then again, he's been here long enough to know that to wander about in this time at night was already life threatening. That's what the Mandalorian lived for, the thrill. For you see, as Jack-ei was hunting him, Nicair was hunting someone else. A Trandoshan to be exact, slaver; Nicair's preferred prey. This one had taken to the streets of Coruscant's recent lawlessness with abandon, killing families that refused to serve him. Jack-ei knew where Nicair was going, he had already been there before and done the deed himself, couldn't let his little brother get hurt. He had left a message for his kin, leading him in the right direction, he knew how much Nicair loved to play games, loved the hunt. Just another turn and they'd be there. He licked his lips, his muscles were tight with the waiting. But he had to be patient, he knew so much and Nicair so little. He would have to let him go for now, blend back into the shadows whence he came. Nicair would find his way eventually, such a sweet young man, always found his way in the dark.

Jack-ei smiled as he slipped into an alley, a smile that would chill the coldest of hearts to the bone. Everything was going according to plan.

[member="Corinne Coolidge"] | [member="Azlyn Ike"] | [member="Mark Cross"]

 

[Drogh]

Coruscant, The Broken Capital, as Drogh had come to call it. A lost relic to a more peaceful time, where such old things like the "Galactic Republic" once ruled, or even the dreaded "One Sith". Both died, one reborn as the Sith often are, screaming in blood, while the Galactic Republic was merely replaced by a clone with a different name. But was left of Coruscant? Nothing, once towering spires gleaming against artificial light, now are covered in rust and decay. The smoke from the industrial area seems to cover more of the planet everyday, and any attempt to pretend Coruscant is some kind of utopia has been killed along time ago. And the underground was but a horrid nightmare, the further you went, the further you went into a grey hell, soaked in industrial acid and soot that replaced the sky. Some levels have no life, save for the twisted souls and demented creatures that live there, but who isn't twisted and demented in Coruscant?

Violence had descended onto Coruscant, Drogh noted. He was for the few times above level, the streets were cold and quiet, a few wayward souls walking the streets of this Broken Capital. Coruscant is no stranger to death, nor violence, poor Coruscant has been victim to countless conflicts and those scars are still present. But it was odd, more so then usual even on the first level death ruled the night and invaded the day. The Law enforcement so badly underfunded, so badly outnumbered simply resigned, refusing to do what little it could, and perhaps in the ashes some remnant of order will be restored, but for now the red rules.

@Jack-ei @Corinne Coolidge [member="Azlyn Ike"] [member="Mark Cross"] [member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Azlyn Ike]

Her hands slipped into pockets of her robes and Azlyn moved through the crowd. Staying there while she looked with a grin on her face, feeling all of it. THeir minds, their emotions and more importantly she could feel the people who were here around here. Someone was looking, something was shifting but she was not certain who they were or if she wanted to... if she needed to find them. THe sith, republic, alliance and other had done a number here. She should just convince Dax to buy a place for the laughs and they could pretend to be whatever snooty things there are. Stretching out her senses though before she slid her robe over her saber to conceal it and shook out her white hair.

 

[Nicair Claden]

Something was out there, Nicair could feel it. Not just the usual something, this was a different kind of something. Something darker, deadlier than he had experienced before. He turned his head so that it was once again facing forward, spend too much time looking behind you and the dagger will come from the front. He'd been on edge for many cycles, as was the rest of Coruscant since this wave of blood and heat drew in. Hunting killers put a target on his back, but fortunately his reputation preceded him in most places and only the foolish tried anything. But if they were to band together, something like that posed a serious problem. It took him a few days to get used to the way things worked now, trying to figure out just who was hunting who in the streets. To get used to being prey.

He cleared his head, get lost in your thoughts and you'll lose your life. Focus on your quarry, find the beast and kill it, repeat it to yourself. The trandoshan was known to reside in an approaching building, yet, its door was ajar. Barely ajar even, as if something had burst out from the inside. It wasn't common for the creature to take prisoners. The blood on the door was relatively fresh as well, hadn't been there for more than a few hours. His hands moved with reflexive accuracy to his weapons, his favored beskar tomahawk and beskad, both earned from his time with the Mandalorians. Finding that his vision didn't adjust well enough to the darkness inside he allowed his helmet to shift to night vision. There was a trail of blood on the floor. With measured steps did he follow it.

The scene before him was the definition of brutality. What once had been his target was practically torn apart, the blood on the door and the trail led back to it. The trandoshan had been freshly killed, someone moving in on Nicair's territory? He scowled at the thought, only fools would cross him, especially now that the old rules were falling apart. No longer didn't hunters stay their hand from other hunters, everyone was prey now. Not that Nicair would sully himself by killing a lesser hunter, a little psychological warfare would fix the upstart. He took off his helmet and let his senses adjust, he enjoyed working with his own senses rather than the technology of the helmet, made him feel more alive. That was when he caught a scent, it was powerful, near overwhelming. Yet through it all it was somehow familiar. He replaced his beskad and sanctioned to use his helmet as a bludgeoning tool, perhaps the horns would do something besides be for show. Nicair stayed low, every step careful, not a sound to be heard.

It drove him mad that he couldn't place the scent he was following, which was foolish he should note. He had only followed it for a few meters before it stopped, there were words on the floor but he couldn't make them out. They were in a language he hadn't come across before. Fortunately they seemed to have been written in mando'a next to the original.

"Look up?" His muscles tensed, a trap? He was probably being watched. Someone with their hands on a blaster trying to teach him a lesson before he died perhaps? With grace beyond a man his size and in armor as large he rolled to the side, placing his back to the ground. Nothing happened. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound except for the distant echo of his rushed movement. He couldn't keep himself from looking up, to the upside down corpse that hung above him. He knew that corpse, and he remember how he knew that smell. The corpse was a man he had deemed not worth hunting, nor worth acknowledging years ago. It was the greatest insult he could bestow. The scent was of a woman he thought he would never forget, damn what he was becoming by doing so. Someone out there knew his life, and that deeply perturbed the man. There were few alive that did, and fewer- one to be exact- that knew those specific details. That one soul, was Nicair himself. Something was going on that disturbed even the Mandalorian.

[member="Azlyn Ike"] | [member="Drogh"] | [member="Corinne Coolidge"] | [member="Mark Cross"]

 

[Drogh]

Drogh prowled the streets, his eyes darting across left and right in paranoid glee. Drogh always felt a knife was in a back, a sharp sting that lingered, he knew it was nothing more then a phantom, but this kept him on edge constantly. Even now fear had grasped Drogh as chaos had descended, old debts paid in blood and slaughter taking to the streets. A few stabbings here, a few blasters here the occasionally firefight to lighten the streets. The clubs dwindled and became quieter, and only the very wealthiest of the city were consistently safe from the chaos, able to buy enough thugs and walls to hide them selves in their clubs and palaces. For the rest of the population, there was only one question, "Who dies next", and the answer always was "Everyone". Not only did thugs and crime lords take to the streets, but the mad and the ill took this chance to reap havoc and destruction on this already crumbling planet, murder for murder sake. It was almost beautiful to see this sick man, Coruscant finally die. This ancient relic gone, like all the old orders before it and after it. To the raving cults of Pius Dea, to the New Republic, Coruscant was looking at it's last days. Death was taking this planet, and it was destroying it's self.

Drogh carried on his wanderer, he forgot why he was doing this. Perhaps for walking sake, perhaps to steal, perhaps to kill. Drogh was never a killer, but when the crimson fist opened it's hand, who was Drogh to denied it? It was so temping after all, to murder and slaughter as the darkside always commanded him to, that gnawing voice in the back of head, that red voice. But the other voice, the voice of fear always advised against it, what if we got hurt, what if we died? What if he lived? Drogh knew what he wanted to do, and he would join the red rally, he would become what he feared. And when order was restored, he would retreat back into the darkness and force himself to forget that he ever did this.

Then, the excuse to kill came to him. He doesn't need to justifies his slaughter, as three men masked behind ragged robes, one with green goggles glaring at Drogh. Another with bloody bandages wrapped around his face. Did they ask for credits? Why bother, as they drew vibroblades and within mere seconds they charged. One with a knife came at Drogh, aiming right at his neck. Drogh was never a good fighter, but this reckless move was easy for even him to counter, drawing on the force to give him speed he caught the arm before it got close, and with his other a brutal if crude snap of the arm. A groan and wail of pain, as the first attack was disarmed. The other two attacked at the same time, one slashing down at Drogh with surprising skill. A vibroblade this one carried, Drogh narrowly dodged it, before taking out a blaster and ending him. The final and last attacker fled, but with a simple shot to the spine, he was down choking on his own blood. Drogh ended the man with the broken arm, paralyzed with pain. As he watched their blood drip down on the cracked streets of Coruscant, not a whisper or a cry heard, Drogh felt...nothing. Drogh looked within him self, passion, anger perhaps fear? Drogh wanted to provoke a volcano, when all he got was a slate of ice. Then only one thing he felt came clear, disappointment and sadness, the red hand had not caught Drogh today.

[member="Nicair Claden"]
[member="Azlyn Ike"]
[member="Jack-ei"]
[member="Corinne Coolidge"]
[member="Mark Cross"]

 

[Jack-ei]

He had tried to walk away, truly he had. But he just had to see his kin's reaction to the scene Jack-ei had displayed. By now the Mandalorian had put some distance between the two and had already entered the building, no doubt he had just walked into the Sociph's trap. Trap was a harsh word, something less dangerous than trap would be better. Message maybe. He contemplated the correct wording as he crossed the threshold of the building, being careful not to step in the mess he had left earlier. My how the trandoshan had screamed. A loud thud and the scraping of what he assumed to be metal on concrete sounded from further within the building. Proper technique, rolling away from the trap before it springs.

Jack-ei crouched low to make himself as small a target as possible, all his planning would be for nought if his brother noticed him. The scent he had spent much time placing in adequate amounts that it would still be noticeable wafted into his nose. It was a feminine scent that he couldn't quite place, from some sort of plant or bottle. He didn't much care about what the females of other species were wearing to attract a mate. In any case, it certainly worked on Nicair, he followed it like a hound. There he was, helmet off, staring up at the corpse still dripping from the rafters. Now that, was challenging for the Sociph. Not the killing and dragging part, but finding the man. He took every precaution to avoid being found, like he was hiding from someone. Jack-ei knew Nicair had cut the man out of his life long ago, it's the only reason he was still alive. But Jack-ei did not have his brother's mercy, or cruelty after seeing the conditions the wretch had been living in. The Sociph felt a large amount of pride for the torment that his Mandalorian brother had been dishing out on the traitor. Every few years, always random so as not to be predictable, Nicair would show up. He wouldn't do anything, wouldn't say anything. Just stand silently behind his mask and stare. Every time, absolutely every time the traitor begged for death, it took parts of his soul away to be reminded of his crime.

Jack-ei in all his splendor had finally give the man what he wanted, death, but not before covering him in the scent of the woman he had taken from Nicair. That was to be his final punishment. How shocked his brother was as he looked up, all the thoughts crossing his mind and his face. A life he had buried so very deep in his soul was forcing its way to the surface, crawling up from the bowels of every hell to be known once more. Perhaps then he would remember.

"Do you remember them, Nicair? Do you remember what they did to you, both in turn? How weak they made you. You will. And you'll remember me soon enough, brother."

[member="Drogh"]
[member="Azlyn Ike"]
[member="Corinne Coolidge"]
[member="Mark Cross"]