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[Darth Metus]

There was something oddly comforting about Hyperspace.

Perhaps it was the constant, low hum of the Hyperdrive as it propeled the vessel ever forward. Perhaps it was the modest sensation of movement one could perpetually feel. Whichever the case was...it resulted in the perfect atmosphere for a certain Inquisitor's meditations. Recent history had seen numerous changes rapidly occur in his life: changes so monumental that they made his head spin. It was...difficult...adjust, of this there was no doubt, and Ishmael considered himself fortunate that the changes had happened so quickly.

If not, he would still be reeling from the first change when the next arrived to smack him upside the head.

But here, Ishmael had a moment to breathe. Here, he could sit amongst the perpetual hum and reflect upon recent events. The former Knight lowered himself to the floor of the vessel and opened himself to the Force. At once, the ambient entity made itself known; resting mightily upon his shoulders. Through it, he gazed upon the most recent events of his past.

"I was born to the name Ravager: a clone of a man who plays god. I was a gift to a monstrous Emperor: a man of eternal flame. With his fall did I wander...with his fall did I see the Light. The old Empire was good. Just, even. But it too, fell. Now I am a Knight cast adrift in the Darkness...now I am an Inquisitor. But is this what I am meant to be? Is this my destiny?"

These thoughts and more raced through the Inquisitor's mind, but he could not ponder them deeper. It was not due to a lack of willingness, of course, but rather a sudden lurch. His vessel dipped out of Hyperspace, and with this did the perfect place of meditation cease to exist. Ishmael sighed and returned to the world of the living, rising with a slight grimace. If only he had a few more minutes, right?

[ "Venom Squad. Be ready to deploy." ] he said, addressing his team over the comm.

***​

Once on the ground, Ishmael squinted at the light of two suns. Tatooine was a poodoo-hole...but he had a job to do. Normally, the Imperium would arrive with shows of force, but today they were going with a more subtle approach. He and three others were garbed in civilian clothes, of all things. Today, they were here for information of the tamer sort: supply routes, hyperspace back doors, etc. So, what better way to dig up information then to poke their heads into...frankly...a cesspool.

Okay look, Ishmael got the short end of the stick on this assignment.

Venom Squad dispersed shortly after arriving at the spaceport, with each member going a different way. Ishmael dipped into a rather shady cantina and seated himself at one of the rearmost booths. Part one was observation. Part two was getting the details. As part of the initial portion of the "operation", Ishmael gawked at the commotion that soon erupted on "stage". A cat. A big, man-sized feline. Was walked onto the stage, led by a chain. She was put on display for the amusement of the customers...

Ishmael wasn't amused.

[member="Zahearah"]

 

[Zaherah]

The gentle flow of music filled her acute ears but she could not enjoy the soft play of instruments as well a faint sound of more than a dozen heart beats beyond the thin walls. Sweat tickled down the sides of her face, her hair stuck to skin like glue. Her exposed knees ached on the rocky surface below her. In the back room it was rather chilled so, in order for the handlers to have a warm working environment they cranked the heat up as has high as it would go. Though for some reason for her, it was like they threw her into the fire. Zahearah lifted her shaking hands and slicked the wet hair back. Around her neck was a thick chain that pinched into the soft skin on back of her neck.

The man restraining her held a force pike, the setting for the power on the weapon had been lowered to its lowest setting as not to fully damage her ability to "preform". Workers around her moved as though they were worker bees. Flying around the room and making sure everything was just perfect. The man holding her back raised his hand and struck Zahearah in the back of the head, causing her to fall forward but her hands caught herself just before her face hit the ground. This infuriated the feline.

Once more she pushed the hair back from her face and gave the revolting man a dirty look. Her stomach flipped as she caught a whiff of his, truly disgusting, hot breath. It was apparent to her that he did not have access to a decent tooth brush and tooth paste. She thought to herself how he needed to be dipped into a vat of pure soap and warm water. Than maybe, just maybe, he would not grime buried under every nook and carny of his body. Zahearah could go on all night about how much her handler revolted her. His voice was low and rusty and his grammar was not the best. Perhaps he not only lacked dental work but also a proper education.

"If you'ont get out ther right now they gon skin bof of us cats."

In that moment she managed to gather as much saliva she could in her mouth and spit right on his dusty sandals. A large smirk grew on her lips and she couldn't even help but to softly chuckle at the men around her who gawked at the disrespect. His face grew quite red as he looked around to see the workers had also begun to snicker behind his ears. In desperation to earn the respect back he lifted the force pike and struck her with it. The electricity sent shivers of pain down to her tail bone. Almost immediately she shifted into her large feline form and her body flopped around the floor like a fish out of water.

Every limb twitched as she tried to gain control of her body but it just was not coming to her. The pain left tingles through out her body. Her handler thought it was hilarious sight to see but the works remained silent, only to continue their mindless work. Eventually within the third minute her body stopped it's movements and her muscles loosened so she could move on her own. Her chest rose and fell quickly and in a few seconds it would return to it's normal pattern. This was the second time this night he used the weapon against her.

Though if you really thought about it she deserved it for the disrespect. The other time he used the electricity against her was when she threw the processed food he offered to her earlier.

Struggling, the helped herself back on her paws. Her long rough tongue rolled out her mouth as she tried to catch her breath. Then the waves of heat began to come back to her, making her sweat an unbearable amount. Still with a grin on his face he walked over to the stage entrance and yanked on the thick chain around her neck. At first she was reluctant, her thick claws digging into the dirty ground but she forced herself to get up. Her fur was practically standing up so a man rushed over and feverishly combed her pelt down.

Zahearah's head hung low as she entered the platform. Her orange eyes looked into the crowd as she did for a glimmer of hope but like always, there was none. The only graceful tail behind her swished in quick motions, as sign of anger. Slowly she sat down, the handler took a long prod and placed it under her heavy head, lifting it up as to show everyone what they had already seen. He was trying to make her look like a regal beast but they had practically beaten it out of her.

Out of her lips came a low cry, to the idiots in the crowd they took it as a growl and all leaned forward hesitantly as though she was going to speak to them or do a trick. To others it was a beast's desperate cry for help. Zahearah then sent out a lower rumble that racked her throat. Her large ears were pinned down to the back of her thick skull but every once and a while they would lift to hear voices among the crowd. There was the same boring faces in front of her. Both of her ears picked up as her handler came in with his introduction. Every few sentences he would break from the mic and cough. "Dis is all what ye came to sees folks! Da majesticul beasty from the jungles Felucia!" The crowd rooted for him to continue, they were so unintelligent in her eyes, every single brain cell was washed out by some sort of drug.

"Now who here wants ta touch da furry bastard!?" Several drunken men practically fell on the stage, raising their hands in order to be chosen.

[member="Ishmael Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

The former Knight did not notice this immediately, most likely due to the uniform nature of his vessel and its crew...but his meditations had produced a rather jarring side effect. It was not anything outlandish, nor worth mentioning to a soul...but it was something that caused Ishmael to blink rapidly when it hit him. Much akin to a young man receiving an updated pair of glasses, the new Inquisitor was a touch more...sensitive. It was as if the Force was allowing him to see through a different lense.

At first, settling down in the cantina did not produce an immediate result. As such, Ishmael had enough time to wave over a server and procure a drink. Water, of course, as he was literally in the middle of a mission. He then paid the young woman, raised the cup to his lips, and indulged in a sip. Bam. That is when it hit him like a freight train. A tsunami of sensation crashed down upon his psyche mightily, allowing him to witness the unseen cacophony of emotion. Some might call this Empathy...Ishmael thought it was a headache.

Sputtering from the influx, the Inquisitor choked down his sip and lowered his cup as calmly as he could. After all, he did not want to draw any undue attention to himself; especially since he was simply observing the cantina for the moment. Once the beverage had settled upon the table, Ishmael reached for his head and gently rubbed his temples. He hoped that the waves of empathy would pass quickly, for he could literally feel the lunacy occurring around him.

Feelings of lust. Feelings of intoxication. Yet underneath it all was Stress. Heaps of it. No surprise, for who comes to a cantina because they're perfectly happy?

As a result, Ishmael attempted to distract himself. He hoped that it wouldn't take long for his head to settle, so he looked again to the stage in the meantime. It was deplorable what the man was doing: parading a feline around before drunken patrons. Even worse still...he was attempting to egg on those customers: an attempt to see who had the stones to pet the chained beast before them. Now, normally, Ishmael would not interfere. Normally he would ignore the plight of the feline and focus solely upon the mission at hand...no matter how beneath him it was.

But right now? He was thinking...nay, feeling differently.

Maybe it was because the distress of the feline rippled through the Force. Maybe it was because her plight was a beacon that sang louder than the drunken drivel. Maybe it was just a result of having his head in a weird place right now...but Ishmael decided to care. His gaze slid down from the greasy brute holding her hostage until he met her eyes. Piercing. Orange. Fierce. There had to be some fight left in that creature, especially with eyes like those.

I doubt you'll understand a word I'm saying...but how would you like to get your claws into that bastard?

It wasn't an eloquent introduction, but it sure as hell was something more than drunken cheers. The former Knight had opened his mind and reached out: a rather simple display of telepathy. His words, although uttered as clear as day in the psyche of the receiver, would be lost to those all around. For all intents and purposes, Ishmael hadn't physically said anything.

Assuming that you do understand, I'm sitting in the back. Don't look and make it obvious of course. I can help you out. Get you a little payback.

If the feline did understand, then she wouldn't be surprised at what happened next. If she didn't, well, then she would be greeted by the sight of one rather bold volunteer. You see, only the drunks were dumb enough to clamber forward in an attempt to pet the feline. The sober folks were...well...sober. You couldn't pay the average Joe to step up and pet a wild cat. Kark no. But here came Ishmael. He rose from his booth without a word and sauntered over to the stage.

The drunks? Well, they made room. Half because he shoved and half because they were too far gone to keep balance long enough to be in the way. In but a moment's time, the Inquisitor stood before the rotten, accented brute and offered a rather snide grin.

"I'm game. Let me touch the 'furry bastard."

[member="Zahearah"]

 

[Zaherah]

She was so accustom to the filthy hands reaching towards her and grabbing onto her thick pelt. When she was introduced into the idea of having hands poke and prod her body for entertainment she was nothing but a cub. It did not bother her as much because the crowds were gentle in fear that they might injury the display. The older she grew the rougher the interactions got. She begun to retaliate and show displays of dominance and fury but that only riled the crowd even more, it got their adrenaline rushing. Though there was one point where she had to give in and accept it, there was not much she could do.

Of course she could reach forward and remove their hands but that also meant she'd get beaten half to death after the show. The worst thing two audience members had done to her was removing at least two whisker while another grabbed her ear and have it quite a twist. Her ears were quite sensitive and one someone gets a hold of it yanks and turn it the only thing you can do is scrub your head on the ground and hope that the weight of your skull can release their grip. There was something in her that told her this show would be different. Something big was going to happen but she could not yet target what it was, perhaps just a feeling.

Zahearah's head was just out of reach of the filthy hands swatted for her face. The soft flesh that had concealed her talon-like teeth lifted and she turned her nose up at the people. They started to get closer and closer, defensively the fur along her spine rose and she lifted her head so they could not touch her. That's when she heard him. No one had spoken to her like this before, especially not about the subject the man spoke on. Quickly her ears stood straight up and forward. It was not like a voice everyone else could hear but it was something way more than that. He instructed her not to look in his direction,

it took every ounce of her to battle her curiosity and have her line of sight focused on the crowd. Zahearah felt like she could leap out of her fur, this could actually be her chance at freedom. Hopefully this man knew what he was doing. Zahearah picked up the voice again but this time it was no longer noise that sounded only in hear ears but the rest of the crowd heard it. Now it was the appropriate time for her to get a good look at the man who offered her freedom.

Zahearah turned her large head to the side to see behind her and view the man. He ranged about the same height as she was in her human form, perhaps he had an inch on her or she did him. His skin was darker than hers and his hair in a long dreaded fashion as she had seen many times before. Tension in the crowd begun to build as he accepted the challenge and would get face to face with the oversized feline. Slowly she got up and turned around to look him in the eyes, the crowd grew quiet.

"What a brave fellow we got cheer.." Her handler spoke softly into the mic.

When she was standing her eyes met at least a few inches above his head. Gradually her orange eyes came in contact with his. She could practically hear the fluttering heart beats around her, the music had came to a complete halt. Everyone waited for him to reach forward and make a move.

[member="Ishmael Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

As the saying went: the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

It was such a divine contrast to the norm: a sober volunteer. It was such a deviation from the status quo that silence settled over the cantina. A lesser man would have been unnerved by the spontaneous hush that washed over the patrons...but the former Knight had seen worse. Having mouthed off to the "seven day Emperor" and lived to tell the tale...it was going to take a lot more than a feline and silence to shake his resolve. So, Ishmael stared.

He looked deep into the eyes of the feline and offered a warm smile. It was a gesture meant to say: "I mean you absolutely no harm." Perhaps if the beast understood...perhaps if it could read his intentions, she would come to believe this fact. If not, well, there was bacta and cybernetics for a reason.

"Don't be afraid." came his voice: a whisper of telepathy meant to graze her psyche.

Now, before the Inquisitor decided to seize the moment of truth, there were a few final observations to make. The "gracious" host held the feline at bay with a single chain that was connected to a collar. Ishmael's first instinct was to burn it...singe the metal with his specialty to the point where it was too hot to bear. Through this, the grasp would be released and the feline would be free to get some semblance of revenge. However. That would not do.

It would draw too much attention to the Inquisitor...who had sworn to keep his power and identity as covert as possible. He took an oath to serve the Imperium from the shadows, and such a display would jeopardize the mission...and possibly the budding nation as a whole. So, Ishmael had to think on his toes and devise something that would work...but also maintain his cover. He briefly looked to the host...and past him. There was a door to the backstage area, and Ishmael could scarcely make out some boots from where he was standing.

There were more men to factor into this play.

Drawing a breath, the former Knight took a gander at what was above their heads...and therein laid salvation. A rather grimy fixture of lights provided illumination for the spectacle below. With but an elementary tug via the Force, it would plummet to the ground below. It would...oh yeah, that would work.

"I'm going to make the light fall. Hope you're ready."

Now came the moment of truth. Ishmael boldly stretched forth his hand and placed it upon the feline's cheek. He gave the fur underneath his fingers a gentle rub, all the while maintaining his smile. At the same time, something was in play. The fixture above groaned, as if rust and age were finally taking their toll. It creaked. It whined. It fell with one hell of a clatter. The host was about to comment on the fact that the feline had yet to tear Ishmael's arm off...when the fixture collided rather soundly off his skull.

He was dead...or bound for one heck of a headache. Either way, he fell to the ground, the microphone and chain flying free from his grasp. The men backstage suddenly had a large, sparking obstacle before them...and a recently liberated feline as well. Ishmael grinned. He could feel the tension in the crowd skyrocket. He could feel their panic rising.

"Go get 'em.

[member="Zahearah"]

 

[Zaherah]

The fur on her back was still risen, there was no way she could tell if he was actually capable of liberating her so it was best if she stayed on high alert just to be safe. Zahearah heard his voice fill her head once more, instructing her not to fear. Slowly the pelt along her spin begun to lower but not completely. So many questions racked her brain. Could this man actually get her out of here? Not to mention, how could she trust he wouldn't just put her in another ring of trade? Zahearah knew better than to fully trust this stranger, there was no telling what he wanted with her because one does not simply free a slave just because they want to.

At least that is what she believed. A bone in her body wanted to snap at his hand but she didn't, something was aching in her stomach that told her not to. For once she would actually listen to her consonance. Zahearah's eyes locked onto his, he was not going to leave her line of sight. Especially if there was a chance he'd be her one way ticket out of here. Just as he said, the light had fallen, and it was exactly where she wanted it.

Without hesitation she threw the front of her body back and her chain was no longer restraining her. Her back feet began to slowly peddle backwards and her head quickly looked to the sides of her, perhaps they were all too drunk to comprehend what was happening or frozen by fear. Either way she was going to make sure they did not get in her way. Zahearah glanced back at the man who freed her and then back at the crowd, which was growing fewer and fewer in size. Her ears perked up as the men backstage had caught her attention.

She was fearful that if she took this time to exact revenge he would leave her to her own devices but, this was something she needed to do. Zahearah knew that the largest man, the one that was no buried beneath a ceiling lighting, was the one that held the key to her collar but she needed to rid the area of any sign of retaliation. Four men stood before her. It was rather odd that they did not have any weapons but she was not complaining. Quickly she lunged forward, unsheathing her hidden talons and completely demolishing the first man. Her teeth bit into his warm flesh as they both crashed to the ground has he screamed for aid that was not going to make it in time.

He went rather fast, one down and only three to go. By then her heart beat in her ears trumped the screams swirling around her to the point where her steady breath and quick heart beat was all she heard. The three men left began to scramble but she was not going to let them escape her fierce fury. Her gate was long and quick, only a few paw steps and she was already extending her large paws to smack one down like a fly. Her right paw crashed into the side of his skull, sending him in the opposite direction when he was met by her left paw. A regular feline's swipe can deliver a crushing blow to break bone. Imagine that tripled and that's what this man was getting from Zahearah. The least thing he would earn was a concussion but there was no doubt in her mind his skull was cracked as he lay there motionless on the concrete.

Not to mention her pure anger was enough to fuel the energy and power that was being absorbed in her attacks.

Leaping over his body she went in for the second one. He was hiding behind a corner because he knew there was no where else to go. The stampede at the exit was too much for anyone to get through. Gracefully she leaped on top of the counter with ease. The metal chain dragged along the granite. When she got close enough she leaped on him, her over all size could barely fit back there but if she managed to move enough bottles and equipment out the way she could reach him. He cowered in fear but they both knew it was over for him. Zahearah opened her jaw and slammed it shut. She missed his face but the second time she wouldn't, she hit the mark.

After completely demolishing that man past recognition she began to struggle to get over the bar. Her front paws came over the side and grasped the end and the she managed to haul herself out of there. It was quite a tight squeeze. After popping herself out of that there was one man left for her to get. He had made a circle and returned to the stage area and tried to make a quick get away out the back door but she was not going to allow that to happen.

With the heavy chain dragging behind her she picked up speed fairly quick enough. He reached for the door and she leaped. They both crashed into the wall but Zahearah's body was thick and it only jarred her for a second. She was not thinking straight, after all when you can get your first taste at revenge, it was like madness coursed her brain. Practically unhinging her jaw she managed to fit his head into her mouth, to be fair he was a small man, and she forced it to the back of her mouth so he would be positioned on her back morels for ample pressure.

You know how it went from there..

She released the mess, her chest heaving and her mouth dripping with her victims blood. Her long rough tongue came up and licked her mouth. Human blood was not her favorite. Zahearah looked behind her, the facility had practically cleared out within a matter of minutes. The stench of blood reeked and stained an unpleasant smell on her black coat. Without giving it a second thought, she shifted into her human-like form. Her hands and almost the rest of her body was damp from crimson liquid that was not her own but it would crust quickly.

[member="Ishmael Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

In that moment, the a spark of life exploded into being. It rippled throughout the piercing gaze of the feline, as if an ancient instinct had stirred. The collapse of the light...the promised liberation...had granted the beast an opportunity. In this instant, she was no longer the pet that was prodded and paraded for the amusement of drunken patrons. She was no longer an object to be locked in cramped cages and ferried from poodoo-hole to poodoo-hole. No, she was a huntress, strong and true; and it was time that her handlers learned that the hard way.

When she pounced upon the first unfortunate soul, the sheer terror residing inside of each patron reached a fever pitch. Sober or otherwise, all had enough common sense not to want to be in the same general vicinity as a wild feline. What's more, this was Tattooine. There was no hope of "authorities" swooping in to save the day, nor nosy Jedi attempting to settle the situation. Out here, in the practically lawless South, it was either get the kark out of the cantina or risk being the next snack for the feline.

So, amidst cries of panic and a thunderous stampede of rapid footsteps did Ishmael stand. It was rather amusing to see them go...but it was even more enthralling to watch the huntress do her work. He could feel the instinct driving her forward. Her anger was as boundless as the ocean. Her thirst for their blood was unending. She was fueled by so much...and that is when Ishmael realised something about her. It seemed as though the longer she went on her rampage...the louder the Force was trying to tell him something.

Of all the things he could feel coming from her, he could now clearly perceive the Darkness at work.

Interesting. he thought...before taking a moment to realize the mess he had made. Just as the feline rounded on the final handler, Ishmael reached up to the comm situated in his ear. [ "Lead to Venom. The well is dry on my end." ] he said, making a mental note to clear the air with his subordinates later. There was no doubt in his mind that they would return with something worthy of the Imperium's time. So, with that "loose" end handled, Ishmael returned his attention to the feline who had literally cleared the cantina.

"There's more to you, isn't there?" he began, electing his words very carefully. Yes, he was responsible for affording her a literal buffet of revenge. Yes, he was absolutely certain that she was sensitive. But did that mean sentience? Or was she simply a rare breed of feline that could commune with the Force? Until those questions were answered, Ishmael had to play it carefully...lest he end up being the cherry on top of her murderous sundae.

"I'm certain you understand me at this point...But confirmation would be nice. Give me a sign, if you would."

[member="Zahearah"]

 

[Zaherah]

She hovered over the carcass for a second. The adrenaline pumping through her veins, an dark cooing rumbling in her heart and told her continue on her war path. Perhaps it was mixture blind rage and a swirl of bitter tasting of revenge blending in her head. Within a matter of seconds she snapped out of her freedom-induced trance. Zahearah was still in her feline form, a bit hesitant of exposing herself. This man had saved her life. She would be forever grateful whether she expressed it or not. She shifted and reveled the mess of a woman that was she. Zahearah's chest rose and fell quickly, finally able to catch her breath. Her attire had man in contact and consisted of stained shorts and a undershirt but most of her body was wrapped up in a rough texture, similar to that of bandages. Really the only areas that were exposed were her shoulders, upper thighs. The bottoms of her feet were padded so she did not require footwear.

Zahearah lifted up her hand to speak and even opened her mouth but nothing had came out. She was simply out of breath, in a few seconds she'd be able to speak. Before she could do that there was one more thing she needed to do, remove the metal around her throat. The handler that had been crushed but the light fixture was the one that held what she wanted. Turning from the man she walked over to the mangled body and squatted down next to him, reached into his pocket and pulling out the iron. She placed the key in and pushing it the last inch it gave a hissing sound and the collar clicked off and fell to the ground.

She reached up and placed both of her dirty hands around her neck, the feline had never been so satisfied to feel her on throat. Closing her eyes she took in a deep breath and then turned around to introduce herself to the man. "Zahearah is the name my father gave me. I can't remember my last." There was a decent amount of area between the two. That's when she felt it, a wound. The adrenaline that once hid the deep slash on the right side of her body that reached from the middle of her torso down to her hip. Her blind anger could have possibly over looked the fact that one of the handlers was armed with his weapon of choice.

Not to mention the fact that half her body was covered in dark blood that was not hers and distracted from the liquid that seeped through her fabric. She had begun to lose more blood then she thought possible. Within a matter of seconds her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. The floor began to spin out of control, she reached over and placed her bloodied hand against the wall in an attempt to regain balance. Her tongue ran over her teeth as she tried to gather as much saliva as she could, her mouth was starting to feel like the dry surface of Halm.

Dehydration was quick to kick in and not to mention the sheer amount of pain radiating from her side.

[member="Ravager"]