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Emissary Of A Muggle

][ A B S O L U T I O N ][

This would be quite the little mission, from the looks of this place.

It was quite the sight to behold. Beautiful in even the most unconventional of ways, at least to him. The architecture was absolutely astonishing and just as impressive. This metropolis amongst the strident wind and bone-breaking trek through the deep snow that covered the ground. He'd said it time and time again, swore upon it even.

The cold did not suit him or his delicate features.

His Master certainly knew this, he had expressed it many times at his own insignificant risk. It seems that was precisely the reason Inon had been sent on this little assignment instead of one of the other two Vassals. But, he knew why he specifically had been sent. Envy was too quick to action, she never thought of how her words or actions affected any given situation. All she cared for was that formidable porcelain beauty of hers.

Meanwhile, Wrath was too much of a brute, in all definitions of the word. He was large in stature and mass, and he was also scarcely clothed regardless of where he ventured. That isn't the best image to portray to someone Voracitos thought of as a potential interest. On the other side, the Savant Wrath was also a combative individual. Scrappy, perhaps, was a better word to describe the Devaronian. He knew nothing of the art and power of words.

Lust, however, was a persuasive and, at times, compromising individual. His demeanor was a balanced mixture of Envy and Wrath, of observation and action. His was a hushed and implied authority. It bled and oozed from him in a similar and smaller fashion than the nausea induced by being in the proximity of his Lord. Unequally balanced were his looks. He was inhuman in the esteem of his daunting appearance. That was one of the many tools at his disposal that he knew would likely be useless on this frostbitten world.

The creature he been sent to speak to was the foil of him, as far as appearance went. A monster at first glance, an intriguing one if the Sith Lord took a liking in the male. How anyone of his species could be considered female was beyond Lust. Not that he was beyond asking, moreso that he couldn't inquire about it with his lips chapped and sticking together as they were. But, he likely wouldn't ask. It may seem rude to the beast named [member="Tathra Khaeus"]. Or should he be referred to as "The Matador"? That seemed to be an alias of his, from what Inon gathered of the Dravalan.

Of course, his slight analyzation of the task at hand was cut short by the guards that appeared in front of him. It seemed he'd reached his destination without so much as thinking of the place he was headed. Lovely. They stepped towards the man, raising their guns to signal him to halt in his labored tracks. The one to his left spoke in a near robotic voice, void of all semblance of a sentient tone. "Stand back. What is your business here, boy?"

Lust raised a thick, black eyebrow. Boy? Certainly the guard wasn't serious. He was taken aback as he planted his feet further into the snow. He made a few tsk sounds as his bloody green eyes bored into the eyes of the man, thing... sentry that ordered him to move back more. His head of loose curls cocked to the right and he forced his lips into a tight, sadistic little grin that may as well have been stitched on as his permanent expression.

His voice was smooth and melodic though his throat clawed at itself with thousands of jagged teeth as he breathed and erupted into dismay as he cleared his throat. A shame these ones were so unversed in visitors that they threatened all who came along. Quite the detrimental mistake on their part.

"I've come to speak with a man known as Tathra Khaeus. Would you kindly inform him that Lust has come to visit him? He will recognize th name. If not, tell him that Lust is an extension of a Darth Voracitos here to speak with him about a plan regarding his people."

The other guard, seemed to comply with a slow nod and gesture towards his companion to head inside to inform the monster of Lust's arrival. The robotic sentinel gingerly eased out of his defensive stance and drop his weapon back to a sort of patrol angle approximately three inches from his armor. He turned to fully face the apparent visitor as the opposite soldier ran indoors, into the goliath of a durasteel structure. Whoever this Tathra was, he may be important enough to require extra protection as Lust had no problems getting through the city's gates. Another item to note.

He stood outside, leaning on a frost covered rail in his tuxedo and cloak, waiting. The snow peppered itself in his midnight locks as he glanced up briefly. His eyes closed in momentary mediation as the guard stared at him in a rather puzzled manner, no doubt. He had to do something to pass the time by, do or think of something to dismiss to cold that vied for his agonized attention.

He hoped that the man wouldn't be long in retrieving and delivering his answer.

​A planet, conquered and reconstructed from the ground up by these hands. Well, not those ones. But something of the past, no longer in direct control of any government. But, forever changed. Still, they had great sway here, those that remained. Tathra Khaeus still had resources, pull on what used to be his territory. But, he had a different calling as of late. The Dravalan, his mother-race; were on the brink of extinction. A self imposed genocide caused by their primitive nature and solitary social lives. Doomed to failure.

​However, Tathra Khaeus had made the impossible quite reachable before. Having connections helped with that, and being nearly a century old helped with connections. One of which was Darth Voracitos, A sickly being, plump and weak yet competent in another manner, information. No doubt, that way exactly what the notification on his holo-screen was indicating. That the Sith's informant had arrived, no doubt carrying some semblance of what he had requested from Voracitos.

​A mound of rock and flesh dashed over the holo-screen, crimson and black fingers clung in the shade of the towering form as his hand fell against the armrest of the chair in the centre of the room as he pushed himself up, the mountain of meat and muscle stood a little bit over eight feet in height. His body was mutated and thick with muscle, however not lacking in fat reserve, his body was built entirely for practicality rather than some shallow chauvinism. His chest and legs were covered in metal, encased in laminate ceramic plates of armour, guided up and around the base of his neck. His arms, were free and massive; too mutated and strange in their brooding and painful shape to be properly encased in any form of armour.

​The room around him was dull in décor, a morose shade of khaki dotted some intricate Dravalan markings on the floor; besides from that, the room was varying shades of brown, dimly lit and with several hidden doors in the darker corners of the room. There were four individuals, hanging back in the dark as they went about their own business. His Promethean Guard.

​He asked that they remain within that room, intending on not appearing too overbearing to their guest. Tathra exited via a large pair of doors at the end of the room, entering a long corridor like platform that hung above the entrance to the building, on either side a staircase was present for visitors to access the upper level. The titan placed his hands on the barristers as he viewed a singular Guard leading Voracitos' informant into the building.

It was one of his subservient Sih, @Inon. Tall for a human, but no doubt with their unbecoming soft features. None of which he could see himself, like any Dravalan, Tathra could only see the heat of his flesh; how the cold had caused his blood to run a little faster; how heat buckled at his chest and sunk into his feet now that he was inside from the cold. A mound of feeble flesh and blood, like any fleshling.

​"Come." ​His voice came, weighted and deep, but certain. He raised his head; gesturing for the informant to climb the steps to him as Tathra moved away from his reclined position on the railings, moving from the sight of his guest.