From the grave

[Yidhra]

"Fragging sons of bitches!"

Profanities spilled liberally from lips entirely too pretty to be uttering such words, but their owner paid little heed to propriety as she continued to shove garbage out of her way. Another dumpster blocked the street when she turned the corner, but the Epicanthix was on a warpath, and the metal box succumbed with a painful squeal as the tall woman squeezed her fist. If anybody were around to witness her display of power, they'd immediately have her pegged for a Force user, but the lower sectors of the massive urban complex of Vorzyd V were sparsely populated. The rare dweller was usually an opportunistic scavenger, but those never lived long enough to tell their buddies on the surface of the crazy woman living in the bowels of the city.

"Kriffing Mandis," the lunatic in question growled through her teeth and swept her messy dreadlocks from her forehead with an offhand flick of her wrist. The mane was long now, and — depending on who you asked — harbored at least twenty species of bugs. Still, what else was there to expect, considering the once flawless woman had spent the last decade below the habitable level of the complex, claiming the squalid streets as her own.

But her era of dominion came to an abrupt end when the Mandalorian fleet took the planet by force, subjugating the populace and undertaking the extremely difficult — if commendable — task of taking out the trash. To say that the squads sent into the deep were surprised to find her there would be a severe understatement, especially since none returned to recount the tale of their encounter. Despite the years of laying low, the once proud Sith hadn't let her skills decay; if anything, the hostile environment had honed her into a vessel that mercilessly visited death upon any and all that would dare intrude on her territory.

Sadly, even her rage and ability were no match for the ever-increasing number of Mandalorian soldiers who kept canvassing the streets, demolishing her hideouts one by one. Today, she had decided to end this game of tabaga and vrelt and return to known space. After all, she wasn't obtuse in any sense of the word, and she maintained enough connection to the Force to know when it was trying to tell her something.

Irina Tyvalla smashed the last obstacle in her way and burst out of the smog with a hairflip worthy of a Twi'Lekk dancer. Well, except for the smell. And the clothing. And maybe the murderous glare? Then again, the Epicanthix couldn't care less for such matters; just a few meters in front of her there was an unsuspecting patrol of Mandis, all of them facing straight ahead and away from the huntress behind them. The woman grinned maniacally and fished her precious weapon out of the tatters one could generously call robes, then flexed her powerful muscles and launched herself at the men from her perch on a ruined building.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

In the society of the Mandalorians, each and every vod had a role to play. Some clawed their way from the bottom and earned positions of leadership, whilst others were satisfied with taking orders. For Isley Verd, his place was somewhere in the middle. Ranked as a Rally Master, the durasteel-clad warrior had enough authority to command a solid chunk of his fellows without issue. However, when a Field Marshal ordered that Vorzyd be patrolled and its streets cleansed of remnant rebels...one simply had to obey.

Sure, there were literally one million things that the Mandalorian would much rather be doing, but orders were orders.

As such, Isley found himself in the bowels of what he considered the slums. During the annexation of the world, this particular portion of the city had been relatively untouched by the fighting. Although littered with garbage and riff-raff, the Slums were in far better shape than the remainder of the world; for Force-born wildfires and warfare had scarred its "nicer" infrastructure to the core. In light of this, those who refused to submit to the rule of the Mandalorians had deemed the Slums as their new hovel. They hoped to lick their wounds and rebel in the shadows...

But Isley wasn't having any of that today.

Having spent a few hours on patrol, the Mandalorian and his duo of subordinates had faced down a handful of rebel fighters. They, like all others who dared to rebel against the Manda'lor, were sent to the afterlife in a hail of blasterfire. Thankfully enough, the patrol was nearing the conclusion of its assigned duties; and Isley honestly couldn't wait. He felt utterly disgusting walking around the Slums and eagerly awaited the opportunity to bathe. Of course, all that stood between him and the sensation of feeling clean was less than a kilometer of ground to cover.

"C'mon vode," he began, "let's wrap this up."

Sounding their affirmation in the positive, the duo continued to flank their superior as they walked along the scummy streets. Seconds turned into minutes...and it seemed as though they would conclude their patrol without another incident. However, just as the thought weaseled its way into Isley's mind, a familiar sound echoed from an adjacent alleyway. Snap. Hiss. The ignition of lightsabers caused the Mandalorian's instincts to flare. Reaching for his utility belt, the fingers of his dominant hand coiled about his own lightsaber before wrenching it free.

Yet, the reality of being tired prevented him from responding as quickly as he would normally.

Crimson archs of wrath characterized the assailant's movements...and down fell a pair of good, Mandalorian soldiers. Impaled through their visors, the two uttered only the lightest gurgles before crumpling to the earth. Bitter wrath consumed the Mandalorian in that instant, spurning him to command the Force to his whim. Forward his offhand thrust, palm open, to usher in an explosion of telekinetic might. He pushed against his assailant as hard as he could, aiming for her to be hurled back into a pile of adjacent filth.

"Who ar-" he began, before witnessing the hue of his opponent's sabers. Red. The very same hue as his own. That meant only one thing...

"Sith."

[member="Irina Tyvalla"]

 

[Yidhra]

With a feral snarl more characteristic of a zakkeg than a humanoid, Irina cut down the escorts before they even realized they were under attack. Their leader, however, proved to sing an altogether different tune; the remaining Mandi pivoted on the spot and unleashed a shockwave of Force against the crouching woman, blasting her out of melee range. The former Sith was caught completely by surprise, her reaction just a little too late, and the push flung her through the air. Still, she was no inexperienced acolyte; while lacking in formal training, perhaps, Irina had always been more than willing to carve her own way, be it through steel or bone.

She turned around in the air to land on her feet — not unlike a cat, only much bigger and far, far more dangerous — baring her teeth at her quarry as she did so. Her instincts were that of an animal, but the mind driving the admittedly crazy vessel was still shrewd, albeit in its own way. Her silver eyes widened a bit as they recognized the familiar weapon in his hand. What truly shook her out of her predatory stance was its color, though, for the hue of a Laigrek's eye was an unmistakable, unambiguous and, to Irina, deeply intimate sign.

"Sith," she echoed the Mandalorian, suddenly less convinced that his loyalties lay only with the warrior clan. A moment of confusion flickered across her face, but the Epicanthix smothered the reaction and called out in a harsher tone.

"The Sith empire was overthrown more than a decade ago! Who the hell do you think you are, parading around with that sword?" She might have calmed a bit, but the woman was nowhere near stable. "Do you think it some sort of trophy? Spoils of war?" her voice took on a derisive quality that was further underscored by the jeering smirk that curled her lips. "Careful, or you might cut yourself with that, boy. It's not a toy," she extended her free hand in an overly friendly gesture. "Give it here, and I might let you live."

Before the last word left her mouth, though, the woman curled her fingers backward, only she was not beckoning; the motion was quick and harsh, fraught with malice. A cruel smile blossomed on her hauntingly beautiful face as she yanked the Mandi's head towards his own weapon. That ought to teach him not to play with things he didn't understand.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

The Mandalorian could already tell the obvious: the Sith before him was not going down without a fight...and a large part of him was glad. His brothers and sisters of the United Clans were not always so accepting of Isley's Force-wielding methods. Sure, there were others of their ilk that wielded the Force, but not a single one utilized the Dark Side as his weapon. In light of potential...complications...Isley had elected to keep the majority of his abilities a secret. He utilized the basics, but never flexed his muscles as much as he would have liked. Yet here was an opportunity...an excessively pretty (yet grimy) opportunity...to cut loose and have fun.

However, before the Mandalorian could bring out the fireworks, his opponent said something that confused him. She brought up the old Sith Empire...as if she didn't know about the One Sith currently wreaking havoc upon the Republic. And, she obviously didn't know that before her stood a Sith Lord...one draped in durasteel and a T-Visor. Lofting a brow, Isley stood fast and listened to the taunts. Her manner of speaking...her sarcasm...it was all vastly familiar. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd have labeled this as deja vu.

Perhaps they had crossed paths during the era of the Old Sith Empire?

However, once the taunts had concluded, the Mandalorian felt a tug upon his person. His head descended swiftly, without his consent, poised to collide with his own lightsaber. At other times, when Beskar was the metal utilized in his armor's construction, he would not have worried about such offenses. However, now was not such a time. A flourish of the saber saw his head out of harm's way; and it was quite the fancy maneuver if he did say so himself.

With composure regained, the Mandalorian reached deep into the recesses of his mind. Negativity was harnessed. Darkness was summoned...and when it was all said and done Isley's hand rose instinctively. Rage arched from the Mandalorian's fingertips, manifested as a torrent of lightning. This was something that the average Mandalorian would not be able to achieve. "This saber is my own, forged by my own hands." he began, specifically aiming the lightning at that pretty little face. "I think that I am parading around, slaughtering rebels with it. But the flesh of a...gutter Sith...such as yourself will suffice for now. Now then, why don't you die for me, hmm?"

 

[Yidhra]

How the Mandi had been able to dodge that Irina didn't know, and neither did she have time to question it as the man replied with words she couldn't quite understand. There was sincerity in his voice, sincerity and conviction, which meant that he was either speaking the truth or so far gone off the deep end that he actually believed himself a Sith.

"As if," the epicanthix spat with venom in her voice, going with the more plausible of the two options.

Before any other, more eloquent insults could be strung after that derisive one-line, though, a most odd thing happened. Well, not so much odd as it was extremely unpleasant. Annoying, even. Some might go so far as to say frustrating.

The sudden wave of hatred crushed against her mind mere moments before his hand poised to strike at her, and Irina was enough of an animal to recognize a pending attack when she saw one. She dropped to her knees as quick as a Hutt stripper, yanking on his legs with the Force even as some of her dreadlocks were fried by the lightning arcing from his fingers. She'd have time to ponder the unusual level of skill and strength in this particular Mandi after she was done feeding the man his own words.

With any luck, the Force-wielding mercenary would tumble straight on his back, aided by the considerable weight of his armor and gravity itself. And once he was prone, Irina would be upon him like a wild beast.

Gutter Sith, indeed.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

In this moment, the truth of the matter would be revealed. The man behind the visor, the Mandalorian battling before her, wielded the Dark Side just as she. This lesson would be learned the hard way...

Only a mere moment after Isley had projected lightning from the tips of his fingers did the reaction of the wild woman commence. Swift as can be, she evaded the Forceborn wrath before attempting to retaliate. The Mandalorian could feel the Force succumb to her whims. He could feel its might working against him...Yet there was a difference between her current and former targets. While it was one thing to target the head, which was not protected by the alchemized works of Isley's hands, it was another entirely to attack the body.

For underneath the plates of his armor was a bodyglove composed of Terentatek hide. Treated with alchemy, this garment was specifically designed to laugh in the face of telekinetics; and as such Isley did not tumble to the earth. In fact, he barely moved back a step; and grinned from behind his visor. "Is that the best you can muster?" came the well-deserved taunt. However, before he so much as finished his sentence, his wrath continued all the more. Lightning blasted from his fingertips, attempting to bring the wild Sith to her knees.

"Now tell me, what's a gutter Sith like yourself doing on my rock?!"

[member="Irina Tyvalla"]