Yidhra
Mars Tsosûtiyakûtiyuska
"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"]
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"]