Mending A Tear [Darth Metus/Isley Verd]

[Tanomas Graf]

"We were right about one thing, the negotiations were short."

The tired voice of Tanomas Graf lightly echoed in the small room, as the old man leaned into the light radiating from the overhead lamp hanging above the table, piercing the surrounding dimness, and illuminated his features; His face was still as wrinkled as ever and his pearly white beard seemed even brighter.

Music, albeit deafened by the walls, was still loud enough to be heard in the backroom of the cantina, which was located on a neutral planet between Onderon and Kamino. Graf's chocolate eyes observed [member="Darth Metus"], taking a long drink of a large glass of brandy. "Mand'alor the Exiled might have attempted to kill my former admiral, but all of that can be forgotten, given the circumstances and recent treason committed by his target." He murmured lightly.

"What happened on Myrkr was never sanctioned nor planned, intelligence found out he had a connection with one Keira Ticon, but she did not provoke the bombing, a third party did." Tanomas chewed on "With that, and the theft of the Imperial First Fleet, as well as the subsequent creation of the 'Empire of the Hand'. I think it's safe to say we've been set against each other from the start."

He downed his drink, and pressed a button, requesting service. "I suggest the Empire and the Mando'ade start anew; Expunge Hypori, Myrkr, and Monastery. We can combine our efforts to end the man who murdered both of our people, I've already started by putting a two billion credit bounty on him, his fleet, and his 'Empire'." Graf informed, sliding a small poster across the murky table, watching for a reaction from the Sith Lord.

 

[Malok]

A sea of brown swirled about, conducted by the motion of glass. Clutched was its delicate form by a gloved hand, which gingerly moved in an aloof circle. One might say that it moved in tandem to the muffled bass which thundered against the walls. Others might say that it moved to its own silent beat. Whichever the case, a pair of sulfur eyes were transfixed upon the liquid. They watched its dance within the glass...until the accented voice began.

Ah. Mykyr. Monastery. Hypori. Blood had been spilt. Mandalorian lives lost. Imperial lives lost. These were the ingredients for a bitter conflict that neither side, admittedly, could afford. The Mandalorians were still wounded. Still displaced. And the Empire was far from the might of its ancestor. A war between their nations would see the end of both...and so, peace had to be obtained. Thus did the Sith grant his undivided attention, setting his glass down promptly.

"Many of my people feed their children through the Hunt. Rest assured, your former Admiral will be pursued to the ends of the Galaxy and his Empire burned." he began, speaking only after he had read the poster through. "However, a mutual prey will not unbury the dead. My Mand'alor would not hesitate to see a pact of non aggression enacted and call it sufficient. Yet...I don't think you called me here for a standard cease fire. I think you want collaboration beyond hunting this Admiral; correct me if I am wrong."

[member="Tanomas Graf"]