Table for discourse [PM for Invite unless tagged].

[Reverance]

Early Afternoon

Rendili

The universe had seemed to grow simpler in the passing days. The dark looming threat of the One Sith was apparent, the popcorn showers of resisting factions felt as passing as a summers storm. Rain and the clap of boisterous thunder, but nothing more. Pride and success had made the One Sith arrogant, which was more than appropriate. But things would change, they always did. And as the universe tumbled over itself, the Wrath wondered where he and the likes of Ygdris and Matsu would turn. Would they feel the weight of the empire as it turned over on them, crushing them with every last agonal breath, pregnant with pain, suffocated by the prideful fall that would follow? He wasn't one to look forward to that particular tilt, the simplicity of a death on the battlefield a far more warming thought. Or perhaps killed in the cut that dived too deep, thoughts forever cast on the instant gratification of life and what rewards it offered.

But for now, he sat at a metal table, deep in thought as he scratched the scar over his missing eye. Deeply entwined in the thoughts of his life passing over the past decade, leading the One Sith to where they know stood. Triumph and solemn, shadow stretching to the North and South. But for the commitment of energy and time and resources and blood, he couldn't seem to celebrate. Perhaps the Dark Lord had sensed that disparaging thought cross the mind, casting fiery thoughts to a more capable receptacle. There was a grace there and Reverance couldn't seem to feel it anymore, shackled to a cold foreboding sense of disillusionment. That with all they had done, he couldn't understand what the point was. Perhaps it was always pointless and maybe recognition of that was something that would comfort him. Chaos, power grabs, the clash of steel and energy for the sound it made, that made sense to him. The hurdle of flesh, the tumble of lust and agony and pain and the mire of it's cacophony, it was the melody that soothed him.

Looking over to Ygdris, he poured the whiskey into the glass cups. Sliding it across to her and the mercenary, he placed his against his lips and smelled. His view shifted to the miners in the background, the scurry of their movements to the sounds of pick axes against stone. The sun felt distant, hidden behind a veil of clouds, as he sipped from the crystal. Wincing from the strength, enjoying the fire for the void it filled, he cracked his neck and waited for one of them to break the silence.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Draco Vereen"] ​

 

[Vrag]

Moments of peace were relatively hard to come by in the sort of life she'd chosen to lead, and when she did enjoy them, it was usually in the most curious of places. Where the common folk would perhaps venture out into the nature for a soothing afternoon, Vrag almost invariably found herself at peace when surrounded with the hustle and bustle of a thriving people. With blood and sweat that weren't always hers she'd helped build the beast in whose core they now lounged. It slumbered at the moment, resting from its victories in the east, but it was only a question of time before it would rear its head again at His command. Roused from sleep by the yank of an invisible chain, the One Sith warmachine would roar once more, to plunge the Galaxy further into the crippling fear creeping into their bones. The Dark Lord would order, and it would obey, trampling planets in the name of order and ideology.

Vrag had ridden the monstrous mount to the very top. She had seen the vista those coveted heights afforded, and she had found it… lacking.

So here she was again, a smirk and a drink in the lowest dregs the Universe had to offer. This was her peace; the strife and calamity that ruled the masses, the hubbub and clamor of a full existence. Up there, the only sound was the mirror breaking.

Wrapping her fingers around the tumbler, the woman raised her glass to her two staid companions before taking a healthy sip. Her eyes fluttered closed as the liquid scorched its way down her throat, and Vrag allowed herself a small smile as she set it back down again.

Her gaze drifted lazily from [member="Reverance"] to [member="Draco Vereen"] on her left, and then she reached into the inside pocket of her jacket to deposit a small black pouch on the plain metal table between them. She was unassuming today; unassuming jacket, unassuming jeans, unassuming shirt. The man on her right looked slightly like the Wrath of the Dark Lord, but surely a person of his stature wouldn't be sitting at the mouth of a mine, sharing a drink with two equally rugged-looking scoundrels. The Sith wouldn't be seen dead down here, and the Galaxy was a big place. Just another mercenary come to oversee his shipment of valuable goods.

Nothing to see here, move along, the woman chuckled to herself as deft fingers fished a deck of sabacc cards out of the bag.

"They'll need another hour for sure," she said by way of explanation as she gestured towards the miners, shuffling the worn cards with practiced ease.

"So, boys, what'll it be? Teta preferred or Brokellian gambit?"

 

[Laira Darkhold]

I sat on Rendili of all places in the Galaxy. Once known for its shipyards and dry docks, now little more than a world glanced at when a Sith needed phrikite ore for one reason or another. Perhaps I should be nice and loan them a metallurgist once we were done. The Wrath of the Dark Lord cared enough to actually visit the mines of Rendili himself, that or much more likely he was simply bored and had nothing better to do. For a part Vong Monster it didn't surprise me that peace time was filled with random visits and inspections under guise.

The woman to my left was another one, the Hand of the Dark Lord. An odd sensation ran down my artificial spine. She had gone from breaking my spine and leaving me fragile and broken to the two of us fighting together on Balmorra without so much as a single heated word. In fact, I liked her. She had drive, passion, and she was kind of frightening to the average person. And better her on my side that trying to break my new spine, whether she was aware of that or not. It seemed like so long ago.

"I'm not picky with how y'all take my money." I said causally, armor on, helmet resting on the table. I dug through a pouch and with drew a few healthy sized credit chips. "But if I had of known we were playing sabaac I would have carried more cash." Seeing as just sitting here I would make more money than they could win from me off compounded interest alone, screw it. Who cares if I lose some, so long as I knew that sabaac wasn't my game and that I was going to lose, badly.

I took up the glass and knocked it back, draining the liquid in one gulp. Best get drunk quick so as not to realize how embarrassingly I lose.

[member="Reverance"]
[member="Vrag"]

 

[Reverance]

Black jeans, black flack vest, arms covered in a grey long sleeve shirt. He wasn't concerned about damage here, though since recently, he wasn't concerned with damage at all. The fleeting notions of a weaker side had made him recognizably reckless. Something he freely admitted and accepted. It was hard to care when there were so precious few things to care about.

Reaching into his chest pocket, he pulled a cigar from the nylon and pulled it from it's packaging. Pre-cut, he placed it between his lips and lit it with a flint lighter. Two snaps and the flame bounced against the edge, each inhalation pulling life into the cylinder. Smoke lifting from it's end, he cracked his neck as he watched the movement of the miners back and forth. The containers started resisting the repulsors, the weight pushing them closer to the mining facilities entrance. He placed the cigar down against the notched tray and sipped from the drink.

Reverance had very little experience with this Draco Vereen. But what he had heard, he was pleased with. A fellow brother of battle, whether his motivations were money or blood, it didn't matter to him. So long as carnage was had, the Wrath was welcoming towards the notion.

Visually waffling about the topic, he looked towards Ygdris and squinted. "Brokellian Gambit sounds fine..." he said with an air of nonchalance. Looking back towards Draco, he smiled. "Don't worry, I'm sure we can front you some credits. Not like we are lacking." He picked out credits from his pocket, placing them on the table as they scuffed across. He really couldn't care any less about money, for the fact that he was wading in it.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Vrag]

She shot [member="Reverance"] a sideways glare as he lit another cigar, the plumes of heavy smoke drifting through the air around them in stretched blue clouds. It was becoming a habit of his, she noted absently, but bit back a scathing comment. They had company after all; it wouldn't do to look like a bickering old couple when they were anything but. The very thought made her want to burst out in laughter, but the woman curbed the urge without pause. That, too, would look more than a little strange, and though she knew with a cold certainty that a mercenary like [member="Draco Vereen"] would pass far less judgement — if any — than their fellow Sith, the chuckle would remain safely tucked in her lungs.

There would be plenty time to laugh later, when she was hoarding a pile of credit chits and her two companions were scraping the bottoms of their pockets for one more bet. She didn't know if the mandalorian was bluffing or not, but by his own admission, the man was a terrible player, and she had played with the Wrath enough to know enough of his tells.

It would be a good game.

"Quite," she grinned as she dealt out the cards, eyes flickering up to monitor the progress of the mining operation. The din of machinery in the background was a comforting one, and knowing that the work they'd tasked them with was being performed with utmost efficiency brought a modicum of warmth to her cold, black heart. Vrag was reasonably sure they could get away with not paying for the ore at all by dropping a few names — like their own, for example — but that would defeat the purpose of their little visit in the first place.

There were no Sith here, only mercenaries.

"Brokellian gambit it is," she confirmed and added her own credit chits to the pile. "Draco," a nod in his direction over the rim of her glass, and the game would begin.

A number of games, in fact.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Sabaac required a deal of luck. Luck was something I always seemed to have, but never good luck. If it was a game of skill alone, I could excel, but with the randomizer and the simple randomness of the draw, there was basically no hope for me. Granted I would make more money sitting here than I could lose. Always a fact that was good to know. Even if I lost the game, I still won in the end.

Sabaac was a simple game. Draw cards, try and be the one closest to twenty three. The rules weren't hard. "Well, aren't y'all a lively bunch." I said smiling as the first hand started being dealt in relative silence. Always so serious with these Sith types. I glanced at the cards in hand. I almost wanted to scowl. Five and six of Staves. Of course it would be a long night of handing one of these two my money. If I wanted to do that I would have just handed them large sums of money. On the bright side, it was a friendly game with people I considered friends. People I wouldn't hesitate to take a bullet for.

"Eh, already off to a rough start." I kicked my feet up into a chair and made myself comfortable. At the very least I could be comfortable and relaxed. "See, we shoulda used my mine on Gromas, then I could have used the cameras as an equalizer. Even then I probably still wouldn't have done well." Trying to make small talk. Anything to break the silence and stop being the odd man out.

@Vrag
[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He eyed Ygdris, placing the cigar back in the corner of his mouth. Closing his mouth, he puffed on it to liven up the fire and get it burning nice and hot. He was a man of vices. Pain, pleasures, the like. Anything that made him happy, no matter the consequence. He had his relatively good health to stave off his horrible habits. Turns out that pummeling people on a regular basis tended to keep him in good enough shape. Cracking his neck, he cradled the cigar in his fingers and held it over the tumbler, sipping.

Looking over his cards, he had an emperor and a three and mentally frowned. Bad hand, he looked towards Draco as he spoke and smiled. "Haven't you heard, we're the come back kids?" He smirked and pushed a solid serving of credits forward. We was the royal we, implying that Draco had very well earned a spot in the One Sith ranks. Money or not, the fact remained, he had done some solid work. "Can't count out until the brutal end."

He leaned forward, putting his cards face down and indicating that he wanted another. "So tell me, Draco...how do you feel about the One Sith and more importantly, how do you feel about the Dark Lord." Small talk be damned, he didn't care about Gromas. He didn't feel a lot of care about the Dark Lord or the One Sith either, at this point. But for the brevity of the moment, he seemed interested in this mans opinion of the cult like properties of the One Sith. For all Reverance knew, the people of the faction followed the great power in the sky blindly. Not recalling his destruction and resurrection so long ago, he wondered when the last time the Dark Lord had made an appearance.

The chitter chatter was interrupted by the sounds of a man cracking a metal casing as it toppled from the repulsor lift. Reverance squinted at the man before turning his gaze back to the fellow warrior. He raised his eyebrows, enthusiastic towards the answer.

[member="Draco Vereen"] | [member="Vrag"]​

 

[Vrag]

Vrag let her mess of red and black hair fall over her face as she peered down at her cards, listening to her two companions with some amusement. She could be blunt like [member="Reverance"] if need be, but the woman recognized when it was time to use a hammer and when it was more appropriate to utilize a scalpel. She was also far more familiar with the theatre of sabacc, and so she sat in her chair with the air and the countenance of a lounging Ralltiir tiger.

The hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips was little more than recognition of the fact that she was the superior player at the table, at least as far ast he game at hand was concerned. Other stages were more undisclosed and vague, and it became increasingly more difficult to tell leader from follower, king from peon, and friend from foe. It also became increasingly more apparent that the firrerreo may never have cared about those distinctions in the first place. The only time she regarded them with any sort of importance was in a situation such as this; when they were figures drawn on cards to be lain down on the table, nothing more.

The rest of them? They could go kark themselves.

As the boys discussed politics, Vrag chanced another glance to the miners in the distance, inspecting their work with a critical eye. A dozen of them were loading the ore up on a designated wagon, weighing the material before stacking it carefully onto pre-prepared palettes. They were being paid double to avoid the usual procedure and pack them into unmarked containers to be shipped off to Force knew where. Wasn't their place to question it, and with the credits they were earning for keeping their mouth shut, nobody seemed to mind.

"Yes, Draco, tell us," she echoed her counterpart and flashed a wolfish smile at the pair before raising the bet.

[member="Draco Vereen"]​

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Ugh, a test of faith or what not. Certainly they could look at how the relationship started and fully understand how I felt. "His credits are just as good as everyone else's. Turns out he has more than most and nice things to offer me personally as well." I said with a smile as I tossed a few credits into the pool, matching Vrag's bet. "But, I don't hold allegiances to governments. I hold allegiances to people." I explained calmly looking around. I was sprawled out and relaxed and they were asking whether or not I drank the koolaid and joined the creepy cult.

Best to answer with the truth, otherwise be called out on lying. That might offend them more than the simple truth. I didn't give a damn about their cult or their boss. "Now, if she," pointing to Vrag, "Asked me for a favor she would get it, no questions asked. I might talk about a fee afterwards, but she would get it first. There are a few others, even among the Mandalorian Clans and the Techno Union that can also do as much." True enough. The likes of Carach, Sage Bane, Arrbi Betna, Tmoxin Temi, and Gerion Ardik to a lesser degree could also make such a claim. Tmoxin and Arrbi could just about ask me to fall on my sword and I would. It might need an explanation, but I would.

I held allegiances to those that held allegiances to me. Despite having been enemies at one time, Vrag had fought shoulder to shoulder with me on Balmorra, had sacrificed her own power and vitality to help save me and others. She could claim it was selfishness to save her own skin, but it was more about desire to achieve victory more than anything else as far as I could tell. Assuming they weren't offended, I glanced back at my cards and listened to the miners behind us. It could be an ambush, drink the koolaid or else. Oh well, its not like I would start trouble, and its not like I wouldn't go down swinging if they did.

[member="Vrag"]
[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He lifted the cigar again, curious expression fixed on the mercenary. Giving a smile to the response, he nodded and flicked the ash. Some connoisseur out there might exclaim vehemently but such things weren't really on the care meter either. What Reveranced tilted towards now was something resembling a return of honesty. But how would that appear, he thought, that the Wrath was having some form of crisis of faith. Not very good he imagined, so instead, he engaged the responses with his own.

"That's true, he does seem to have an abundance of credits. Taxation of planets will do that..." He said indifferently, leaning back against his chair as he tossed his cards. A five and six, he hit 24 and sighed at the quick loss. "I appreciate a man with a code..." He said. In any other situation, it might have been mocking or in jest. But in truth, even he lived by his own form of code. However chaotic and unruly he might be, he was consistently inconsistent. And he felt a certain comfort in that. People could know what to expect just by assuming they didn't know what to expect.

"What about you?" He said, turning to Ygdris. With a sinister grin, pulling slightly at his edges. He knew how she felt, he had known ever since their tussle at Point Nadir. Even with the partial merger, the cascading of mentality from one person to another, he knew deep down where her affections and aspirations lied. Or more importantly, where they didn't. "How do you feel about the One Sith and the Dark Lord?" He sipped from the drink again, the clickity clack of pick axes chiming against the echoing stone. Men shoveling, the scrape of metal against stone, he looked at her with a slightly pleased expression.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Draco Vereen"]​

 

[Vrag]

Vrag tapped her fingers lightly on the metal table in the rhythm of the miners in the background, eyes flickering up every once in a while to monitor their steady progress. They had ordered a considerable amount of phrikite ore for all of their needs. Four suits of armor and some crushgaunts. Neat, huh? At lest she liked to think so, but it remained to be seen how things would turn out. Never trust a weapon, armor, or any other piece of equipment until you've stress tested it.

And there ain't no stress testing like wholesale slaughter.

Right now, however, they were quite calm for a trio of accomplished butchers, trading cards and words over the distant melody of powerhammer against stone. Far as she could tell, they were starting to break up the phrikite ore into smaller, manageable chunks. Then again, she was no metallurgist, so Force knows if that's what they were really doing. As long as she got the phrik she wanted, the Sith Lord would be quite content.

If not, they would surely be informed about her grievances. Viscerally, one might add.

Her lips curled up in a small smile as she peeled her blue gaze off the men in the distance and to the one on her left. With a five o'clock shadow and a dark glint in his eye, [member="Draco Vereen"] sure looked the part. Between the three of them and their five eyes, they could probably scare most people into compliance by scorching glare alone. She wondered how that might feel, to be on the receiving end of such intimidation. Worth a try in the next gambling den she went to pick clean.

Her smile faltered somewhat at [member="Reverance"]'s question, however, and the woman shot him a toned-down version of the scathing stare she'd been entertaining not a second before. Pursing her lips before glancing down at her cards again, the firrerreo took another sip of her drink before starting to answer. He was teasing her, of course. The bastard.

"The One Sith is a grand machine of war. Blood is its oil, flesh its fuel. The Dark Lord guides it fair and true." Sounded like a propaganda pitch, if you weren't listening closely. There was no 'me' in the One Sith.

"Now, boys, if we're done talking politics, I do believe you owe me some credits," she smiled as she set down her cards in a neat Idiot's array. Harsh name, nice rewards.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Not so bad a conversation. Could have been worse I suppose. Upon seeing the idiot's array laid out, I let out a light hearted groan and shoved credits in the woman's direction. Whatever, it was just credits after all. Even if she cleaned me out of everything I had on me and the bank card I carried there would still be a few dozen banks still filled to the gills with my money. Thank you Republic and your very, very bad treasurer. But hey, what was life without a little loss every now and again.

"I suppose its not all bad. Its not like I can sell out anywhere but to the Dark Lord. I am one of the heavy hitters with the Union and the Mandalorians, the Sanctum isn't a threat out there on the outer rim, and the Republic has me labeled a criminal. You could say my choices are limited, but I don't really mind. Most of the people I actually like are sided with you, and I won't fight a friend for money." There were some fringe options floating around, but that didn't change the way I operated. The Primeval, the crazy people the Mandalorians had been all up in arms to destroy; the Covenant which was even crazier than that; and the Alliance. Of those three the Galactic Alliance was the only viable option, but they had taken great pains to avoid mercenaries. They wanted fanatics, and that I was not.

The next hand started being dealt and I glanced around the facility. Lots of miners, maybe a mediocre metallurgist on staff. No, don't hire they guy who has made new metals sitting in front of you. Hire some kid who went to college or some crap. Eh, if they wanted help they would ask. My cards were more important than doing manual labor without being asked. Ugh, a Queen of Air and Darkness and four of flasks. The gods of luck hated me and always would.

[member="Vrag"]
[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He shook his head at the idiots array. Lucky hand. Scratching his face, he waited for the next hand to be dealt. The Star and a six of coins. He ticked his tongue against his teeth as he turned to Ygdris. If not through eye sight, at least through tone. "How poetic of you...but fair and true?" He said with a subtle leer, pouring more whiskey into his cup. "Perspective. Fairness in our lack of discrimination, maybe." He smiled. "Everyone gets a chance at the chopping block..."

He disregarded her commentary on moving away from politics. There were precious few ways for her to get him to bend to her will, even in discourse. And kicking his ass at Sabacc wasn't on that list. He looked back towards Draco and smiled. "Friends, is that what you've made in your conquests?" Raising a brow, he took another sip and sucked on air. The idea of friendship was one nearing foreign to him, especially given the departure of his softer side. He wanted things. He wanted power, he wanted pain, he wanted pleasure, he wanted the ache. Friends can give that, enemies can give that, strangers can give that. Without the distinct variation between the groups, Reverance had trouble maneuvering through that development. Maybe he considered himself among friends. He, after all, did have a particular fondness for Ygdris and Matsu and Sage. In the same way a ralltiir tiger prefers one prey to all the others.

"The One Sith, the bottom of the barrel." He stated, jokingly. "The truth of the matter is that the sides aren't really important. You have clarity in your motivation, credits and friendship deeming who to kill and who to...not kill. I appreciate that and at times..." He placed more credits onto the metal table. "I envy it."

Clickity clack. The workers were moving slowly along. He recalled the last time he had gotten a large amount of phrikite. Pulling dental fillings and caps with Matsu, he thought back on the removal of her arm on Manaan. And how he carried her from that battlefield. Maybe he did have friends. Or maybe he simply had lovers and enemies, incapable of finding the happy medium that rested on the definition of friendship.

[member="Vrag"] | @Breako Obscene ([member="Draco Vereen"])

 

[Vrag]

Gambling was, of course, much, much easier when you knew how to cheat. Not that her two companions didn't know how to employ that particular tactic – they were all murderers here, after all – but it was something entirely different, applying it to the practice of Sabacc.

Not a lucky hand, then. Just a… handy one, you could say.

Allowing herself a small smirk at the private joke, Vrag drew her cards again, relishing in the gentle scrape of paper against the metal surface of the table as she sneaked a peek at what [member="Reverance"] had dealt her. Not bad, not bad at all. And within a couple of rounds, it would become even greater.

"I never referenced the manner of fairness," she pointed out in reply to the Wrath and smeared her smile with a sip of her drink. "But you're right. It's hardly the right word for it. Should I call it what it is, then? Indiscriminate slaughter?" A shake of the head, a short laugh that drowned out the sounds of the miners in the background.

"If only," interrupting herself, she set down her glass again and flicked a few credit chits on the pile. "Truth is, there's no lines they haven't crossed. Or… we, I guess. I've been there for most of it." The lack of a present tense would probably go unnoticed by the current company, forgotten amid the frowns peering down at their cards. Or maybe not.

She found that she couldn't quite bring herself to care either way.

"But, again, let's cut the politics. They bore me to death," or worse.

In an act of petty revenge, the woman reached out to her right with a lightning-quick gesture meant to pilfer the cigarra from the Sith's lips. Should teach him to continue pressing a topic, the bastard.

"Tell me, Draco… what's your favorite weapon?" she spoke as she turned her toothy grin to [member="Draco Vereen"], eyes glinting with mischief.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Politics were boring, I will giver her that. The sound of machinery faint and in the background I turned my attention to the woman and met her eyes. "Well, if you mean melee you have seen me using a mace on Balmorra. It's my favorite for that. Beskar forged by the best smith I know, has been tempered with Alchemy by the best Alchemist I know. I like it because I can shatter a sternum and rupture organs with it despite a victim wearing Beskar'gam." I said, referring the mace I carried almost all the time. Thing was my favorite. When I first had it made I almost slept with it in the bed with me.

"But if you mean ranged, I like these Ion Beamers." I clicked my wrist and popped one out of the modular socket. "I love me some fringe tech. Ionic, a local paralytic, ignores armor and shields, and can't be deflected by a standard lightsaber." I extended the device to her. Without being connected to the power source in the armor it was useless for its intended purpose anyway. "I pair them with Charrics to make the defensive Jedi squirm." I smiled and tossed a few credits into the pile. I wasn't gonna see it this game, but sure whatever.

"And if you mean overall, I have a big walker the size of a corvette made of phrik and anti-kinetic armor with a couple capital ship guns I like."

With everything going on, a fun little game of Sabaac and weapons talk could take my mind of everything else. Despite being Sith, these two weren't so bad, not so straight up creepy. Vrag wasn't hard on the eyes either.

[member="Vrag"]
[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He smiled, mouth slightly agape, as she knocked the cigar out of his mouth. Rolling across the ground, it petered on the edge before descending down the hill, flicking out embers along it's path. Looking at it and back at her, he spit pieces of the wrapper from his mouth before squinting his eye. All equipped with a sense of amusement and a smile to boot. He'd get her back for that, the idea of such a forecast only made him laugh slightly. At the turn of the topic, he listened intently as the armored man spoke about his favored weapons. All of which were things he had never used.

Picking the last bits of cigar from his lips, he sprinkled it over the ash tray before turning his voxyn hand upward. The mouth opened, dragging it's tongue across the palm. "My favorite weapons are my hands." He said with a smile. "They have more utility then any other weapon I can wield. Fingers that can cut and poison, thumbs that can gouge, and a fist. Knuckles, driven through blood and bone and sinew." He recalled his first time meeting with [member="Matsu Xiangu"]. The climax before the denoument, the clatter of his fists against soft ground. Ground softened by the brains and viscera that he was pancaking into the soil, until he could barely lift his arms. Taking a sip of his whiskey, he curled the hand into a fist, squashing the unopened eyelid of the Voxyn Al'do. "Weapons can jam, can rust, they can fail you. Run out of ammo, miss their mark. But with your hands, you inherently know where they are going before you let them loose. You are tied to them."

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "You never really know your enemy until you take their life from them with nothing but flesh to separate you. To feel their pulse with your own fingers, and to feel it leave your grasp. There's no drug that can top that. And an enthusiastic weapon is a good weapon." Maybe Draco was a bit more pragmatic about the fight, but Reverance followed it with passionate tethers. He fought because fighting was his vocation, not because it drove the war machine. That was merely a happy circumstance. But in the end, maybe Reverance was a bit on the deep end in his thoughts. But similar to [member="Vrag"], he just couldn't seem to care anymore.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Vrag]

"Did I ever," she spoke and flashed him a wolfish grin, swirling the last of her drink about in the tumbler before downing it heartily. "That mace was something to behold, for sure. Still wondering how the Jedi survived that slam, honestly," she pondered out loud, a memory of that day flickering in her icy eyes before she refocused on her immediate surroundings.

The miners in the background were still at it, though she'd managed to tune out the sound of powerhammers breaking ore. It was, admittedly, not much different than hearing bone crack and shatter up close, and that was a noise that Vrag was intimately familiar with. It was like faithful friend throughout her many lives, like a constant companion that would not leave her side no matter how dire the circumstances became.

"Let me see," she muttered and leaned over to [member="Draco Vereen"], seizing his armored wrist to get a better look at the weapon. Didn't look like much, and certainly not like something that could bypass shielding and armor. "Neat. This the only one or do you put them on the market?"

When [member="Reverance"] pitched in on the conversation, the firrerreo couldn't help but smirk, another memory drawn to the fore of her mind within the blink of an eye. Oh, to think back to the indistriminate slaughter they'd left in their wake so many times before, and yet it all paled in comparison to the bloody mayhem on one hidden space station, so many lightyears away. They had bled themselves and others, until the streets ran red with blood, and they never really stopped.

Glancing down at her hand, Vrag recalled where flesh and skin had been singed off nearly to the bone, deep scorched demarcations left in the muscle where the burning metal had kissed it. Not the most pleasant of experiences, but not the worst either. When you've had whole limbs cut, shot, or blown off, pinpricks like those didn't exactly get to you all that much.

"I remember snapping a Jedi's neck in a swamp," she spoke, finally, and raised the bet some more. "That was fun. She was using a lightwhip… nasty things, and damn fast. Got her in the end though." Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, clearing the heady feeling of a good kill from her mind. If she wanted to pick them to their bare bones, she needed to focus.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"Ah, Balmorra was bad times, but yeah. Sometimes you just can't put someone down, no matter how hard you try." I said in reference to the Jedi she had mention. It was little matter, there were plenty of others for later. There was always another war was one of the tenants of my personal beliefs, my code. It was what kept me from bothering to fight for peace and justice. Such things were fleeting. The only time war had not covered the galaxy was during the time of the Gulag, and even then there was little doubt the individual planets suffered from war and suffering. I would find different victims, that much was certain.

The woman took my hand, and inspected the little weapon. Simple and effective was the name of the game for it. "They aren't on the market, but I do produce them. My warriors make heavy use of them in the field. They work well against everyone not just Jedi, but they do scare Jedi quite a bit. I actually don't know how it would fair against Vonduun armor though." I flashed a wry, smirk at the bright eyed woman, letting my teeth show a bit. "Let's hope I don't ever have to worry about that." Indeed things would have to change a lot for her to have to worry about it on my end, but with folks like these I wasn't sure if my loyalty was reciprocated.

I listened to Reverance speak of his hands. He was more personal with physical combat, but he didn't seem to understand the feeling of peering into someone's mind, extracting their darkest nightmare and making them live it while they choked on their own tongue and vomit. It wasn't something I took pleasure in, but a memory that haunted me. "Vrag, dear. You started this conversation on favored weapons, and yet, you did not reveal your own favorite. Don't be a tease."

[member="Vrag"]
[member="Reverance"]

 

[Vrag]

"Eh, I don't know. I had fun beating up this blonde Jedi until she fried a whole arm off of me. That was one nasty trick." A sigh, and a quiet nod to the dead Vonduun now buried in the marshes of Selvaris. After the battle on Balmorra had died down, Vrag had sought out her fallen armor with the help of its living brothers and sisters, then brought it back to its home planet to give it a proper resting place. After nearly half a decade of valiant and faithful service, it was the least they deserved.

"Oh, you're welcome to try," she drawled and flashed him a toothy grin before letting go of the small weapon, setting his armored hand back onto the table. "But I can't guarantee you'll survive the attempt." She'd lost count of how many times she'd flirted with death over the years, and she had little doubt that whatever waited on her down the line wouldn't help in any way. People had tried, of course, and tried vigorously indeed. She'd never been particularly kind or forgiving in her interactions, and that in turn made for few friends. Even the best of her associates were just as likely to catch a bullet for her as they were to stab her in the back. Such was the nature of her business, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

The trick was simply in being fast enough to stab them first.

The firrerreo cocked an eyebrow as she settled back into her chair, taking in the miners in the distance as she tapped a finger against her chin in thought. Slowly, almost lazily, her gaze returned to [member="Draco Vereen"], and the woman finally replied.

"My hands, I think. Or perhaps a nice, solid knife in my hand. Either way, I like to get down and dirty before I finish them off. There's something very… intimate about feeling them expire in your grasp, wouldn't you say?" Her last words were directed at [member="Reverance"], who was still content to sip his drink and smirk like the Ralltiir tiger who ate the canary. The bastard.

"But I'm not a picky girl, you know that. If I gotta kill 'em, I can and will do it with pretty much anything." No sense in being choosy. Got you dead real quick in this line of work.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

I smiled at her, "Like I said, I hope never to have to worry about it." I kicked my feet up on a box and yawned, shoving a few more credits at the pot. All this talk about intimacy in killing didn't sit right with me. It was just killing people. You didn't need to know what my opponent 'felt' when they died. Just that they died and I walked away. The rest was semantics. Just do what you got to do to win and the rest doesn't matter. The history books will label you as a hero if you win in the end and a villain if you lose in the end, regardless of how it made you 'feel'.

I glanced at my cards again, listening to the miners working, methodically, mechanically. The simple task of pulling ore from the ground, reduced to a step by step process that a skilled miner could just about hear through the rhythm of tools and drills running. They would be done mining soon, and probably moving to smelting the ore into pure phrikite bars to be altered later.

"Besides, I like you, honor prevents me from striking first against a friend." I said, dropping the mediocre hand on the table and sighing. Even if she cleared me out I would make more money sitting here than I had cash on hand. Great thing about running a massive company and having a mercenary army that got paid to defend things. It turned out that at least ten percent of the time, I was the one going to raid something important, or at least had a small hand in it. Basically defense contracts were protection money.

[member="Vrag"]