Territorial Ramble

[Tathra Khaeus]

The Matador had been tracking the last remaining member of the Delvak Crime Syndicate to Ord Radama, he was within unknown territory on Radama, within the territorial dominance of the Sith Empire. Matador had heard from his elders when he was young about the Sith. He had heard long tales of legendary warriors of evil intent beyond his reasoning. Selfish and foolish, and their obsession with the dark side was profoundly idiotic to him. The force was a tool to be utilised, not worshipped or upheld as some all powerful conscience that conveyed all fates within the galaxy through it's power, not all had the affinity for it and very often the galaxy swayed at the whim of people not some external force.

The world, Ord Radama had changed much over the years, dominated by Mandalorians of ancient conquest who enslaved their people. Later Jedi and the Republic who sought to liberate them but under their yoke, not truly free. Later Sith, and back and on and so forth. Endlessly, the worlds and peoples of the galaxy were trampled over by the whims of but a powerful few. Not, some power.

Under the tenure of the Sith Empire, Ord Radama had prospered, turning into a marble city comparable to that of Naboo. The world, seemed to have strong and powerful foundations within the regime of the Sith Empire. But even so, where there were strong foundations; there was rot at the base. In the glorious image of the Empire there were still those that were trampled underneath the iron clad image of prosperity the Sith wished to impose.

That was what he'd expected to find, more poor souls converted into thugs and criminals for somebody with too many credits tucked away in their pockets. Killian was a man just like that, he'd ran here from Dredd. This was his first choice, his other hideout was Enigma Prime. Perhaps he could've went there, but Ord Radama was the further of the two and he held more influence here. He doubted Killian would've expected him to follow him. Even so, he had.

-----------------------------------------------

Great pillars of smoke erupted from a freighter that had collapsed into building beneath it, Killian wasn't here. But, he was smarter than expected; leaving the Matador a trap on board his personal freighter. The Matador had boarded and fought through countless thugs and hired muscle to find Killian on the Welkin Star, his head of operations here on Ord Radama. However, the ship had been primed with detonators. Upon his arrival to the cockpit of the ship, the Matador had mere moments to call upon the force to summon a shield to protect him from the blast. He had been unharmed by the explosion save minor burns, however the collision with the building beneath them, currently in construction; had dealt him a painful injury. Stunned and bruised, the Cerberus Warlord stumbled out from the wreckage. His grip on his hilt tightening evermore as he realised that such commotion had summoned the leaders of the world, the Sith.

[member="Syss Rembala"]

 

[Syss Rembala]

Today she had been dispatched with the full, very supported intentions of murdering whoever had ruined what would have been the very first free morning she would have had in a conspicuously long amount of time. Or at least the fire raging within her wanted to instill the Umbaran into yielding to its murderous intents, for the pale face of the acolyte was as unmoved as ever. She was clearly crossed, there was no denying the irritated, displeased and resented daggers shooting out of her white eyes that threatened to be as dangerous as the very summoning of a force-lightning. Yet that coolness about her, that lack of motion gave her emanate the most terrifying feel of deadly unpredictability.

Apparently her otherwise average and pleasingly boring day had been hindered by some kamikaze who had not been skillful enough to kill himself in his own crash-landing, passing on the baton of responsibility onto her very pale hands. Syss had been dispatched together with a small group of other Acolytes and some troopers. She knew very well they were being used as the meat shield, to measure the true menace of the man who had called the attention of the Sith. But her fellow apprentices seemed to be oblivious to this in their blind stupidity, thinking that being sent was an honor and a recognition for their skill. My poor little fools...

Syss and the little recon troop of megalomaniac acolytes and new, inexperienced troopers arrived to the crash site and effectively, the injured intruder had just managed to exit the mess he had created with his destroyed ship. Two plus two was easy, the ship had exploded, no crashed. The man was alive, and how many ways were there of achieving such an impossible feat? But apparently the saber hilt on his fist was not enough to alert her fellow Acolytes, for one of them, an enormous yet idiotic Arkanian tried to lash out and attack the individual.

However his feet suddenly gave under his weight and he fell hard to the ground as he was dragged back into the group by an invisible force, one that was emanating from the open hand of the Umbaran. "You will not move until I say so, you insignificant imbecile." The Umbaran warned the Arkanian teen, who with a nasty look that tried to save whatever dignity he could pick from the floor took to the back of the other Acolytes. Apparently she was feeling strangely benevolent that day, watching the stranger cut through him in a matter of seconds would have been an entertaining sight.

The Umbaran turned her head slightly to the side as her white eyes locked onto the injured man and an unnerving, cunning smile turned the red lips of her pale face upwards, she was assessing the man. "Greetings, stranger. I'm very well sure you already now the purpose of our presence here on Ord Radama...yet we fail to acknowledge yours sir..." that slyness she had with words would never go unnoticed. She wanted a name and a reason for his crash landing on the planet that belonged to the great Lords and Ladies of the Sith, to the Dark Lord and that did not welcome the disruptive intrusion of an unknown force-user.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

The Matador stood hunched, shoulders buckling under the weight of his second skin. His arms hung limp from his tired and pain torso, his eyes lingered downward as he examined his hands. They shuddered momentarily as his nerves recovered from the sudden shock of the crash landing. The brown leather tucked into his Crushgaunts gave him a sense of self that reminded him of where he was.

Looking up, he spotted a small grouping of what appeared to be soldiers and a small team of men and women carrying lightsabers. It wasn't what he had expected, when the Keeper of Tol Varen told pupils of the sith of legend, they were described to inspire fear with their very presence. Wearing thick black armour that rivalled the stone and steel of Beskar. A presence eminating a cruel, powerful darkness. Yet before him were but a small crowd of youngsters, even their leader. A women, for all of her apparent power over her underlings did not exert some great presence. She was a thin, pale women with deep white eyes as if she lacked a spirit. Her body looked as if it could collapse in upon itself at any given moment. He, was not impressed by this display.

Perhaps, with a greater number of Sith running amuck around the Galaxy, it diluted what it meant to be Sith. He assumed the same for the Jedi, as it had happened to clearly to his Mandalorian brothers before his own eyes. His right hand moved instinctively to the side of his waist, grimacing under his helm as he felt at a shard of metal piercing his side. The pain dulled all other senses, almost causing him to forgo replying to the Sith's question.

Finding himself, his eyes flickered and landed on her with a newfound resolve. He pushed himself upright, suppressing the pain he felt. His mentor, the Butcher had taught him how to work through pain. Mind over matter. He recalled a memory, of himself at the age of eight.

The Butcher had instructed all of his pupils to take a rusted dagger, and cut the palm of their dominant hand four times. They did this, and continued to do so until the pain was just another sense. Not a wall from up in front of them, but simply another feeling. Feelings, emotion. It was a trivial thing that mattered none to a Warrior. He reminded himself of that, moving slightly as smoke rose up about him. Fire still clung to the edges of his cloak, which he ripped from his breastplate with one hand.

He dropped it beside him, allowing the fire to creep along its full form. His eyes hadn't wavered, still locked on the Sith. "I do not require your acknowledgement.​" He spoke, his voice was rough and bitter; but had no sense of ill-intention towards the Sith. "​My purpose here takes me elsewhere. Move or you will be moved.​" His words had such confidence and certainty in them, yet no genuine arrogance. He stood motionless, his finger lingering above the black activator of his saber.

[member="Syss Rembala"]

 

[Syss Rembala]

She knew that look very well, the Knights and Lords over her seemed to have their faces impregnated with it whenever their eyes were set upon an Acolyte, if they even bothered to acknowledge the presence of a being as low as them in the first place. It was not hard to tell that the man, even if injured, surpassed them in ability yet this did not mean the Umbaran felt threatened or intimidated. She was used to standing in the proximity of beings who oozed such amounts of Dark power that their mere presence was enough to overwhelm her. She felt she didn't have much more to see as regards powerful beings, the feeling of slight inferiority had become an habitual companion and one that helped her both pursue her goals with renewed fervor and keep her feet on the ground and her head in its place.

The words of the man, who she had already declared would have been able to cut through them very easily were they not grouped, seemed to slide off of her as if she was impermeable to them. A negative was what she had expected and also what she received, as usual. Syss was genuinely interested in seeing if the man was really that injured enough to bring himself to believe that even if he killed them, and the ones who would come after, them, and the ones after that...he had no way out. The planet belonged to the Sith and just because he had been greeted by the scabby pups of the Lords it did not mean he was up for an easy task.

"I am afraid I have to disagree. You would not expect the Sith to turn their heads on a spectacular crash landing on the very city of one of the planet's under their control. A great talent for a dramatic entrance, yet also the reason why I cannot return to my masters without an explanation." the Umbaran countered in the very same polite, and perturbing smooth voice. She did not even consider necessary explaining that moving them, in the words of the man, was clearly not the recommended route for him to take. Not unless he had an urgent need to be pursued by the Empire's fleet in Ord Radama.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Sith had a strong presence on Ord Radama, but even so the Matador was not phased. He stopped for a moment, thumbing over the black activator on his saber. It had been quite some time since he had fought another force wielder in combat. The pain had all but been swept from his mind, but he was aware of the effect it might have in an engagement with multiple force wielders. ​"You won't be returning anywhere if you don't get out of my way pupil."​ The Matador recalled how his teachers had used words that referred to a lack of skill, or perhaps adolescence to infer inferiority.

Many times they had complimented a firm beating with such a taunt, in many ways to perhaps humiliate their pupils, but also to teach them humility. This wasn't his intention, it was entirely to remind his foes of their stature. He, was a Master of the Tol Varen and had trained many warriors and knew pups when he saw them.

His helm hid any expression, yet his body language spoke for him as he took two steps forward. The troopers amongst the group immediately raised their rifles. "Not any closer."​ One fearfully warmed, thrusting the barrel of his rifle towards the Matador's direction, gesturing for him to step back. This, was as much about power as it was survival now. He took another step, and they still refrained from firing. ​"Hut'uuns."​ He barked, his eyes shifting back to the Sith.

[member="Syss Rembala"]

 

[Syss Rembala]

S​tubbornness was something she was used to. A characteristic that ranged from the lowest castes of the galaxy's worst scum to the nobles, politicians and lords and ladies. It was easy for her to handle stubborn, hard-headed beings, she had found it was often in the utmost certainty of their convictions was were they laid their thickest weaknesses, easy to exploit and appeal to given their lack of thoughtful argumentation, simply fueled by the need of not yielding into the wishes of a second party.

And yet Syss would not dare say this man was acting out of stubbornness. It was something else entirely, and so while her peers, the personalities she was categorized with as her equals, tensed in preparation for what they believed was an impending, unavoidable conflict...she remained calm, observing and analytic of the situation as though she was standing there as a subjective being, as if her body would not sustain the injuries of whatever would occur around her. An obsolete droid would have been more worried about its integrity than the Umbaran seemed to be, for her mind was focused on an entirely different matter.

As all the acolytes and troopers should have realized by now, they were not standing against a foe who proposed a favorable outcome were they to take the easier, bloodier path of battle. The effectiveness and practicality of violence was simply unquestionable, yet it was not the solution that would provide her with what she needed: an answer for her Master and the presence of the stranger in Ord Radama dealt with, in any way she saw fit as long as it was no longer a nuisance for her Lords. Because of this, Syss would first appeal to the warriors power of reason. If she was underestimating his will to fight, then so be it. She would rather die than fail her superiors.

"I cannot explain how much I loath sounding redundant, yet I - as well as every being with a pair of eyes - can tell you are injured." Syss explained, her white, icy eyes stabbed on the helmet, as though it was the very same to her to see a piece of metal than a living face, what she was looking at did not matter, she'd rather focus on what she heard. "And I am not taking your threats lightly, but even if you manage to rid yourself of our presence...Well, I've never been a fanatic of buying useless time" She shortened her explanation to just what was needed, the simple facts: there were more of them. Not only right now, but there would be more to come after them should they fail. "Now, what we need is simple. A reason for you stay, and a deadline for your departure. The Sith shall inconvenience you no more if they see fit, given this meager information I ask."

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The leniency of the Sith was not expected. He imagined that it was in part due to a fear she might have held towards him and on the other hand a simple will to survive, she had been sent out here on what could've been any no good officers assignment on what he imagined was the whims of an amused Lord. ​"You don't want to die here." ​He remarked, his other hand extending into an open palm; he was channelling a form of energy absorption in the palm of his hand. "Don't."​ Was his last warning, however his attention was shifted as one of the more eager sith warriors stepped forward.

​"We, are sith! And you will treat your superiors with more respect." The togruta seethed with anger, baring teeth at the Matador. He held a single saber in one hand, and a shortsword in his other. The Matador observed him for a moment, his sickly yellow pale skin disgusted him. He was the clearest image of impurity he had seen since the broken Zaggek had attacked him on Duxn in his youth. The togruta's black and purple veins pulsed on his forehead, looking at them he had an insatiable desire to crush his bloated face under his boot.

​"Your title means nothing to me." ​He spoke, readying himself for an strike from his opponent. His body channelled a strength igniting by the energy of the force flowing from mind to finger tips. The togruta looked back at [member="Syss Rembala"] then back to the Matador.

​In a moment, a short clash transpired that was almost too sudden to be observed. The acolyte ignited his blade; his muscles in his arm moving for a moment as the Matador ignited his blade for a moment; with a swift riposte he severed the novices arm, cutting through the muscle and flesh of his upper arm. The Matador grappled at the cloth that held together his cloak by his throat, pulling him close with his free arm, pulling him into a collision with his helmet with the added momentum knocking him back a few feet. He landed, knocking into two troops, screaming from the pain. ​"I have no business here, I will depart now. If I must fight to do so, I will."

 

[Syss Rembala]

The anger inside her vibrated like a growling, rabid beast inside of her. Her every fraction was stripped of any sort of emotion she could have been feeling moments ago, while her eyes remained pressed onto the strangers helmet with one single intention: to destroy. This lack of respect was unfathomable in her head, how dare he question a simple petition. The Umbaran seemed to seethe on her feelings for a moment before she acted, all while carefully watching how the stranger mangled her fellow Acolyte before throwing him their way.

Then her blade was ignited, as though the very same inanimate concentrated plasma beam was about to very much enjoy the action the Umbaran intended with it. Her hand extended, letting go of the saber as it cut through the air, manipulated by the Force the Umbaran was skilfully controlling, bending to her will. Its red blade deliciously sliced through the Togruta's middle rim with ease, the hilt returning to the pale hand of its master as the injured Acolyte fell to his knees on the floor, eyes that were emptying of life as he clutched at his injury. She had not even gave him the honor of a quick death. And then that terrifying glance of her turned on her fellow Acolytes who looked at her with something that could only be described as fearful respect.

"The Sith is no place for thoughtless savages who cannot afford to follow one simple order. Regard him as the type of conceited apprentice you'll avoid becoming unless you seek a similar faith." the venom the velvety voice of the Umbaran was able to spit seemed almost impossible to believe. The acolytes nodded doubtfully, many not even daring to look at her except for the few that did with agreement. Syss had been an acolyte for quite a long time, and this meant her skill -though she would never admit until said so by one of her Lords- were superior to those of this newly arrived initiates. This, and given her outstanding, shrill-provoking ability to manipulate others made her easily tower over the rest as far as authority went. And the Togruta had made her irate, for there was nothing she detested more than stupid, impulsive acolytes whom she often ended up becoming the meat-shield of the worthy ones.

Her attention then returned to the stranger, who had already given her an answer and one that pleased her at that. For what she could derive from his words, he had only crash landed on Ord Radama, and was to leave the planet immediately, for his intentions apparently took him elsewhere. That fake, yet very convincing and unnerving smile returned to her face, as though the fact she had a dead body by her side, one she had just finished killing did not bother her in the very least. "That is very good to hear indeed, sir. Depart as soon as you may, you will not be seeing any more of us if you are outside of our orbit by nightfall."

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador left the scene without another word. He gave the female a nod as he left, it was in some respect an admirable level of control that she maintained, being able to resist the urge of combat or a rise to anger following the disobedience of one of her underlings. As much as strength was important, so was a discipline of the mind.

​His adversary appeared to have that in a bucket loads, her control of the situation was equally as irritating as it was impressive. It surprised him how individuals such as her, with a mind for better things was in such a lowly position. Within the Tol Varen, your inherited position meant nothing. Skill, discipline of mind and flesh were valued above all.

​Upon arrival to the space port, the Matador was met with a small group of officers waiting outside of the hangar bay that the Valkyrie was docked on. At the head of them was a thin man with a dark complexion. Now, beside them were two masked men in a thick black attire. Both with two brown sabers on either sides of their wastes. Apparently the Sith had heard of what happened earlier. Behind them was [member="Syss Rembala"], with a serious demeanour betrayed by a fiendish grin.
​
​The tall officer walked towards him, and stopped a few feet out of his reach. ​"Hello. We have examined the crash site, our investigation is ongoing. Therefore, your ship has been locked down. Strangely, we've found no record of your existence on any Imperial or Republic public records. However, accommodations have been provided for you. Syss Rembala, whom I sure you recall from our response team will be escorting you there. And, will be our eyes and ears to watch over you until this investigation is finished." ​The officer gave him a forced smile and took a step back.

​The Matador's fingers twitched, this was infuriating for him. However, like his opponent had earlier, he remained in control. He didn't know quite how dangerous the two warriors were. Alongside their being companied by the group of acolytes from earlier and a large group of troopers. His hands were already tense fists, knuckles were white under his thick second skin of Beskar Plate. "As you wish." ​He replied, reluctantly.

 

[Syss Rembala]

It did not escape her observant eye that the man was keeping a tight hold on his true intentions. Syss knew a lot about that, it was easy for her to point out the signs of it: short, reluctant response, closed fists...Even if she lacked her ability to read others, almost inherent to an Umbaran raised on their home-world, expecting him to be angered at the idea of his ship being closed to him and having to tag along with a young acolyte who would keep watch over him was the very natural assumption to make. So Syss just stood still and straight, that almost invisible and unnerving smile of amusement plastered on her lips as she looked forward with an unreadable gaze.

The Umbaran had to admit that the stranger had agreed to the terms of the Sith with far more ease than she had expected him to. That did not mean that she would not keep her caution at the ready, it was fascinating how she could keep all and any of her thoughts and emotions away from her physical presentation to others. Saying she had a talent for deceit and manipulation was an understatement of her potential. It not only came naturally to her, she had practiced it all her life to perfection it too, to push it to the limit of her capacities and still made an effort to improve it. It was a tool she used on a daily basis and that had always come in handy and served her well. Thus, she now looked upon the warrior as a new challenge for her abilities, a dangerous one at that but still a challenge she was willing to try and resolve.

The other acolytes, as well as the two sith and the troopers that had accompanied them fell back, returning to the teams that were performing the investigation on the ship and its surroundings. The Umbaran acolyte, however, remained standing in her place her eyes hovering over the slits of the warrior's helmet. The man had raised Syss' curiosity, she felt she could recognize the work put into such an armor and if she was right, it was made out of beskar, one of the most valued metals for weapon and armor-smithing in the galaxy. It was also a metal almost always accessible to the Mandalorian people alone, and the fact that the warrior did not display a mark of either darkness nor light...She was intrigued about the provenance of the man. "We depart by your leave, sir." She spoke, her tone calm and fluid, overflowing with an almost scary politeness.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador stood silently, unmoving as the rest of the acolytes troop began to fill out into separate small silver shuttles. Both himself and the female Sith were left alone on the open platform for but a moment. They lingered in an awkward silence, the Matador cursed himself for allowing this to happen.

​He had been sloppy on board the shuttle, civilian lives did not matter to him. But he had been in every sense but physically been captured, it made him feel weak. His mind panicked for a moment at the uncertainty of his situation, but his resolve returned as she spoke. He wouldn't allow the Sith to inspire fear in a man of Tol Varen. The Matador didn't respond to him captor as she spoke, gesturing to the Gunship as it's turret's turned their barrels towards him and several Prison Guards raised stun rifles in defence.

​The Matador was reluctant for a moment, but complied. He entered the ship, surrounded by a total of thirteen Guards carrying stun rifles, there was a small portable containment unit in the back of the gunship, he was directed to leave his items there. The Matador knew this would happen by force or willing, he relinquished every weapon he had. With, the exception of a hidden blade in the base of his boot. ​He kept his Bacta injectors well hidden, they'd have to force them from him.

[member="Syss Rembala"]

 

[Syss Rembala]

The ever watching white eyes of the Umbaran followed the warrior's every movement as he complied to the requirements of the Sith. She would have to congratulate the officer in his wonderful employment of a perfectly accurate euphemism: the man would be taken to his accommodations, the fact these were more akin to those of a prisoner needed not be mentioned at the time. ​It were simple details like those the ones that flourished such a deep love for language and its use, with infinite possibilities. And just in this particular case the hidden sarcasm behind it was amusing her to her very core, eliciting a delighted smile from the Umbaran that most certainly confounded those around her.

Walking behind the warrior and the soldiers she boarded the gunfighter, the smile still plastered on her lips for the joke was not yet at its end. Syss remained silent throughout the full length of the operation, while the man was asked to abandon his weapons. The eyes of the acolyte danced for a little while, inspecting the light-saber's hilt resting among the rest of the...instruments. But her attention was soon drawn back to the surrounding officers and troopers when they started moving once more, taking the man further into the depths of the vessel, until they reached their final destination. A cell, ample yet devoid of content except for a tattered cot laying untidily against the back wall. "Inside." spoke one of the officers, allowing the warrior to walk in. He did not have much of a choice, saying he was surrounded would have been an understatement.

Syss waited patiently and only once the plasma bars had been ignited, barring the man from the outside of his cell, some of the troopers fell back to their original positions. The bars shone a dim black color, the familiar buzzing sound of a light-saber softly humming away because of them. Syss extended one of her hands, her eyes never leaving the figure of the warrior as she pulled through the Force a small tabouret built out of some hardened, plastic material white of color. She sat, squarely in front of the cell's door, against the other wall so that she could rest her back against it. Of course, it didn't matter that much if she was out of reach or not. Had he tried to grab her chances were he'd sever his arm upon contact with the bars, and had he tried to use the Force he would most certainly be attacked by the present Empire soldiers.

She smiled, "Just a temporary abode, until suspicions from the crash site are cleared."

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador stood still in his new chamber, examining his surroundings carefully. He didn't quite understand the point of his new captors continuous smirk, perhaps it was some type of taunt. He felt a pang of embarrassment that reminded him of what he imagined could be comparable to damage to pride. However, he didn't suffer from hubris. Not regarding this, as his captor said herself; this was temporary.

He wasn't in any real danger at this time, and felt no need to fight back. If the Sith were as scrupulous as he was lead to believe, they would discover that the charge that had detonated on the Freighter had indeed been left for him, but not set off by him.

​The Matador settled down, sitting on his knees. He placed his palms outstretched on his thighs and allowed his head to sink between his heavy shoulders. He had called how focusing his energy once before had allowed him to recuperate from his wounds much faster than normal. He focused on the force, and used it as a tool to weave his flesh back together. The pain was negligible, however the distraction was held in how it inhibited his performance. He let a deep breath out, and closed his eyes. He was content with where he was and content with the fact that it was unlikely that he could break out if need be.

[member="Syss Rembala"]

 

[Syss Rembala]

Her white eyes were glued to the man as though she was a strangely, unnervingly happy child at a zoo watching an old lion lick its wounds. The warrior was not old, she could tell, but that didn't erase the fact that he was older than her. Her curiosity raised steadily with each passing minute, she could sense no signature in his presence. Not Light nor Darkness, the thought crossed her mind for a moment that, if she just analysed what she had seen, he could have had great potential to become a Sith. He was ruthless and didn't think twice about attacking her, now dead, fellow acolyte. It still roamed her mind though, the possibility of the man having a hidden, deeper...weak soft side. That would have been amusingly pathetic. Syss' smirk widened into a full-teethed smile, her dark lips stretching to reveal the pearly withes that in combination with that crazy look in her eyes seemed to belong to some kind of lunatic predator and not a sentient being.

The Umbaran did not interrupt the silence of the warrior for quite a while. This time not out of respect for his meditation but because she was grinding the gears on her ice-cold mind, trying to break into pieces the enigmatic man kneeling just a few meters in front of her. Such was her nature, a slithering, venomous snake that wanted to drink all the poison of knowledge to be found in the galaxy. Her intrigue, her curiosity always managed to bring afloat those otherwise carefully hidden deranged aspects of her mind. It showed visages of the other face of the Umbaran, not just the controlled, observant and manipulative one that she endorsed so fervently.

Finally, after long minutes in which that hellish expression had not abandoned her features, the Umbaran decided it was time to have a little chat with the warrior. Time she had a plenty, so now it was the moment to get her challenge started. "Where are you from, warrior? Your kind, humans I mean, are such a...prolific people. It is hard to tell were your provenance might lay." She wanted to see if she could get a satisfactory amount of information out of the man, and just like that the influence cloud she was able to impose starting spreading out. Not because of the Force, she wasn't stupid enough to think the man would not notice an advance on his mind by those means. It was the ability, not power, that ran in her veins. Umbarans were known to be able to predispose the minds of others in their favor. Syss just happened to be particularly good at it.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador was roused from his meditation by the sound of his captor moving once more. He had felt her fiendish presence lingering just beyond his peripheral vision for the longest time. He didn't understand why she had remained, as far as his senses had allowed him to understand; she was an escort to this ship and served that purpose alone. Yet she had remained, which lead him to believe she had yet another purpose.

​As to what it was, he had no idea. Perhaps she meant to interrogate him next, he was unaware of what methods the Sith employed in their interrogations. But he doubted that they were any more candid than that of his own people, he was prepared for whatever they could possibly throw at him. He had been clubbed, stabbed and drowned over and over by his own. Whatever they could do, he was hardened against.

​But, something he had not expected was a simple question. Where was he from? He would had never expected such a question, and somehow the surprise had compelled him to answer. He knew himself no urge to tell her where he was from, or to speak to her at all. It was something alien within him, it made his heart beat a little faster as he was compelled to study her form through is helmet. His body did not move, only his eyes and blood did. He told her a truth, but not likely one she wished to hear. "Wherever I may consider home."​ Was his response, his voice was steady and he was unphased by her approach. At least, that was how he liked to appear. It was a startling sensation to feel an external presence.

[member="Syss Rembala"]

 

[Syss Rembala]

Amusement filled her eyes at the answer of the warrior. Such a lack of detail, he indeed was a reserved thing. And she had only asked a meaningless question. It was the same to her if he had been born here or there or anywhere, she did not really care. The question had just been a futile attempt at generating a gate for further questioning, of creating an illusory bridge between the imprisoned Master and herself, one through which the information he possessed could pass onto her. And the man was proving to be quite the reserved individual, the challenge would be harder than she had originally expected. And this brought a glint of eagerness to her eyes, that only meant that if she succeeded the reward would be all the more gratifying.

Of course, the vague reply had done nothing to quench her thirst for knowledge, currently being provoked by her whimsical curiosity. She was sure she'd win either because of her skin or because she'd tire the man. For as long as her questions remained unanswered and her intrigue spiked, more inquiries would spawn unless some unscheduled event prevented her from dedicating her attention to the kneeling, armor-clad giant. "Come on now, we've many hours ahead of us. And I have grown quite intrigued by you already..." she softly reprimanded, feigning a hurt expression at his lack of specificity.

"I can tell your armor is made out of a very peculiar metal...I believe your people call it Beskar, am I right?" She was sly and cunning in her speech. Syss was not so indirectly implying one of her best guesses: that the man belonged to a Mandalorian clan, given the fact that his armor was composed of the special iron.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​He had seemingly no reaction, his eyes lingered over her as she reacted to his response. It seemed that in partaking in her game whatsoever he was indeed allowing her to win. Curiosity and intrigue filled her eyes and lips, it was a strangely unnerving expression of gleeful thought. He didn't quite understand what her sudden fixation. Where it had come from, he understood that he stood out from amongst a crowd but he did not believe he would appear odd to Sith.

​However this inclined him to believe that perhaps even those higher within the Sith Hierarchy were flawed selfish beings. He had always interpreted the stories as such, beings that many of which lacked discipline or a sense of strategy and were closer to rabid fools than real warriors of discipline of strength. It made a feeling of anger rise in his stomach, he felt lowly for having been captured by the Sith. Nearly every instinct he had, from both his mother and fathers side tried to convince him to slaughter them when the Gunship arrived. However he seemed more docile than normal. Perhaps something had changed and he didn't recognise it yet.

​He gave her no response to her questions, he wouldn't gratify her attempt to break his outer shell as it were. Her intentions were impure, that much he could decipher. He didn't wish to quarrel with her in any from at the moment, especially considering the advantage she currently had. The Matador remained still, his eyes shifting down her form and to the ground.

​She began to spoke regarding his armour, and the nature of its origin. Again, this alien presence was apparent within him. He could do little to silence it, he didn't know how to relinquish its hold on him.

[member="Syss Rembala"]

 

[Syss Rembala]

Her expression soured as she realized the futility of her attempts. Syss did not have anything against failing, this did not mean it was something that she enjoyed. Much on the contrary, a pang of annoyance and self-disappointment gripped her chest as her now darkened white eyes remained stabbed like long daggers to the helmet of the stranger. Her elbows were rested on her knees as the tips of some of her fingers lightly taped and caressed her cold skin. She was brooding, and to see the swing of emotions on the Umbaran so explicitly was both something extremely interesting and incredibly terrifying. The smile was no longer on her dark lips, her eyes did not shine with anything other than a sunless death and she seemed to traverse the limit between a charismatic, social being to a lethal, slender predator.

And just as this tinier face had come, it was gone and her hands dropped from her face, and her eyes returned to that feigned light as her lips curved once again, just as if an idea had lit inside her obscure mind. "You are aware that a little conversation won't make your tongue fall off right? Its such an ungrateful gesture to be gifted with language and not use it. It makes you... boring." The Umbaran spoke, her tongue skillfully gliding through perfectly intonated words. "Boring people tend to live longer, that advantage you have going for yourself, sir." A soft, dark giggle escaped through her now widened lips, her unnerving smile taking the light of the show again. She was not explicitly being taunting, nothing in her words indicated so. Her tone, however, was like a passive, well acted display of her annoyance at the lack of response. A veiled way of showing her true colors, if the man was skilled enough to read through her carefully performed speech.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador saw her form change somewhat, her personality seethed with a brooding displeasure at the apparent ineffectiveness of her persuasion. It made it clear, the alien presence he felt within was indeed her doing. Perhaps that was why she was able to keep her fellow acolytes in line, it would explain her clear dominance over them. However, he had no exposure to the calibre of the group he spoke with earlier other than her words and the foolish Acolytes attack previously. It was also possible that she was the strongest of their group as well.

​It was a dangerous game to underestimate your enemy, he tried not to. As hard as it was, observing her composure shifting so easily. The Matador watched as her feigned pleasant nature returned to her, her lips curving into a indignant smile. She began to speak once more, indicating a further displeasure at his reserved tongue. Boring. That was a word he had never heard applied to himself before, it indicated to him that words were her battleground. He knew that he had found previous warriors or battles boring or tiresome, and didn't care for words himself.

​Actions spoke louder than words, even hers. The way she laughed, it made him twitch a little. He disagreed, boring was subjective. The Matador stood upright, his second skin facing her upright now. The roof of the cell was barely tall enough for him. He walked forward a few steps, examining the Sith. ​"Bold words for someone beyond these bars." ​He responded in a cool demeanour, his voice barely shifted but there was a knowing pleasure in the way he spoke.

[member="Syss Rembala"]

 

[Syss Rembala]

After the warrior had stood up and approached her, as far as the plasma bars would allow, the whole expression of the Umbaran turned into a wicked one. Anticipation churned through her veins because she thought she knew the type of answer she was going to receive, and though she might yet be wrong, the possibility of having successfully predicted the reaction of the warrior was providing some of that gratifying feeling she had been denied earlier. The Umbaran was indeed a curious phenomenon, constantly walking the blurred division between reality and mere acting, deceiving. And she had been doing this for such a long time that sometime the different faces seemed to be the same one, masks had become truths, and truths were worn as masks. The complexity of her mind was an astonishing fatality, a danger even to her very self.

Syss stood up too, following the movements of the stranger but remaining in her place. She had not done it to try to counteract the intimidating stance of the man, but simply out of that neatly tailored set of customary code of polite behavior that had developed over time, making of her movement almost an unconscious instinct. The Umbaran held the eyes of the warrior for a while, as though she had been putting the words in place for her next answer. In truth, she had just been extending the distance in time between the man's words and hers, as new theories regarding the metal-clad prisoner wandered in her head.

Soon her attention shifted again from her mind to the man and a slight one-sided smirk adorned her features. "Of course they are, only a fool would not take advantage of their current situation. I can confirm your statement, my choice of words would have been vastly different should you not be confined" she admitted, barefaced, and as though she had not even tried to hide the truth behind her 'cowardly' move, which in her eyes was no other thing than a strategy. "But now, setting aside the ethicality of my tactics, I'd say your words are confirming my previous one, sir" Again, the spark of self-pleasantness was dancing through her expressions. "You see, if I had decided to be silent, and boring...I doubt you'd see it fit to bring harm my way. However, since I have not...Let's say I believe I'd be in quite a predicament if within your reach, wouldn't I?"

[member="The Matador"]