The Dizzying Edge

[Grace Darkson]

Rusaan. She hated the world

It always felt wrong. Even if the Valley of the Jedi had been cleaned, even if there was no twisted scar of the thought bomb, the rift in the middle of it all turned the dark side nexus sour. Almost like the well was poisoned. Some would say that was the Dark Side itself. That the power she weilded was simply drinking poision. She agreed with that, to an extent. The price we pay for power.

Slowly, she approached the tear, cold golden eyes studying the tear. Slowly, she tried to contact her target, but the other end remained silent. Shaking her head, she turned to the Datapad before her. The man she had hired should be here soon. When he did, the site would look almost like something out of a fantasy novel. The gorgon sat amoung carefully drawn runes, carved into stones, each placed amoung the chamber in a pattern. She did not speak, only shift her weight as she re read the ritual. This would be demanding of her.

How much more so for the untrained man who would be joining her.

[member="Icarn Amonta"]

 

[Icarn Amonta]

Icarn had done a lot of things in his life. That was the territory of being around a couple centuries. He'd tried the honest work - that lasted all but two seconds- he'd tried impersonating royalty, and yet he always found himself returning to a life of espionage and assassination. Chaos spoke to him, it seemed, beckoning him to adhere to its will, something Icarn delivered beautifully. It seemed he had a calling for calamity.

Perhaps that was why he took these jobs, the sort that so often comes with delivering bad news to dangerous folk. He lived for the danger, relished in the adrenaline, dared anyone to turn their weapon against him. Whether they be a relative nobody or a Sith Lord, it made no difference to him. So when he appeared on the scene, it was with a skip in his step, long limbs stepping over stones, a satchel slung over his shoulder. He was perhaps too casual as he moved to meet this woman, just short of humming in his casual trek.

"Lady Psyona, I presume?" He offered in greeting, an arrogant grin upon his countenance. She ought to consider herself lucky. Not many got to see him in his preferred form, right off the bat.

[member="Lady Psyona"]​

 

[Grace Darkson]

The joy in the approaching man's step tugged at something in her, reminded her of someone she'd lost, another she'd driven away. Just one more to add to the list. She glanced away for a moment. The rife glands were messing with her emotions again. A glare formed on her face, hidden from him by the ever shifting tendrals of her hair, and she turned back to him. "Yes. I assume you're Icarn, then." Her words were curt. Whatever his level of self-importance, the gorgon didn't feel like feeding it. Nothing good came from letting them have their egos.

"I assume you have information on my brother." The short answer was enough as she stood, slowly, tentacles of poisionus flesh shifting and flicking out. Her hands wrung, only for a moment, and a glimmer of something flashed across her face. "What did you find?" Her words trembled, and for the first time, her eyes shifted to his sachel. Steel filled her face as Icarn would feel something brush his mind. It seemed she had already come to some conclusion.

[member="Icarn Amonta"]

 

[Icarn Amonta]

His grin never faltered, unbothered by her curt response. Like it or not, she'd fall for his charms yet. She just wasn't aware of it. "The genuine article, at your service," he announced with a flourish of his free hand, his back bending ever so slightly. His posture straightened, appearing almost predatorial despite being in a state of relative rest. His head cocked to the side, sizing the woman up, trying to get an initial idea of what would make her tick.

"Right to business, eh?" He rose a delicate brow, noticing the tremble in her voice. Was that weakness he heard already? Either his senses were on point or she didn't think to hide it from him. Or a bit of both. He could feel some sort of sensation flit against his mind, one he couldn't quite identify the origin of. Was she trying to probe him? Or perhaps it was one of those trapped in the valley and what it played host to? Regardless of its origin, a twinge of annoyance spurred his retaliation. It's quite rude to probe others' minds, you know. The telepathic message was directed toward the source of whatever had dared brush against his own mind, Icarn giving no outward sign of the attempted communication. "He was a tough one to deal with, lemme tell you."

[member="Lady Psyona"]​

 

[Grace Darkson]

A quiet, practised smile crossed her face as he spoke. To business. Pleasantries were for those who cared for appearance and empathy. Here, before the gates of hell, she needed neither. Slowly, she listened to his words, her brain turning and mulling them over as he spoke. the mental message played into her mind, and she smiled, slightly. He had noticed. Strong walls, too. He knew that game. Maybe she'd have to try a different game if her thought was correct. "I didn't pay you to deal with him. I paid you to find him." The edge to her words was unmistakable. the first arc of lightning jumping across loose fingers. "If you don't know the difference, then you aren't worth my time."

Slowly, carefully, her lips began to form a word, muttered in the old Sith's guttural tongue. If he knew it, perhaps he'd assume it was some prayer to a divine being. After all, why else would a slightly crazy Sith witch mutter something about divine beings in a long-dead tongue? Tendrils of poisoned flesh seemed to fill the air around her, twitching and lashing at the space they could reach. A gorgon rearing to strike.

Icarn would see only coiled muscle and prepared wrath. No mirth or mercy.

[member="Icarn Amonta"]

 

[Icarn Amonta]

His voice was like bells, ringing, both harmonizing and dissonant in his demented joy. The voice was inconsistent, switching between more masculine and feminine tones to the point in which his voice rested in an odd in between state. He shouldn't find this so funny, not when she could very well kill him where he stood. Yet her sudden change in tone was, the lightning that danced between her fingers, set off by such an ambiguous statement, was just hilarious to him.

"You need to relax," his laughter died down, composure slowly returning though a chuckle was still in his voice. He swung the satchel off his shoulder, unzipping a couple of the pockets, pulling a file out of one before tossing the bag towards her feet. A head began the process of rolling out, hampered by the bag itself with nothing holding it open. Should his employer take the time to investigate, she'd find the head didn't belong to her brother. He raised the file still in his hand, offering it to the Sith yet never actually making move to approach her. If she wanted it, she could come get it herself. "You'll find the details in here." And she would. The report was in there, explaining in almost gruesome detail the hunt and kill of her brother's own attacker, as well as Icarn's own contact information. Whether or not she'd toss that bit out as soon as she found it, Icarn was interested in finding out.

[member="Lady Psyona"]​

 

[Grace Darkson]

Well, that was an unexpected response.

For once, the reaction wasn't fear. It wasn't a return of anger or a threat. It was laughter. Stunned, Psyona simply stared for a moment before raking the head into her vision. It wasn't his. Features were too well defined, the nose too bulbous. Anzat, if she had to guess. A small frown crossed her face as she snatched the file from his hand, reading it faster than most beings would be able to. "Not bad..." She muttered quietly, eyes scanning the page. "A little sloppy, though." It was her turn to watch for a reaction. Maybe that would get a rise out of him?

"Now, as for your payment..." She turned her head to look at the portal. "You wanted a blade unlike any other, did you not?" The hints of a smile crossed her face, and cold, hollowed eyes shifted to the prepared ritual site. "If so, I have some work I would like a second set of hands with."

[member="Icarn Amonta"]

 

[Icarn Amonta]

With the immediate danger seemingly passed, Icarn was inclined to relax. Maintaining his grip on the file for just a moment, his finger just barely drifting along her own before surrendering the file, both his hands taking refuge in his pockets. He had nothing left to worry about, save entertaining himself while she read. Even then, she proved to be a fast read, Icarn only yawning once or twice before she spoke up again. "Sloppy?" He echoed, mocking offense. "I'd prefer to think of it more as art."

He perked up at the mention of payment. That was what he was here for, wasn't it? As entertaining as it was trying to get a rise out of his employer that all was nothing in comparison to what he stood to gain. "Of course," he practically purred, a wicked grin set across his face. "I do all this work and now you try and make me do more? This blade better be worth it."

[member="Lady Psyona"]​