Private The Table Is Set

[Mercy]

LOCATION: Kiffu
TAG: Gerwald Lechner
SIDE THREAD OF OATH AND IRON

If there was one thing that made Mercy hungry, it was a night full of merriment. Talking, more talking, socializing, a dance or two. These were pleasant things and allowed the Titan to pretend like she was still the same woman she had been when all this started. Just Mercy. Just a brawler with a chip on her shoulder, who didn't take chit from no one and enjoyed whatever life had to offer.

Just.

It was nonsense, of course. These days her word carried far. The proof of that was when she was simply musing about how useful a laboratory could be for her experiments and out of nowhere her Graspborn sorted that out for her.

Ridiculous really, but useful.

But after a long night of pretending she wasn't who she was it was time to enjoy the buffet. And Mercy was planning to enjoy it for all its worth. That is how Gerwald would find Mercy, Empress of the Core and Warlord. At the buffet table, balancing several plates stuffed to the brink with food, and busy piling up another plate. It was a wonder how she was able to balance that many plates without letting them all dash to the ground.

Clearly the large woman had experience with it.

She noticed him from the corner of her eye but didn't really grok who it was. Mostly because her gaze was filled by the golden bounty of endless food.

"Almost done here, lad," Mercy said pleasantly enough as she began to pour herself a tankard on top of it all. "You know how it is, everything looks so good and before you know it, you are trying everything on the table."

Mercy didn't seem to be worried about it.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
TAG: Mercy

The Dread Wolf had spent much of the evening enduring the reminder of why the Obsidian Spire was rarely opened to the full weight of the Sith Order. Lords, generals, nobles, assassins, and opportunists crowded halls that had once belonged only to the Legion and those trusted enough to call the place home. Music drifted through the towering chambers beneath vaulted black ceilings while conversation rolled in restless waves across polished stone floors. Every laugh carried too loudly. Every glance seemed to linger too long.

Part of Gerwald felt as though his hearth had been violated in one of the most egregious ways imaginable. Such discomfort was the cost of gathering the titans of an empire beneath a single roof. Rivalries and maneuvering had been expected. Quiet threats hidden behind ceremony had been expected. What had not been expected was the open reminder of old ghosts standing so close to both himself and Naedira.

The insult had been veiled well enough for most to miss it, though the memory lingered beneath his skin like pressure against an old wound. The beast within him had not forgotten.

A lull in the evening finally offered an excuse to step away from the center of the gathering. Gerwald returned sometime later carrying three drinks balanced easily in one hand. Two glasses held whiskey dark enough to nearly match the obsidian walls surrounding the banquet hall. The third was overly colorful and far too sweet for anyone present to genuinely want.

It had still been ordered.

The cocktail was nothing more than a quiet reminder of a better part of the past.

Warm air rolled through the chamber carrying the scent of roasted meat, smoke, and spiced wine from the banquet tables below. Rain crawled in thin streams down enormous black windows overlooking the endless lights of Jutrand while distant thunder rumbled somewhere beyond the skyline. Legionnaires occupied entire sections of the celebration with far less restraint than the nobles surrounding them. Scarred veterans drank loudly beside officers still armored from recent campaigns while servants moved carefully between tables attempting to keep pace with appetites sharpened by war.

Not all of Gerwald’s preferred cuts had been picked over. In fact, the meats that made more refined guests question whether the animal was still alive remained almost untouched.

A faint grin crossed the Wolf’s face as another portion found its way onto the plate. Meat was always better undercooked.

Mercy was impossible to miss.

The woman had not crossed Gerwald’s path since Brosi had been defended for a second time. Since then she seemed almost inseparable from the Empress, less attendant and more trusted companion. That alone made her worth understanding, even if the exchange itself remained brief.

Her words earned a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. Gerwald offered the plate slightly toward her without ceremony.

“This may still be bleating, though I prefer it.” Golden eyes flicked briefly toward the untouched serving trays nearby before returning to her. “There seems to be plenty left depending on the voracity of your appetite.”

 

[Mercy]

Gerwald Lechner

Mercy could practically taste it on him.

The lingering scent of ire, almost like ash on the tongue, embittered and furious. Which was interesting, because Mercy hadn't noticed any particularly large blow-ups during the event. She had completely missed the reunion between a victim and her killer, or the intrusion of others and the measuring of egos.

As such it remained a mystery for her why Lechner felt the way he did, but it was none of her business, beyond just giving her a little point of data.

All was not well in the courts of the Order. Tension... but that was always a part of being a Sith. She just wondered if it would blow up and destroy the carefully made dynamics forged by Srina Talon . She hoped not. Anything that upset her sister somehow had a way of rebounding right at her. She still remembered having her nose broken.

When Gerwarld spoke Mercy did turn to him and raised her eyebrows.

"Ah, Lechner, great fucking party you set up. I haven't had this great a time since the skull smashing on Brosi." Mercy grinned there and then paused... before offering a plate to him in return.

"Wanna have a drink together? I should get to know the people Srina surrounds herself with."

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
TAG: Mercy

A rough chuckle finally escaped Gerwald at the mention of Brosi. The sound stayed low in his chest, quieter than the laughter carrying through the Spire around them, but genuine all the same.

"Brosi was simpler."

The admission came without hesitation. There had been comfort in the brutality of that world. No layered politics. No careful smiles hiding old grudges. Just artillery fire, broken ground, and the certainty that everyone present understood exactly what the day demanded of them.

Music from the main hall drifted through the chamber while rain traced slow lines down the immense black windows overlooking Jutrand. Beyond the glass the city glowed beneath the storm, towers of gold and crimson cutting through the darkness while thunder rolled somewhere far below the Spire.

Mercy's offer earned a faint grin from the Wolf.

"Careful," Gerwald warned as he lifted the whiskey slightly. "Most of what they serve in these halls is designed for politicians pretending they enjoy each other's company."

One of the nearby Legionnaires noticed the gesture and moved without instruction. The veteran disappeared briefly into the crowd before returning with a dark bottle wrapped in worn leather. Gerwald accepted it with an appreciative nod before resting it against the edge of the table.

"This is different."

The seal cracked beneath his thumb with a sharp pop. The scent reached the air almost immediately. Honey, smoke, pine, and spice pushed through the heavier aromas of roasted meat and wine surrounding the feast.

Mead.

Real mead.

Not the polished Core World version sweetened until it lost its bite, but something older and rougher. The kind of drink shared beside fires after battle when armor still smelled of smoke and blood.

"It comes from Stewjon," Gerwald explained while pulling two unused glasses from a passing tray. Amber liquid rolled into each with slow thickness. "One of the old mountain holds still makes it the proper way."

One glass slid toward Mercy.

"Most people here would hate it," the Wolf said with a faint smirk. "Which is usually how I know something is worth drinking."