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.”