Faction [TSC] Terror in Tapani

[Mercy]

Onboard The Siegemother
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Tag: Lysander von Ascania | Naniti

The Togruta stayed silent but Mercy got the distinct impression she had been about to speak before deferring to Lysander. Eyes flicked from one to the other, they'd both get the distinct impression of being sized up, just for what purpose was unclear. Mercy had grown up with the Echani and so body language was not just a metaphor for Mercy.

She felt it in the stance between them. The way they leaned into each other, even for the slightest centimeter, the way their heads swiveled to catch when the other was speaking.

Was it love? Was it obsession? Was there a difference when it came to the Sith and their ilk?

"Well, I have come to accept your judgement, von Ascania." Mercy murmured warmly as her attention shifted back to the lad. "So if you value hers, then I suppose for the time being so will I." Then that smirk turned a bit wolvish. "But does she speak? Or is it her mere presence that brings you good fortune?"

Mercy snapped her fingers and across the view port a map was projected of the Tapani sector. She stepped to the side so they both can see it clearly.

"I did hear that Arris Windrun got herself a pet Jedi to try and mold into something useful." Acier Moonbound was someone she hadn't met yet, but by all accounts he was an impressive specimen. "We will have to see if he bends or breaks. Not everyone can shake the passive nature of the Jedi, some are destined to be weak and inspire weakness in those around them."

"So far we have encountered little issue. The Tapani have been caught unaware just as Arris predicted. But, come closer, Lysander and Naniti. And let's see how well the Togruta's judgement truly is. See here, girl, these are our battle lines." Her golden arm, eldritch and monstrous unwound into tendrils so that Mercy could easily gesture towards the various points on the holo projection.

"And here is the convoy we are waiting on. In that vast space between us, there are pirate ships under our current employ, who are harraying them towards us."

She glanced towards the young woman.

"What risks do you see? Or do you believe we have covered every possible option?"

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Objective One- Life Day
Tags: Valephor Crokell | Open​

There was logic to traveling light and without a group, it also helped that neither of them necessarily carried the hallmarks that immediately gave them away as undeniably Sith. It was to their benefit that they could pass through the initial courtyards of the estate as if they belonged. A'Mia carried herself with the air of one precisely where she was meant to be and affected the guise of a scholar with scribe in tow.

Inhabitants of the great house had some forewarning but not enough, confusion and misinformation meant the Covenant members were just as likely to be received as tentative allies as they were feared enemies, should they be spotted and recognized for what they were that is. For now though, the neti and langhesi blended in.

"Excellent, Valephor. Some of the minutiae is unnecessary here during field work, but your enthusiasm for the task at hand is acceptable. How far does that sense of yours travel? Certainly there must be a limit to what you can take in."

Upon reaching a more populated and therefore more heavily monitored area near the proper entrance of the place, she split from the main path and began to slink lower to the ground— moving with inhuman grace and a rather unusual gait which would be impossible for a biped. Doorways, even pathways became mere suggestions to her when they approached a section of wall she wished to scale. Her own uncanny senses assured her this was the surest route with the least resistance.

Aware of the student's limitations, she paused and released one of her sithspawn. Crooning to it as one would a favorite pet, A'Mia gave psychic instruction that it was to aid the boy. That done, she turned to skitter up to the second story of the building where a small balcony led into servant's quarters. The shambling vines embraced and carried Valephor whether he was ready or not, carefully depositing him on the balcony before following the neti indoors.

She was just lowering a second body gently to the floor, two servants who'd been dispatched cleanly, each with a phrik blade to the throat. A'Mia's robes drank the resulting blood like leaves do sunlight or roots do water, but her serene face was artfully splattered with crimson as she turned to regard the young man.

"We are to leave none alive," she reminded him calmly.

"But I seek to leave most carnage to the others. I am curious about the non sentients you mentioned. Guard beasts perhaps? Also, if any of the children are near— we handle them first."

A’Mia straightened her posture, corpses on either side, and delicately wiped her face clean with a sleeve of her robes.

"Questions or statements before we continue?"

 

[Vexorion]

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[]

Torture Me - Davey Suicide​

Objective: 1 - Life Day
Tag: Open


The Guard House lived in a false sense of order, its illumination pooling like weak suns across polished stone and wavering banners. Vexorion slipped inside as a wrinkle in reality rather than a man, his presence dimming the air, his breath unheard. The six guards barely had time to register the wrongness; an itch behind the eyes, a pressure in the skull before the silence thickened and claims were made. His blade whispered once, twice, and then no more; the room became a museum of interrupted lives, each body folded into stillness by intent rather than chance. He lingered only long enough to savor the echo of fear that clung to the walls, then moved on, unhurried, satisfied.

The connecting hallways bent inward like the throat of a vast creature, doors and arches leaning toward him as if listening. He walked them with a pilgrim's patience, boots never quite touching the floor as he passed. He traced the hidden seams with a gloved hand, memorizing the pulse of the place; the way servants' routes bled into noble corridors, the way secrets preferred the dark. By the time he reached her chambers, the House had already begun to forget its dead guards.

She was waiting, lamp turned low, silk robe careless in its defiance of propriety. "You're late," she said, smiling like a promise.

"Late is a mercy," Vexorion replied, his voice a frigid blade. "I like to arrive when expectation has softened."

She laughed softly and stepped closer, unafraid. "You always say such things. Did the guards give you trouble?"
"They gave me satisfaction," he said. "Which is all they were ever worth."

Her fingers brushed his wrist as she pressed the passkey into his palm. "This will take you where the House doesn't look," she murmured. "Hidden corridors. Old ones. Remember our deal, Vex? You promised to take me with you if I aided you."

"Excellent," he said, savoring the word. "And I shall keep my word. I will rescue you from this Hell."

He did not hurry. The lamp guttered once as he leaned in, close enough for her to feel the chill he carried. "You've been very helpful," he told her, almost kindly. Her smile faltered, understanding arriving too late to matter. When he left the chamber, the lamp went dark behind him, and the House gained another secret it would never confess. Vexorion vanished into the hidden corridor, passkey warm in his grasp, carrying with him the quiet arithmetic of betrayal completed.