We are The Primeval [Post-Invasion]

[Boethiah]

The fires on Wayland stilled burned, the battle was over but their wars have just begun.

Amidst the smoldering ruins of what used to be a settlement, Primeval soldiers were gathering bodies and prisoners--oddly enough placed in the center of all this, tables, chairs, and freshly cooked food was laid out with no particular pattern. Gathering around the scene were the champions of the March against the Mandalorians on Wayland.

It was hard to believe that this was an army at all. The soldiers were of different cultures, styles of warfare, and some even held opposing values in some ways. Yet despite all this they've won against an enemy whose sole purpose was war itself. Anja sat in a seat at the far end of one of the many tables, Gulandi Warriors feasted amongst themselves around her as she rested her eyes.

Nearby another group of Gulandi erected several wood piles, their purposes would be revealed later... For now it was time to celebrate and feast; basking in what glories could be had and plotting revenge on what slights had been done.

Each had their own reason for being here but one common thing united them; The Primeval.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Keira Ticon"] | [member="Boo Chiyo"] | [member="Taryc Ap'Irae"] | [member="Kiber Dorn"] | [member="Damien Daemon"] | [member="Bal'gul"] | [member="Jemmila Kyrgen"] | [member="Perla Pirjo"] | [member="Kiran Vess"] | [member="Darth Vornskr"] | [member="Kran Meelan"] | [member="Flannigan Mcnash"] | [member="Auswyn Nothrael"] | [member="Token Waters"] | [member="Ebenezer"] | [member="Orkamaat"] | [member="Jun Nez"] | The Primeval

 

[Brooke Waters]

Token was… well, she still really didn’t know how she fit in with the Primeval. She had come out here searching for answers. And amidst the ranks of the occult nation, she was starting to find them. She was starting to find herself. It was refreshing to say the least. Sure, she missed her cityscapes, the blonde witch was by and far a city girl. She loved the glittering canyons, all gray and glowing.

It felt like home. It reminded her of Coronet. She was known to head to Coruscant every so often, just to walk the streets.

But she was here, on Wayland because the Primeval were on the war front. She didn’t know what quite inspired her to come on the offensive. She was a Siren, she wasn’t the type to go hunting battle, but if it came to her? She’d fight, she’d defend and she’d kill. Pirates were one thing, but she knew that there were people who could use her help. And the resonating barrier making girl, well, she came to help out.

And they had won!

She had changed out of her armor, leaving it on one of the shuttles, and was in a really sweat-stained tanktop and some compression shorts. Yeah, she was looking the part of a battle worn blonde. Her hair was a knotted and dirty mess. She didn’t like not being put together. It bothered her. But she was hungry, and right now? That was all that mattered.

And maybe a drink.

And probably dancing.

Definitely dancing.

Did the Primeval dance?

 

[Darth Carnifex]

His body had been broken several times, but his spirit and mind persisted above the limitations of his flesh. His skin had been seared, nearly to the bone, by the fires that he had helped create to consume the forest and all life within it. His spine was dislocated, the vertebrae had jutted out at obscene angles before the doctors and surgeons had been able to shove them back into place and treat whatever damage had happened to the nerves. His lung had been crushed utterly, but with the advanced organic reconstruction techniques at their disposal they had been able to undo the damage to a certain degree, yet they told him that a lingering hack and wheeze would persist despite their best efforts. His hair, once flowing freely from his scalp and as black as the night, had all but been burned away in the fires of his own hatred and that of [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"]'s. Now his scarred scalp was bare for all to gaze upon, yet his burning eyes twisted daggers in those that deigned to stare for too long.

He had discarded the ruined armor from the battle in place of something more ceremonial, a suit of dull silver durasteel armor gilded with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds across the breastplate, pauldrons, and forearm guards. A cloak of black silk was draped over his armor and fastened by baubles that reflected the burning inferno nearby. Despite the damage and the slight hunch from his recently reconstructed back the Sith Lord Vornskr towered above many, if not all, who had attended the feast set ideally in the middle of the carnage that had unfolded mere hours earlier. He feasted on some roasted flesh, he cared not to ask what animal it had come from or who had prepared it, and devoured it ravenously. The battle and damage he had built up his appetite to monstrous proportions, and feasted like a rabid animal at the table surrounded by other members of the Primeval.

Perhaps he was being a little unsophisticated in his mannerisms, but frankly he didn't give two poodooes, and so went on eating. Occasionally he would glance up from his food and drink to cast a couple of cursory glances at those who dined with him.

The proud victors of a mighty battle, and the festering corpses that had fallen to their fury.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Auswyn Nothrael]

One such body gathered by Primeval forces was not a corpse. Nay, she still breathed, and by the time they had gotten to her she wasn't in much of a shape to move, but she was awake... ish. Her awareness swam between consciousness and unconsciousness during the retrieval, questions were asked, but words of the old gods had still come from her in delirium, and that impact to her head rattled something around in her brain. It was known that she would welcome the scars, and had no need of techniques that would make her body seem as if nothing had happened. Hours later, after unconsciousness had taken her for a rest, the scents of sustenance teased her awake to a body that was in less pain, stitched up and patched to promote healing. Not everything had been resolved - the fingers of the medics were too large to deal with the smaller bits of shrapnel - but the larger threats to her existence and resumption of regular function were dealt with swiftly.

She had been told that someone would soon come to pick over her body and when offered painkillers, she turned them down. Pain could be managed through the Force, and otherwise tolerated through endurance and force of will. As she waited, she categorized the inches of her body, finding a wrist that had been crushed that now functioned, a throat still sore and bruised with the mark of those hands that had been wrapped around it that she breathed from freely, a headache that was nearly gone, ribs that were sore but no longer cracked and a bacta patched stomach that was doubtless covering a few gnarly scars-to-be.

Satisfied, she moved on to thinking of the encounter that had resulted in all this action upon her flesh, some parts pleasing, others less so, and one part at the edge of her consciousness that awoke a well of anger and triggered her hunger and thirst at the same time. She remembered his face, so burned into her psyche it was, and it made her wish for a drink or ten to accompany her thoughts of murderous vengeance. There was, of course, the matter of evading or escaping the medics who were rather convinced that she needed to stay put, which only exacerbated her anger... and they'd taken away her knives. Mistake.

The Mandalorian had taken her lightsaber. Worse mistake.

"Give me what's mine and let me go..."

They'd tried a sedative, but she'd worked some telekinetic finesse and now there was a field nurse having an unwanted nap on the ground. These weren't her prey, they weren't hers to do with as she pleased, but her threats were not hollow. They had her held down, instead.

"...or I won't need a blade," she hissed, "and I won't need my hands for what I'm going to do to every single last one of you."

She hadn't noticed that she'd gained spectators.

[member="Boo Chiyo"] | [member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Armand Temi]

Both Perla Piro and her bull rancor, Xana had ended up in medbays on Primeval shuttles. The reptomammal was extremely wounded, and the entire time both beast and rider were being stitched up, the Force bond between them stayed strong. Eventually Xana was given an animal tranqulizer so the worst of her injuries could be repaired with the utmost safety given to the medical team. Perla's nearly severed arm was surgically re-attached and she soaked in bacta tank for a few hours.

Eventually, she emerged to join the feast and celebration. The spellweaver's raven-black hair was down, flowing around her shoulders, and she wore a loose, black dress. Her arm was in a thick bandage, and although no one would see, so was her torso as she had broken a couple ribs by falling from a jungle tree during her duel with a father/son pair of Mandalorians.

Perla sat down right next to Token and poured them both a goblet of wine from an unmarked bottle. The Dathomir exile drank deeply from her glass - she was still in a little pain and the thick, fruity alcohol would help to dull that soon enough.

"How did you fare on the battlefield?" she asked. The two of them had trained together and while Perla was very much a loner, her friendship with Token reminded her a little of being back in her Great Canyon Clan village, playing huntress with the other witches.

[member="Token Waters"]

 

[Zak Dymo]

The pale blue witch-boy just looked down at the woman skeptically.

Just how exactly was he supposed to go about pulling shrapnel out of that? And did it have to be so... girly? Blinking, the Pantoran's amber eyes scanned along the ground, flicking off in any direction that avoided looking at the woman. "The medics said you needed help with some shrapnel," the boy remarked, skipping over any pleasantries or introductions. Hands planted on his hips, the young monk stood in wait for permission to...

...well, he wasn't really sure. He'd kind of rather she told him to get the kark out of there than figure out how he was going to explore or probe for metal filament under her skin.

A battle dressing encircled the lower part of the youth's exposed left arm, securing a kolto patch in place over the wound created by [member="Arrbi Betna"]'s bullet had splinted against the youth's armor, embedding pieces of itself into the armorweave and the skin underneath. He'd ditched his helmet sometime during the invasion, and now carried medpacs instead of a sniper rifle.

He wasn't a doctor. Feth, he wasn't even all that great at casting Force Healing spells. Which, was probably a good thing. Whoever this chick was, she'd already managed to put the fear of Balagoth into pretty much ever single medic still alive on the planet.

Considering everything that the Mandalorians had put them through... that was saying something!

[member="Auswyn Nothrael"] | [member="Laguz Vald"]​

 

[Laguz Vald]

Xe could linger on what had happened in the mines — the taxing race to the bomb, the last few minutes where xir breath was gone and xir thoughts were a strange amalgam of "OhgodwhatifIdie" and "We got this crap" — but xe actually really, really didn't want to.

And the best way to not think about something was to drink it away, which is what the sniper promptly did the second booze was within arm's reach.

After downing a bottle, or maybe two — who's counting? — the shifter was much more ready to face what remained of the world the Primeval had just ravaged. All things considered, the jungly rock didn't look half bad after being overrun by a horde of religious zealots and beskar-clad protein shake advertisements.

Heh.

Another long chug had the last of the swill swirling down xir throat, and a careless sweep of xir arm sent the empty flask spinning into the flickering darkness falling upon the planet. Perhaps half a second afterwards, Laguz almost jumped out of xir skin when a string of angry profanities was spat in xir direction, spurring the shi'ido into a graceless, but fast-paced drunken trek.

As expected, that could only end one way, and it wasn't good.

Within the space of a few breaths, the sniper was already stumbling past some irritated and tired medics and straight towards a blue-skinned kid who probably shouldn't be pracing about on a battlefield-turned-unadulterated-feast.

Then again, Laguz Vald had never been a particularly responsible person. Or sensitive, for that matter.

"Whoah, lady!" xe exclaimed as xe attempted to brace xemself against the armrest child, swaying only slightly on the spot. "That looks nasty," the shifter went on, unfazed by the peculiarity of the situation.

"Need a hand with that?"

[member="Boo Chiyo"] | [member="Auswyn Nothrael"]​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Not having actually done anything there were no wounds or exhaustion visible from one Kiber Dorn.

Of course, he had still shown up to celebrate, as if he had been on the bench for the smashball team that had one but still felt entitled to the trophy without playing. Oh well. What could you do? He was a runt of a man in a sea of titans, having gotten distracted by the trees of Wayland rather than the big macho brutes that weaved around them.

At least the trees were far less passive aggressive, and were less likely to call the girls sweetheart in a rookie's attempt to provoke them.

He lay upon the ground, face painted in specific tribal fashion very unfitting with the way he had his hands laced around the back of his head and the manner in which his legs were crossed. It was like after sex but lacking the coitus. Not that he cared much. Who was there to have seen him contribute almost nothing? The big oiled up bearded man? He was probably elbow deep in wenches by this point in time.

A celebratory cigarra was pulled from the packet, swiftly finding itself placed between a pair of cracked and blackened lips. Flame sparked the slow death stick was ignited and out billowed joyous smoke from the jester's mouth.

 

[Azrael Asura]

Four hollow eyes followed along the group, pausing to watch a few with interest. Near-silent clicking would be heard. The mark of a beast's voice echoing for a single purpose: Another brand of sight. Azrael Asura had yet to join in on the festivities. He felt himself lucky to be alive. Coming so close to death didn't seem like a reason to celebrate, really. If anything it was a reason to return to training as soon as possible. Next time he faced the Mand'alor... next time he would have to win. Otherwise he could not consider himself worthy of his Gods. Why would they accept someone who failed the same trial twice? Maybe they would. But he did no want to risk it.

"There, your hand is all wrapped up. Come in for treatment every day and it should be just fine."

Quietly the lizard nodded, ignoring the retreating medic. His focus was still on the allies who stood before him. Some were enjoying a moment of peace, others told stories of their battles, and a few were happily digging into a feast. The scent of various foods drifted over to Azrael... tempting him... calling him to come and eat. Still he sat by himself, barely moving, waiting. When he had finished rethinking his fight he would join in the consumption of goods. Until then he'd stay quiet. Just thinking about what could have been if he had fought smarter, or harder, or if an ally had come at the perfect time. It might seem pointless to some. But he knew that history tended to repeat.

He wanted to be ready for that.

 

[Kurt Meyer]

Kiran was not a part of the festivities, in fact it appeared he wasn't really part of anything right now.

The owner and chief executive officer of Saeva Incorporated instead was laying in the middle of the deep jungle. His helmet was completely smashed, his armor had been broken into pieces, his body suit had been completely scorched off, and his skin had been seared to a raw bright red instead of its usual light pink.

He lay with one hand over his ribs, the other one holding on to the handle of a knife that sat squarely within his abdomen.

His lips had become quite thin and the blood had drained out of his face, his usual cocky look was gone, and instead it was replaced with an expression of gnarled pain and slight annoyance. His fingers tightened slightly on the blade, and his entire body tensed as he felt a cough run through him. Kiran's throat strained and her surged slightly as he spat an odd brackish colored liquid, a mixture of blood, mucous, and likely some food.

The Mandalorian that he had beaten to a pulp had long since been dragged off, or so he assumed. After he had broken her face in several places Kiran had simply stood and walked away from her, not even bothering killing her.

Instead he had managed to wander towards a nearby clearing before collapsing. That was of course where he was now, his blaster barely in it's holster, his armor completely ruined, and what little blood he had left being held in place by a knife he firmly pinned in place with an iron grip.

Kind of depressing really, though he didn't seem too bothered by it.

The Zeltron simply lay there, lips thin, face pale, a small emergency beacon blipping on his arm. Eventually his idiotic employees would come to collect him.

 

[Jun Nez]

*pfffftt* The air was leaking from his suit. How did he manage to get out of the almost collapsing mining platform? He didn't know for sure, all he remembered was a messy ball of fur and running, a lot of running. Now it was time to celebrate, but celebrate what? They told him they've won, he saw the injured people, but he didn't care much for that. He wanted to find the drums, the source of them. His suit was in need of repair and his scanners had stopped working, along with his left arm. He found a mechanic and a medic and asked them to help. It seemed they were busy with other things. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tube of that glue he normally used to fix holes until he got his own engineer to look at it. He grabbed it and began fixing his armour, amidst the screams and chaos that was the injured area.

Were had his teammates gone? The screaming girl ([member="Token Waters"]), the sniper([member="Laguz Vald"]) and the crawling bug ([member="Ebenezer"]). He couldn't see them anywhere, at least not without his scanners. He wondered where his own team had gone, the ones piloting his ship, his usual camaraderie. His comms still didn't work, he began looking for someone to help him contact his ship, when he remembered; He had a tracking device in his suit, unless it was fried they would find him. Oh well, he could always wait, was that a dancing tent over there? He laughed to himself and went towards the tent.

 

[Keira Priest]

Once the battle had ended Keira hadn't quite registered the fact, and still she found herself in a semi-dazed state, not exactly realizing that she was more or less safe from harm for the moment. Silently she sat at one of the many tables scattered about what had been a battlefield mere hours earlier, studying those about her with a vague sort of curiosity. For having stumbled from a life-threatening situation many of them were functioning just as they had before with little regard for their still fresh wounds. Some of them were already stitched up, others walked about with still open cuts, but all of them were already on their way to taking another planet for their own. Despite the wounds suffered, this was only the first step in a line of thousands that would spread their influence about the galaxy. Not that she cared either way.

For her own part she had been required to take time away from the immediate celebration, being pulled away to have the graze of the bullet on her left side stitched up. The procedure itself hadn't been nearly as painful as receiving the wound, especially given that the area had been numbed beforehand. Still the soreness persisted, limiting her range of motion, a sharp tug on the stitches reminding her of her limits each time she attempted to stretch them. A bacta patch had been pressed on over the injury, dulling the pain and accelerating the healing process as well. Then and only then had she been allowed to leave, with warnings not to exert herself, though the chances of her actually following completely through with the advice being slim to none. There was a reason this was merely one new scar in a repertoire of many.

Still clad in the same tattered robes she had donned previously, she finally reached across the table for a drink, sipping at the alcohol and savoring the burn as she swallowed. This was a moment of recollection and general peace, and for her own part she intended to take full advantage of it. Any moment of recompense was slow in coming when it came to her way of life, and this was certainly a new one. With one brow raised she watched the commotion transpiring nearby, one woman being held down by medical staff while a few others she vaguely recognized stood over her. That was something new. Taking another pull of her drink, she averted her eyes, returning to studying the general rabble that was scattered about what had once been a battlefield. She might have been separate from them, but in that moment she felt a part of something.

 

[Boethiah]

The Gulandi feasted like mad akk dogs, tearing through the smoked and skewered flesh viciously and choking down on their wines. For this was their feast; not one of victory in battle but victory granted to those of them who died against the Mandalorians. If the Mandalorians were truly the greatest warriors in the galaxy then surely their Death God would grant them the highest honours in the afterlife for their valiant sacrifice. It was in those deaths that the Gulandi celebrated and it drove them to desire greater sacrifice in far more difficult battles that were sure to lie ahead.

Anja kept outside of the limelight, her relaxed slouch obscured her from the more prominent champions of the day. People like [member="Darth Vornskr"] who stood taller than the rest and those who just stood out in general like [member="Azrael Asura"] drew the eyes of soldiers who'd never seen a six five handed lizard being before. One pale-blue eye revealed itself as the lid opened, the pupil danced about the scenery. Seeing the heat radiate off of their bodies, from the food and fires lit up the area in a miraculous display of colours that most couldn't even begin to imagine.

A wounded soldier hobbled over to his Host Lord, "Your Worship, we've brought gifts." Coming up behind the bannerman were two soldiers carrying linens and underneath them in the visible bulk were precious objects taken from the battle. Rising from his bow, the soldier gestured to his men to place the gifts on the table in front of her before wandering off and into the crowd. Her second eye opened, allowing her to scan the items in full vision. A hand reached out to pull away the fabric, revealing the bits and pieces inside.

[member="Token Waters"] | [member="Auswyn Nothrael"] | [member="Perla Pirjo"] | [member="Boo Chiyo"] | [member="Laguz Vald"] | [member="Keira Ticon"] | [member="Jun Nez"]

 

[Brooke Waters]

There really wasn’t dancing? Who came up with this idea! Sure, she was all sweaty and gross, but after a battle? Sometimes you just wanted to… y’know. Yeah. It was like after a hunt! With her clan, they went hunting sometimes. Sure, it was mostly free diving as they were a pescatarian clan, because, well, fish, but after a hunt? Or any kind of event? Get drums and dancing and some peyote. And really, that was all she wrote. Best of times she’d ever found.

Unless she was on Coruscant in one of the entertainment districts rolling on some pill named after some girl and dancing. Those were good nights too. Yeah, Ok, Token wasn’t a far reach from her cousin, they both liked vices. Token just enjoyed hers with a lot of dance and only a side plate of the dark side. The little blonde could feel the people around. The ones who won, the ones who hurt.

But right now? She was horngry.

But then the other witch showed up! Perla was pretty in a dark and mysterious way totally intimidating. She was all… hard core witch where Token felt like she kind of played one on the weekends. Though she was finding herself more and more sneaking into the Mando borders to Dathomir. “I did fairly well! I mean… my team did really well, I kind of was there to support them.” She shrugged. The girl could stun with her voice and make a wall with the Force like no other, but it was really the shifter and Kel Dor that did the heavy lifting.

“I heard you were out fighting the Mandos. Must’ve been better than trying to stop a bomb.” She licked at her lip and looked for her glass of wine. Unlike [member="Darth Vornskr"] it wasn’t a skull goblet. Glass, please. Cleaned.

She looked around, still paying attention to [member="Perla Pirjo"], because the other witch could probably eat her, but she saw a familiar armor set and gave a wave to [member="Jun Nez"]. She wasn’t sure she’d be recognized outside of her armor, but it was worth a shot. Wine!

 

[Matreya]

Arriving later than the rest, Lord Daemos staggered to an open seat, one across from Darth Vornskr, whom he heard had been wounded severely like Daemos himself. He knew nothing of the fight, other than Vornskr had nearly destroyed a large part of the Jungle.

With luck, and a deal of bacta, Damien was able bodied enough to walk around without fear of keeling over. Yet he still pondered how a being such as he faced was in this universe. His enemy was stabbed, had a destroyed lung with accompanying hole in the chest, was nearly eviscerated and still wouldn't go down. The man had been godlike.


He as well had a hand in its destruction, yet was wounded less. Had it not been for his durable Beskar'gam, which was now in the shop being repaired by his crew, he would of been defeated by the severely overpowered man he had faced. After leaving the battle to be treated, Damien found he had a half dozen ruptured and hemorrhaging organs, a massive hole from where the Spear of Midnight Black had pierced him, and nearly all of his ribs cracked and damaged - his darkside healing having saved him from a pierced heart or lung. To boot, a severe concussion.

For the first time in over six years, the Ancient Knight was clad in his ceremonial robes; a scarlet hue so red it made blood seem pink, with a black trim. Underneath was a simple country folk style outfit, consisting of long sleeved shirt and trousers - both made of glistaweb. The only mark of his worth being the Talisman of Concentration adorned around his neck, he had chosen to leave the ring at home.

Attempting to lean over, Damien groaned, his body still ached, but how else would he get food?? Filling a plate he reclined, staring at the food long and hard before finally grabbing utensils and beginning consumption.

 

[Jun Nez]

As Jun Nez made his way over to what looked to be a dancing tent, he saw one of his companions, it as [member=Token Waters], the screaming girl. It difficult to recognize her, especially without his scanners, but he knew nobody else and it wasn't the sniper or the bug. He waved back with his working arm, to recognize her greeting. He then walked towards her and another person,[member=[URL="http://starwarsrp.net/user/7434-perla-pirjo/"]Perla Pirjo[/URL]]. His comm system wasn't fully operational, so the voice which was heard wasn't recognizable, but distorted. As he got close enough for the persons to hear him, he said "Gre-ings, w-at a p-rty, but why al te dr-ms?". Unbeknown to the people, the drums were all in his head, at least the ones that was clearest.

 

[Kay-Larr]

((Sorry to intrude, but I got permission from [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] ))

Lady Kay, or Kay as her friends and guardians called her, had spent the entire invasion of Wayland...well...hiding. It was sheer luck that kept her out of sight and out of harm's way throughout all of the firefight during the campaign. Of course she had no idea that the invasion was coming, nor did she have a chance to escape beforehand. And now that was all over, she waited even longer still. Kay was really good at that, hiding and waiting, not to mention escaping. She had been on the run for a time and only recently had she been out in the public again. And she had become so accustomed to hide her Force ability, that she had hoped it made her harder to detect whenever she was near them. She certainly didn't seek them out herself.

The armour of the dead revealed who the losing party were and she wasn't sure just who the winning party was. Only a few Mandalorians did she call friends, those that protected her and would give their lives to her. Other Mandalorians saw her as weak because she chose not to fight. Kay had her small blaster and lightsaber hidden in her satchel, but they were the only weapons that she carried and she hardly ever used them. It was probably because of that that she had so many come to her aid when she needed it.

The smell of food and sounds of a party drew her out towards the camp. Kay was hungry as well as thirsty. Her food and water rations were spent and this looked like the perfect opportunity to refill them. Maybe she'll go unnoticed as the others ate and drank themselves into a stupor? She was dressed in a simple merchant's dress and hoped that the dirt stains from her time here would help her to not stand out so much.

Quietly, moving in such a way to try to blend in, Kay entered the tent with the huge table loaded with....food. Wonderful, glorious bits of meat and breads. It was much too tempting. Without stopping, but walking casually, she made her way over by Anja's side, just out of view of the corner of her eye and reached her hand over towards a chunk of meat that sat near the edge of the table. This was her first attempt at thievery, but with such a dark looking crowd, she didn't feel that a formal entrance would be received well.

 

[Matreya]

Filling his mouth, Damien chewed slowly, his mind hardly registering that each bite had an exquisite flavor. Currently he envisioned the battle so recently over. It wasn't fear he had felt during that battle but awe. He had done so much to enhance his power since he discovered them...

Yet the man he fought had nearly over classed him. His endurance was by far more capable then Damien's. The man had been stabbed and beaten, had a great deal of him eviscerated through the Ancient Sith's Force Destruction..but he just kept coming.

Looking up, Damien was surprised to be pulled from his thoughts. Down the table was a beautiful woman, one he did not recognize from the battle. It was not her beauty that caught his attention however. The fact was that she was tentative at picking up food.

She did not belong to the Primeval. That or she feared what those around her would do....

Reclining, Damien raised his hand to use the Force. Gripping his plate of hardly touched food, the living energy lifted it from the table and guided it down towards the woman ([member="Lady Kay"]). Keeping his eyes steadily on the person, he wondered what she would do. Perhaps she would make a scene and thank him. Mayhap she would pretend that she didn't notice it.

Either way he didn't care.

 

[Boethiah]

Anja reclined in her seat, slouching slightly as she leaned back in the procured chair. Throughout the cheering, the crackling flames, and popping of distant explosions she was able to close her eyes again and gains some form of rest throughout the celebrations. Only when Damien slid the plate did she sense the new presence in their midst. Glancing towards her side and looking directly at the woman, Anja's piercing gaze sized her up for all that she was worth.

It took a split second of calculation for her to make a decision. She could've decided to end the woman's life right then and there, or at least have her apprehended by the Gulandi, but something about her roused Anja's curiosity too greatly for her to choose the path of ignorance. Droplets of sweat ran down her cheek, the witch slowly sat up where she was without her eyes leaving the stranger's own.

"If you were planning on killing me, I'd have done so from afar." She spoke rather softly but still her words were loud enough to be heard clearly throughout the ambiance. Despite the choice of words there was no hostility or urgency in her tone nor expressions; she spoke to her as if she was speaking to a trusted companion.

[member="Lady Kay"] | [member="Damien Daemon"] | [member="Kiber Dorn"] | [member="Darth Vornskr"] | [member="Jun Nez"] | [member="Token Waters"] | [member="Laguz Vald"] | The Primeval

 

[Kay-Larr]

[member="Damien Daemon"] [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

Kay was surprised as the plate of food floated towards her, but not in a bad way. She eyed the man as he watched her, mouthing the words 'Thank you.' as she took the plate in hand.

She wanted to just back away from sight to eat and store some of it away for later, but then the woman beside her moved and stared at her. Both of them felt powerful yet she couldn't hold their gazes for long. The eyes were the windows to the spirit and she felt outnumbered and vulnerable enough in that camp to open herself up to strangers.

Anja's words caught her by surprise and Kay just waited to see if everyone around them were going to focus on her, or their meal. Kay was not a dangerous person in that sense, but how was a stranger to know that?

"Kill you? Oh no, Miss. I wouldn't do that." She'd also never killed anyone before and certainly wasn't going to start now. Kay still held the plate in hand, glancing at it as she looked to the others. So much for a warm meal..