Private What Survives Time

[Ra'a'mah]

The old district of Theed moved at a different rhythm than the rest of the city, a slower and more deliberate pace that seemed to belong to another era entirely. Tourists usually stayed closer to the palace terraces and the lake promenades, leaving the narrow, curved streets of the older quarter to locals, to quiet shops tucked between stone archways, and to the occasional visitor who preferred wandering without a guide rather than following a curated itinerary. Small storefronts lined the streets, their windows filled with books, antiques, and relics that had somehow survived generations of Naboo history without losing their quiet dignity.

Ra'a'mah found herself there more often than most people expected, drawn to the district with a regularity that had become almost instinctive. Her office in the government quarter was only a short walk away, and on days when meetings stretched endlessly or negotiations spiraled into the same circular arguments, stepping into the older parts of the city offered a kind of reset that nothing else quite managed. Naboo had a way of reminding people that the galaxy had existed long before whatever crisis currently demanded attention, and that it would continue long after.

The small shop she stepped into carried the soft scent of aged paper and polished wood, a comforting blend that settled around her the moment she crossed the threshold. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with old books, historical records, and the occasional oddity whose origin the proprietor likely understood far better than he ever admitted. A few antique pieces rested in glass displays near the center of the room—Naboo art, navigation instruments, and fragments of architecture that had been carefully preserved and quietly displayed without fanfare.

Ra moved slowly between the shelves, one hand resting lightly against the spine of a book as she read the faded title, her movements unhurried and thoughtful. She wasn't searching for anything in particular; sometimes it was enough simply to browse, to let her mind settle into the quiet and allow the noise of the day to fall away.

The stillness of the shop shifted slightly as the door behind her opened, the faint chime of the entry bell breaking the silence for a moment before fading back into the background. Ra glanced over her shoulder, her attention drawn briefly to the newcomer.

Another customer had entered—well dressed, though not ostentatiously so, the sort of person who looked comfortable in places where conversations and agreements tended to matter more than appearances. She returned the book to the shelf with a gentle motion before stepping aside to give him access to the display she had been standing near.

"Careful with that one," she said lightly, nodding toward an old astrogation device resting beneath the glass. "The owner will happily tell you the story of it for twenty minutes if you show too much interest."

A small, understated smile touched her lips, the expression carrying a hint of personal experience.

"I made that mistake once."

Her golden eyes lingered on the display for a moment before she looked back toward him, her tone shifting into something conversational and quietly observant.

"You're not from Naboo," she said, not as an accusation but as a simple truth spoken by someone who had spent enough time in the city to recognize its rhythms. "Visitors tend to pause here the way you just did."

She extended her hand with the easy politeness of someone who understood both diplomacy and the value of simple courtesy.

"Ra'a'mah."

No titles, no formalities, it's just a name offered naturally, as though she preferred it that way.

"My office is nearby, so I occasionally wander down here when I need a break from meetings," she added, her gaze drifting briefly across the shop as though acknowledging the quiet refuge it provided.

"If you're here on business, you're welcome to stop by sometime. Conversations tend to be much easier in an office than they are in a place like this."

Another faint smile followed, softer this time.

"Though this shop is far better for thinking."

The Lord of Hunger

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Naboo
OBJECTIVE: Just loitering
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ra'a'mah
​

Naboo wasn't exactly the place where one could find this particular person, in fact, it was already a rare occassion that He was present on Naboo, but the fact that he didn't disguise himself was even rarer. There was no elaborate armor covering him from head to toe, not the Dealmaker Guise he had only recently utilised to calm a certain political storm, now he just wore...himself. the visage of a young man, with slicked back blonde hair and alluringly androgynous features. yet behind this dark, electrum-rimmed glasses, anyone could see the reality of it all. Even if the man was handsome and even beautiful, his eyes betrayed that beauty was in truth...just skin deep.

As he stepped foot into a small, somewhat secluded shop in the city district of Theed, his eyes didn't need time to adjust to the dim lighting, the dusty air or the fact that he wasn't the only one around. For a moment, his eyes, golden and crimson in their vibrancy, yet wholly inhuman hovered over the shopkeep, before they turned towards the wares in that place. though he didn't expect to find anything of high value in both knowledge or monetary gain, experience had thought him that sometimes, one was able to find the least likely of things in the least likely of places and this...well, this was such a place.

"Careful with that one," she said lightly, nodding toward an old astrogation device resting beneath the glass. "The owner will happily tell you the story of it for twenty minutes if you show too much interest."

"It would only take me one minute to explain why if the owner's has paid more than a hundred credits for it, he's been swindled," Holding his hands behind his back, the man leaned forward, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as he glanced towards the woman who had initiated the conversation by warning Him for the potential regaling stories the owner would spout when given the opportunity.

"I made that mistake once."

"In that case...duly noted." A gentle, yet strangely cold smile managed to creep upon the man's face, before his lips seemed to return to their default position, a completely neutral and strangely uncaring expression.

"You're not from Naboo," she said, not as an accusation but as a simple truth spoken by someone who had spent enough time in the city to recognize its rhythms. "Visitors tend to pause here the way you just did."

"No...I hail from Eriadu...not exactly the same customs or ideology in that place," Again that same unfeeling and uncaring smile managed to light up his face ever so slightly.

"Ra'a'mah."

"Credius," His reply was fast and short, following the same principle ra'a'mah followed, not allowing her to look into his cards without attempting to look at hers first. It so happened she was quite a lot more chatty than he was, as she immediately went on to reveal she was close to her office (business?) and that she came to this place to think... (so...stress and a demanding job which required calm and silence to think in peace.)

"I AM sort of here for business...but not entirely," Turning around to have a look at the collection of dust-gathering books and tomes, a chuckle escaped the man's throat. "It's only in places like this where you can find knowledge that isn't stored in datapacks, crystals or holocrons...just the old ways, pen and paper, ink and sweat. I do agree this would be the ideal place to let go of the stress and bothersome nature of everyday life once in a while..."

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra listened without interruption, her expression settling into something quietly attentive rather than reactive, as though she were absorbing each detail he offered and weighing it against the subtle cues she was already gathering from him. There was something unusual about him. Not in any overt or alarming sense, nothing that would draw the eye of a passerby or raise concern in a formal setting. There was a precision to the way he spoke, a measured restraint that did not quite match the casual, unhurried atmosphere of the shop.

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the astrogation device he had dismissed so easily. The faintest flicker of amusement touched her eyes before she returned her attention to him.

"Then I suppose I should be grateful I never asked what it was worth," she replied lightly, her tone carrying a hint of dry humor that softened the observation without diminishing it.

At his mention of Eriadu, she inclined her head in a small gesture of acknowledgment, the motion smooth and unforced. "No, not quite the same," she agreed, her voice thoughtful. "Naboo tends to favor patience over efficiency. Eriadu… does not."

Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer than before. She was not searching or probing, simply observing him with the quiet precision of someone accustomed to reading people without announcing the fact.

"Credius," she repeated, the name spoken with deliberate care, committing it to memory rather than reacting to it.

When he turned his attention to the books, she followed his line of sight, one hand resting lightly against the edge of a nearby shelf as though the gesture anchored her in the moment. "There's a permanence to it," she said after a brief pause, her voice soft but certain. "Data can be altered. Records can be rewritten. But something like this…" Her fingers brushed faintly along the spine of an old volume. "It requires effort to change. That tends to make it more honest."

A faint smile touched her lips, subtle but genuine. "Or at the very least, more stubborn."

She shifted slightly to give him space on the shelf, though she remained close enough for the conversation to flow easily between them, her presence steady and unobtrusive.

"You said you're only partly here for business," she continued, her tone still casual but carrying a quiet thread of curiosity. "That usually means the business is either complicated or not the sort best handled in a crowded room."

Her gaze returned to him, steady but never intrusive, offering him the choice of how much to reveal without expecting anything in return.

"If it turns out to be the former, my office is still nearby," she added, echoing her earlier offer with the same calm neutrality, making it clear it was an option rather than an expectation. "Naboo may prefer patience, but I have found clarity tends to come a little easier in a quieter setting than this."

A small pause followed, her voice softening into something more reflective.

"And if it's the latter," she said, glancing briefly back toward the shelves with quiet appreciation, "then I imagine you chose the right place to think."

She let the moment settle there, unhurried and open, giving him the space to decide how much of himself he intended to reveal and how much he preferred to keep tucked behind that careful restraint.

The Lord of Hunger

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Naboo
OBJECTIVE: Just loitering
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ra'a'mah
​

"Then I suppose I should be grateful I never asked what it was worth,"

"Or you might have come to the same conclusion as I have," The man smiled ever so gently, his eyes still scanning the shop, trying to ascertain the quaint and the fake antigues from the real treasures hidden underneath the dust and clutter. Listening to this new conversation partner mentioning the difference between Naboo's patience and Eriadu's efficiency. It almost made him laugh, not because she was wrong, but exactly because she was right.

"Permanence is important," Credius let out a soft sigh as he looked at a multitude of titles and authors written on the spines of the books. "To change the text in a holocron or datapack requires less effort indeed...not to mention the fact it doesn't leave many visible cues of any alteration. The written word has the advantage...or perhaps the disadvantage that once jotted down, there's nearly no escape from them."

"You said you're only partly here for business," she continued, her tone still casual but carrying a quiet thread of curiosity. "That usually means the business is either complicated or not the sort best handled in a crowded room."

"Well, aren't we inquisitive..." The smile on his face remained, but even with his shades on, the crimson and golden orbs behind the electrum-rimmed eyewear couldn't be hidden completely, and these eyes made it clear that his smile did not reach those strangely colored orbs. "A word of wisdom, in the world of business it is the smartest move not to ask too many questions. Sometimes the answer might reveal a truth one did not wish to know and which could place a burden upon oneself which they can't deign to carry."

Looking at the woman, Credius' eyes softened, his eyes giving a less cold vibe as the smile finally seemed to reach his eyes. Letting out a sigh, he reached for his hair and brushed his fingers gently through the strands, combing his hair backwards with a wide smile on his face. "Perhaps I was too curt with such an answer... my apologies. I'll divulge at the very least that my business requires secrecy, a level of amorality and the ruthlessness only those who have stared death in the face and laughed at it could hope to manage. Now... are you still curious or should we change the subject to the matter at hand..."

His hand swiftly lunged towards the bookcase, his indexfinger sliding upwards across the spine of one of the books present in the bookshop. The book itself did not seem to be of any exceptional age, but going by the condition of the book, the dust brushed off by Credius' finger, it was certainly older than a few decades.

"The curse of leadership" By Willhuf Nargath
​

"Ever read this book?" The man's eyes squinted, his lip quivered slightly as he looked down at the title and the author of the book. "Some people really were born for the wrong things at the wrong time, weren't they?"

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah did not answer his warning immediately.

Her gaze drifted once more to the shelves he had been studying, following the uneven spines and the subtle variations in texture and age, the quiet weight of objects that had survived far longer than the hands that once placed them there. There was something grounding in that, an unspoken reminder that knowledge endured even when the people who carried it did not. When she looked back at him, there was no offense in her expression, no retreat, no flicker of defensiveness. Only a measured consideration, as though she were turning his words over with the same care she gave to everything she allowed into her awareness.

"I've found," she said at last, her voice calm and unhurried, "that the burden rarely comes from knowing." A faint pause followed, not for effect, but because she was choosing the next thought with intention. "It comes from deciding what to do with it afterward."

Her eyes settled on him more fully then, the shift subtle but unmistakable. She wasn't challenging him, nor was she pressing for more. But the casual ease she had carried earlier softened into something steadier, something that suggested she understood the shape of what he implied far better than she intended to admit aloud.

"You speak as though those things are uncommon," she continued, her tone still gentle but threaded with a quiet clarity. "Secrecy. Compromise. Standing close enough to death that it becomes familiar." Her head tilted slightly, a small, reflective motion. "They are not."

She let the truth of that settle between them, not as confession, not as revelation, but as simple fact, one she neither embellished nor softened. She did not elaborate on how she knew, nor did she offer any hint of the paths that had led her to that understanding. The restraint was deliberate, the kind that came from long practice rather than guardedness.

When he reached for the book, her attention followed the motion, not the gesture. The worn title drew a flicker of recognition, not of the text itself, but of the premise behind it, the kind of treatise that attempted to distill something vast into something manageable.

"Leadership is rarely a matter of being born for it," Ra'a'mah said quietly, her gaze resting on the cover as though she could see the arguments inside. "More often, it is a matter of being the one who remains when others step away."

Her fingers brushed lightly along the edge of the shelf, not quite touching the book he had chosen, but close enough that the motion felt like an echo of the thought she had just voiced.

"Or the one who does not have the option to."

The silence that followed was thoughtful rather than heavy, the kind that allowed the idea to breathe rather than pressing it into the space between them.

"I haven't read it," she added after a moment, her tone returning to something lighter, though the undercurrent of reflection remained. "But I imagine it mistakes the problem."

Her eyes lifted back to his, steady and clear.

"It isn't a curse to lead," she said. "The difficulty lies in understanding that you are responsible for the cost of every decision that follows." Another pause, this one softer, more deliberate. "And choosing anyway."

There was no confession in her voice, no invitation for him to pry deeper. Just a quiet, articulate clarity, an acknowledgment shaped by experience, offered without embellishment, and held with the same composure she carried into every room she entered.

The Lord of Hunger

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Naboo
OBJECTIVE: Just loitering
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ra'a'mah
​

A faint smile, a momentary crack in the seemingly cold exterior of the man bearing a visage of youth and strength, yet veiled behind the shades, his eyes were a mystery, not Sith, not human... unnatural. Yet only when he heard Ra'a'mah 's words, when he understood her reply, his eyes began to glow, their vibrancy visible even through the expensive looking shades. his head tilted slightly backwards, his chin raising upwards as he seemingly looked down upon her, yet not with the arrogance one could be accustomed to, but moreso as if he were to observe her from a distance, as if this way he could truly acknowledge not just her words, but her place in this galaxy.

"Knowing what to do with the information..." The smile widened ever so slightly when he looked at the woman, despite his unnatural, predatory eyes now visible, they seemed to hold a hint of playfulness, as if he was amused by her retort, but also by the very words he was uttering in recompense. "I believe that still constitutes as 'knowing', no?"

A chuckle escaped his lips, it was probably the most uncharacteristic and unusual way in which Credius had communicated, but considering he felt good, his body was strong, he had no enemies nearby and wasn't in any sort oàf hurry for the moment, the back and forth which began to occur, the sparring on principles and ideas rather than dogma and ideology was... refreshing and not at all something he'd be adverse to. Even if this woman didn't really know who he was, he wasn't pompous enough to demand that she did. No, it was perhaps a blessing for the both of them that she had yet to grasp the reality of the man...or more precisely the monster she was having a conversation with.

"Still...I guess in a way, you are correct... the burden is most heavily felt by those who can not reach contentment with their own decisions, whose manners and ways of handling the information they obtained simply do not alleviate the weight of said knowledge," His finger slid accross the spine of the same book again, humming slightly when rereading the title of the book. It was perhaps already quite clear that he wasn't just speaking metaphorically, but seemd to be drawn to the title of said book and in combination with the words both he and his conversational partner had uttered, it did bring together a picture that he must have known someone who buckled under the pressure and weight of such deliberations. Yet, he did not expound any more information on the subject, listening to Ra'a'mah 's objective remarks and seemingly taking them to heart. "proclaiming that leadership is not a curse can only come from a position of strength, both in character and mental fortitude. Yet to those who lack the strength of character and the spine to hold their head up high, leadership would ostensibly be a burden or a curse... I have sadly seen it many times before, how those who are wholly unprepared for the responsibilities of leadership buckle and crumble under the pressure that comes with the position."

waving his hand in the air, the man let out a soft chuckle and nodded his head. "In all honesty, I think most of us have at one point or another had trouble with taking on too much... it is after all generally by experiencing such things that we get to know our own capacities, our own limits and thus learn how to grow and spread our wings, wouldn't you agree?"

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah watched him as he spoke, not with suspicion, but with a quiet, attentive focus that missed very little. The shift in him did not escape her notice, the faint crack in composure, the way amusement brushed against something sharper beneath it, the unnatural edge that surfaced without fully revealing its source. She absorbed it the way she absorbed most things: without outward reaction, letting it settle into the broader pattern she was already assembling.

"If it were only knowing," she said calmly, her tone even and unhurried, "then the outcome would be consistent." She let the words rest between them for a moment, her gaze steady, as though she were weighing not just his meaning but the places where it diverged from reality. "But it rarely is."

Her attention drifted briefly to the book beneath his hand, the worn spine, the title he seemed drawn to, the quiet suggestion of someone searching for answers in places that offered structure rather than truth, before returning to him with the same measured composure.

"Understanding what something means is not the same as deciding what it requires of you," she continued, her voice carrying the clarity of someone who had lived the distinction more than once. "One is passive. The other demands action." Her head tilted slightly, echoing his earlier motion, though where his had carried distance, hers carried a quiet, unflinching clarity, the kind that came from experience she did not name. "And action," she added, "is where most people discover the limits of what they thought they knew."

There was no challenge in her voice, no attempt to contradict him outright. If anything, she allowed his perspective to stand, but only within the boundaries where it remained true.

When he spoke of weakness, of those who buckled, she listened without interruption, her expression neither dismissive nor sympathetic. Only thoughtful, the kind of thoughtfulness shaped by watching people falter in ways that had nothing to do with strength. "Strength helps," Ra said after a moment, her tone soft but certain. "But it is not what determines whether someone holds."

Her fingers brushed lightly along the edge of the shelf again, grounding the thought, though her mind was clearly elsewhere, on memories she did not voice, on choices she had seen made too late, on the cost of endurance mistaken for clarity.

"Most people who fail in leadership do not do so because they lack strength," she said. "They fail because they mistake endurance for clarity." A brief pause followed, her gaze steady on his. "They continue long after they should have changed course. Or they refuse to act when the cost becomes real."

Her eyes held his, unflinching, though there was no aggression in them, only the quiet certainty of someone who had watched that pattern play out more times than she cared to count.

"That is not weakness," she added quietly. "It is hesitation. And hesitation, in those positions, carries a greater cost than failure."

When he shifted the conversation toward growth, toward limits, something in her expression softened, not in agreement, but in recognition of the idea, of the truth in it, of the ways people learned through collapse because they had never been taught another path.

"It is one way to learn," she said. "To take on more than you can carry and survive the consequences."

A faint breath left her, almost a quiet exhale, as though acknowledging a truth she had seen often enough to understand intimately.

"But it is not the only way." Her eyes remained on him, composed, deliberate, the weight of her experience present in the steadiness of her tone rather than in any explicit admission.

"Some learn by observing where others break," she continued. "And choosing not to follow the same path." A small pause settled between them, not heavy, but intentional, a moment of clarity offered without insistence. "Growth does not always require collapse," Ra said softly. "Only awareness… and the willingness to act before it becomes necessary."

The Lord of Hunger

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Naboo
OBJECTIVE: Just loitering
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ra'a'mah
​

This one was quite intelligent, it was rare for the Lord of Hunger to have to mentally adjust his position when discussing things in a relaxed manner. usually, those who surrounded him were those who reveled in his strength, who bowed down to his presence and those who would rather die to his mistakes than to call him out for them. This in itself was one of the reasons why unlike those who called themselves Sith, he despised putting down those who showed promise, not because, but in spite of him. There was no value when there was no stimulus, no challenge. Evolution was a natural mechanic brought on to bring the best out of all living beings, evolution...not adaptation.

Credius despised adaptation, for where evolution was a means to strengthen, to adapt in the most positive and most effective way, adaptation was a sort of physical contentment. If people adapted, they did not evolve, they regressed and decayed, both mentally and physically. The woman was correct in calling Strength only half of the equation, only part of it, but it was nonetheless still part of the very idea of leadership. Whether it was physical or mental strength, given the peculiarity of the situation, either would have its role. A planetary leader needed physical strength and mental strength to inspire their people, a political leader needed the mental fortitude to see through the lies of those surrounding them, a military leader needed the physical resilience to lead their men to victory. Strength was the cornerstone for success, in one way or another, there was always the aspect of strength.

"You are intelligent, my dear," Lifting his hand away from the books he had been caressing, the Lord of Hunger showed another, strangely gentle smile. Tilting his head slightly backwards as he did so. "Though I believe in the end, what shapes our views, our opinion is wholly based on our own experiences. I do not deny your point of view, as it holds merit and truth. One can after all not put a blanket ruling or argumentation on any situation... after all, one leading figure is not the other, one situation is not the other. War and peace require different actors, different sentiment and different mindsets. The same goes when it comes to the variety of fields in which leadership is required, enforced or mandated."

Finally, Credius raised his hand towards his shades, tapping slightly on the left leg of his eyewear and pressing them slightly down, revealing his vibrant crimson and golden irises surrounding a slit pupil in both eyes. "Now than... this discussion aside, what exactly do you do? After all, I believe you were being so openly curious as to my own dealings and business, it might be not farfetched for me to return the question and ask you the same. You weren't surprised when I mentioned my business being...sensitive and not something for the general public, which indicates that you at the very least have experience with this sort of... sensitive information..."

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah did not react to the shift in his eyes, though she registered it, the color, the shape, the deliberate reveal, and let it settle into her awareness without comment, filed alongside the many things she chose not to name aloud. His question, however, drew a quieter pause from her, not hesitation so much as selection, the careful choosing of how much truth she intended to place between them.

When she finally spoke, her gaze held his with steady composure, as though she were weighing not whether to answer, but how to shape the answer so it carried the right weight.

"I deal in movement," she said at last, her tone calm and almost conversational, though there was a quiet precision beneath it. "Goods. Information. The space between where something is and where it needs to be."

A faint shift of her head followed, subtle and deliberate, as if acknowledging the simplicity of the phrasing while also making clear that simplicity was only one layer of the truth.

"Importer. Exporter, if you prefer something more straightforward."

There was no evasion in the words, but neither was there unnecessary detail. She offered enough structure to be honest without exposing the machinery beneath it, the networks and negotiations that lived in the shadows between official definitions.

Her eyes remained steady on his, untroubled by whatever implications he had already begun to draw, and when she continued, her voice carried the same quiet clarity.

"There are sectors of that trade that require a certain tolerance for ambiguity," she said, letting the thought unfold at its own pace. "Lines that blur, depending on who is drawing them, and what they stand to gain from the shape they choose."

She allowed a brief pause, not dramatic, simply letting the next part settle before she spoke it.

"One of them does not."

The statement landed without emphasis, but it carried a weight that did not need underlining. Her posture did not change, but something in her gaze became more defined, a boundary drawn with quiet certainty.

"I do not deal in people," Ra said, her voice steady and unyielding. "Not as commodities. Not as leverage."

She did not harden the words, but she did not soften them either. They existed as fact, as principle, as a line she had no intention of crossing or apologizing for.

She let the silence breathe for a moment, allowing the boundary to stand on its own without justification, before easing the tone back into something lighter, though no less controlled.

"As for the rest," she added, a faint thread of quiet amusement weaving through the words, "it tends to be exactly as sensitive as you implied your own work to be."

Not a deflection, a mirror, offered with the same measured courtesy he had shown her.

Her head tilted slightly, restoring the earlier balance of the conversation without pressing him further.

"Enough to require discretion," she said, her voice settling into a smooth, composed cadence. "And enough to make most people more comfortable not asking."

The Lord of Hunger

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Naboo
OBJECTIVE: Just loitering
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ra'a'mah
​

"So...your game's logistics," For a moment, the Lord of Hunger's eyes seemed to flash with a cruel and twisted intensity, right when the woman mentioned being averse to dealing in living beings, an indication that she did not accept the idea of being a slavetrader. Though Credius did wonder how she thought not about slavetrade, but the transport of... testsubjects. Still, considering the conscience she showed in that moment, it was perhaps something he wasn't going to pry into. However, as his demeanor settled back into his more neutral and cold self, his expression toning down again, with but a slight smirk on his face, Credius nodded his head as he waved his hand in the air, as if to motion that he wholly understood her sentiment and the limits she had imposed upon herself.

"No slavetrading of any kind, but any other sensitive and classified transportation is within your domain?" The man looked at her, no past her, not above or beside her, but perhaps for the first time, he truly looked AT her, her eyes, her face, her posture. It might've been rather unsettling in a strange way, almost like how as a hitman, you are looking at your target from a distance, and unexpectedly, they stare back at you, totally aware of your presence. "It makes me wonder if you are capable of a large, simultaneous shipping arrangement accross various systems in a discrete manner... because that is something I have been looking for."

He wasn't lying, he could use the N&Z's STS division for small amounts, for internal transfers and drop offs, but there was always the danger that the ledgers would be discovered and the strange overcalculations and margines would be mandated some internal scrutiny. It was perhaps better to have some private contractor do the work under the N&Z flag, there were many of those and their manifestos were less vulnerable to internal scrutiny compared to the STS. While Section C had an immense amount of power and secrecy within the N&Z, it wasn't worth utilizing this power at the risk of dismantling the entire operation. Sometimes, the more... overt options were better.

"Access to the Sith Order, The Mandalorian Empire, the High Republic... These are things I may handle for you," The man's gentle smile hardened slightly, an eyebrow arching upwards as the vibrancy of his eyes began to intensify. "It concerns three containers... three separate drop off points nothing big, certainly not people, but sensitive and highly confidential. Might this be of interest to you?"

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah did not look away when his attention settled fully on her; instead, she met it without hesitation, her gaze holding his with the same steady composure he had chosen to offer. There was no intimidation in her expression, no eagerness to challenge the sharpened intensity behind his eyes, only the quiet understanding of two people measuring value, capability, and intent beneath the polite veneer of conversation in a room filled with old paper and older silences. There were far worse places to conduct business.

A faint trace of amusement touched her expression at the absurdity of the setting. "An antiquarian bookshop is an unexpectedly efficient place to discover mutual interests," she observed, her tone calm and unhurried. "No one expects logistics to begin beside first editions." The lightness lingered only briefly before giving way to the cleaner, more deliberate edges of trade.

"Large, simultaneous movement across multiple systems can be arranged," she continued, her voice settling into the clarity of someone accustomed to speaking in terms of scale and consequence. "Discreetly, if the plan is worth the effort and the variables are known in advance." Her gaze remained on his, unwavering, the question that followed delivered with deliberate precision. "That depends on what you mean by large."

She let the words settle between them, not as a challenge but as an invitation to specificity. "Container dimensions. Mass. Environmental requirements. Whether the cargo is passive or regulated. Whether the shipments need to appear ordinary, disappear entirely, or arrive under someone else's authority." Her fingers brushed lightly across the spine of a nearby book, the gesture more idle than distracting, a small reminder that she was comfortable here, even while discussing matters that rarely belonged in polite company. "And what kind of ships do you expect to carry them?"

A brief pause followed, not hesitation but calculation. "Fast couriers and modified freighters solve different problems than heavy transports. And if you need synchronized delivery windows across three governments, scale becomes more than a matter of preference." She tilted her head slightly, studying him with the same measured attention he had given her. "As does risk."

The room seemed to quiet around them, the weight of the next words settling with a clarity that did not require emphasis. "You named three destinations that do not share trust, priorities, or methods. The Mandalorian Empire can be direct. The High Republic prefers procedure." Her gaze narrowed by a fraction, not in hostility but in acknowledgment of reality. "The Sith Order and I are not what one would call naturally aligned."

There was no heat in the statement. Only fact, delivered with the same calm she applied to everything else. "That does not make movement impossible," she added. "Only more expensive, more careful, and far less forgiving of mistakes."

Her posture remained relaxed, but the business beneath it had become unmistakable. "If something must go in, I can assess ingress. If something must come out, I can assess extraction. If it requires both, then timing becomes the true commodity." Another small pause, intentional and unhurried. "I am not opposed."

No flourish. No eagerness. Just honest interest, offered plainly.

"But I do not price shadows until I know how dark they are." Her eyes stayed locked with his, steady and unblinking. "So tell me, Credius, what size of ships am I considering, and what danger are you asking me to inherit on their behalf?"

The Lord of Hunger

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Naboo
OBJECTIVE: Just loitering
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ra'a'mah
​

"The size of the shipments... is perhaps not what you'd call anything larger than a simple crate," A slightly devious smile flashed for narry a single moment upon the man's face, he didn't hide the amusement he felt, nor did he hide the fact that he wasn't saying everything. This was a means to indicate that whatever he was looking to ship, was not going to be something anyone would love to ship. However, the size of the proposed shipments and the aversion Ra'a'mah clearly stated to have towards treating people as a shipment aside from most likely certified transport, also made it glaringly obvious he was not intending on people to be shipped.

In a sense it felt as if he was deliberately vague, knowing fully well that an in depth detailing and analasys of the "cargo" he wanted to be distributed might make her complicit. Sizes were no problem, deviations on the spot were acceptable, as long as the implied cargo reached its destinations there was no issue from his end.

"As long as the cargo I intend to ship remains unbothered, sealed and within its regulated containers, the risk is as close to zero as it can possibly be with any possible product," The man tilted his head a bit backwards, giving a slightly stern and contemplative look at the woman. "Now if the product in any way is disturbed, if the container by any chance is damaged and the interior exposed to unregulated conditions... the risk would also be zero, for one who does not live, does not care about risk."

Chuckling, the man raised his hand and held his index finger and thumb together. "Small, fast ship for a small and simple, one crate piece of cargo...delivered with high confidentiality and a high degree of security to three locations across the galaxy. As long as one does not take any uncalculated risks, the risk of the actual transport should be minimal... however, there are always the possibilities that things go wrong...what would your risk assessment mark up be in situations like that?"

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah listened without interruption, her expression unchanged as the fuller structure of his proposal settled into place. Three separate shipments, three separate vessels, three distinct destinations. It was an arrangement that spoke not of extravagance or paranoia, but of discipline. Whoever divided cargo in that manner understood that risk was never erased, only portioned into pieces small enough to manage.

A faint trace of approval touched her features.

"What you are purchasing is not merely transport," she said at last, her voice calm and even, "but compartmentalization, and that is usually the mark of someone who has learned not to trust fortune with important matters."

Her gaze held his steadily, neither intrusive nor yielding, as she continued with the same quiet clarity.

"Three routes mean that one delay does not imperil the others, one inspection does not expose the whole, and one mistake does not become a catastrophe." Her fingers brushed lightly along the spine of a nearby book, the gesture thoughtful rather than distracted. "It also means three crews, three schedules, and three opportunities for variables to appear where they were not invited."

The corner of her mouth shifted with the faintest suggestion of dry amusement. "Fortunately, variables are often more predictable than people assume." She let the silence settle for a moment before continuing, her tone returning to business with seamless ease.

"If the containers remain sealed, stable, and require no intervention during transit, then the principal concerns become jurisdiction, scrutiny, and the temperament of the space each vessel must cross. Republic lanes are orderly, which creates one set of challenges. Sith territories are hostile, which creates another. Mandalorian space tends to depend on who believes they own the corridor that particular week."

There was no boast in what followed, only the confidence of someone who had navigated all three.

"All of those difficulties are navigable."

Her posture remained relaxed, though the conversation had shifted fully into the realm of logistics and consequence.

"I would assign separate crews with no knowledge beyond their own route, independent manifests, staggered contingencies, and handoff protocols tailored to each destination. If simultaneous arrival serves your purpose, that can be arranged; if obscurity serves it better, that can be arranged as well."

Her eyes held his more firmly then, the weight of her promise settling between them.

"In return, you would have my word that each package remains sealed, remains secure, and reaches only the hands designated to receive it. If any destination becomes compromised beyond acceptable limits, the shipment returns to me unopened rather than becoming someone else's opportunity."

She allowed a brief, deliberate pause before finishing.

"My risk assessment markup would depend less on the cargo itself than on who else knows it exists, who might believe they are entitled to interfere, and whether your timeline values speed over invisibility."

The faintest hint of amusement returned, subtle but unmistakable.

"So the true question before us is not whether I can move three packages," she said, her gaze never leaving his, "but whether you are paying for delivery, discretion, or the luxury of both."

The Lord of Hunger

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Naboo
OBJECTIVE: Just loitering
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ra'a'mah
​

"What you are purchasing is not merely transport," she said at last, her voice calm and even, "but compartmentalization, and that is usually the mark of someone who has learned not to trust fortune with important matters."

Those words brought a meaningful, yet faint grin on the man's face, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly, yet perhaps enough for Ra'a'mah to notice. He was appreciating the words she had uttered, not because of the fact she was correct, but because they represented the same she seemed to see in him: someone with enough experience and grounded enough in reality to know the ins and outs of proper risk management.

every time she hit the nail on the head, his devious grin strengthened, his eyes growing brighter and perhaps more terrifying with each word spoken, yet at the same time the secrecy he had kept in perventing himself from divulging the true nature of the cargo meant he had already managed to write off any liability on this possible compatriot's part.

"No one should be aware of what the cargo is, nor have any meaningful trail to lead to me or any associates in regards to the cargo's documentation," The Lord of Hunger retained his twisted grin, lifting his chin slightly upwards as if he looked down upon the woman, though her probably already did in reality, this was more of a motion to emphasize his own position as he viewed it. "The only route where caution might be most advised is within the sith territories, but there are means to work around both the issues en route as you mentioned, as well as the hostilities they might pose. So quite frankly, what I'd pay for is the professionality to deliver without any questions, the strength of character to resist any curious urges and the willingness to avoid any liability."

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah listened without interruption, her expression remaining unchanged as he spoke, though the shift in his demeanor, the quiet satisfaction, the loosened posture, the ease that came from being understood, did not slip past her. She absorbed it the way she absorbed everything else: without reaction, without commentary, but with a steady awareness that settled into place as naturally as breath.

When he finished, she didn't respond right away. Instead, she reached for her caf and took a measured sip, the motion unhurried and deliberate, as though the pause itself was part of the negotiation rather than a hesitation. Only when she set the cup back down did she speak.

"What answers do I give," she asked, her voice calm and even, "if I am stopped for questioning?"

There was no challenge in the question, no suspicion, no attempt to pry into what he had not offered. It was practical, precise, and entirely necessary, spoken by someone who understood the difference between secrecy and recklessness.

"Because compartmentalization protects you," she continued, her gaze steady on his, "but it does not remove my exposure. If a vessel is flagged, if a shipment is inspected, if a port authority decides to take an interest in something they do not understand, then it will be my crews standing in front of that scrutiny, not yours."

Her fingers rested lightly against the table, grounding the thought without hardening it.

"I do not ask what is inside your containers," she said, her tone softening only in clarity, not in leniency. "But I do require a framework that allows the movement to appear legitimate under examination, even if the truth remains sealed."

She let that distinction breathe for a moment, giving him space to understand that she was not asking for secrets, only for structure.

"Documentation. Classification. Declared origin. Intended function," she said, each word placed with deliberate care. "Not the reality, but the story that survives inspection."

Her gaze did not waver, but there was no aggression in it, only the steady expectation of someone who had built her life on precision and refused to gamble with the lives of those who worked under her.

"If I am expected to deliver without questions," Ra continued, her voice quiet but unmistakably firm, "then I also expect answers where they matter." Another pause followed, softer now, but no less clear.

"Otherwise, what you are asking for is not discretion," she said, the words almost gentle in their precision. "It is a blind risk." She leaned back slightly, composed and unpressured, the calm certainty of someone who had already decided where her boundaries lay. "And that," she finished, her tone settling into something final without becoming cold, "is something I do not sell."

The Lord of Hunger