Zenva Vrotoa
The Blood Matron
Ah Coruscant, such splendor and majesty. Beautiful buildings, art, schools of learning. That is until you reached the lower levels. Down here, in the dark, only one thing really matters, do you have the strength to survive?
Zenva Vrotoa sat near the back wall of a now empty cantina. She was mildly surprised that it had only taken one demonstration to have the place to herself. Even if that demonstration had left blood splashed across a wall.
Dressed in the standard garb, brown knee high leather boots, black leggings, a black and red miniskirt and a brown leather corset, Zenva waited for her guest. She was armed to the teeth to meet her one time employer, a token of respect in her eyes. If she hadn't brought her pistols, scatter blaster, knives and a few grenades, the Chiss might not take her seriously.
The sixteen elites of her personal gaurd may have inflicted a certain level of cooperation among the locals. It mattered little, the goal was achieved. She sat unobserved in a controlled environment. Her elites patrolled the area around the cantina, cloaked and hidden for two blocks. Two of her best stood watch outside the front doors. Six cryogenic tubes rested in the backroom and the live prisoner was chained and collared.
Everything was perfect. Nothing to do now but enjoy her meal and wait. Her knife ripped and sliced with vicious efficiency. Tender Twi'lek flesh parted with ease and blood soaked fingers scooped up another ribbon of raw meat. The Zabrak matron ate slowly, savoring each bloody morsel that she placed in her mouth. Gore soaked the table and floor around her, the scent of death hung in the air. The young Twi'lek serving girl had been told to take Zenva's weapons, it wasn't her fault. Poor thing.
[member="Cryax Bane"]