The buff Devonian was extremely pleased with himself, constantly show boating to his crew and the audience who gathered in the stands to watch. Flexing between matches, or having one of the three accompanying Twi-Lek women give him a drink or a kiss before his next match up. After the defeats of some rather muscular opponents, if he saw any competitors decide to leave the line, he jeered at them.
The line moved rather quickly, as fast as the opponents were being defeated, either they would get back in line to try their luck again, or more would simply take the place of those who decided to was better to not try their luck at all.
After defeating one the few Trandosians who had decided to try and win the pot, he looked at his next opponent in line and burst out laughing.
“Hahaha hahaha A woman wants to try her luck at beating me in arm wrestling?!!! haha Why don’t you just set aside that lofty thought pretty little lady. Why’s don’t you get your little blue haired arse come up here and give’s us a kiss now, and then maybe later tonight I’ll give you a little shares of my pot, hmmm?” His smug, cocky smile left little room about what he was thinking, as he looked the blue-haired Zelton up and down.
<@585955949743964170>
“Kul?! Her hand grasped nothing as she tried to feel for the source of the voice.
That voice… That deep voice she hadn’t heard in person for an entire cycle. Last time Tahiri had heard it in person, was just before Kul had left on his mission. A mission she didn’t want him to leave for, she had even asked to go with him, but Dread Lord had asked only him to do it, so he went as was his duty. The Togruta had found herself listening to a couple old holovid recordings she had saved on a data stick, any night that she had been extremely lonely, where even her pets couldn’t comfort her. Especially the rather half confused, half concerned one he had left during Zuji’s bachelorette party, after the Togruta had drunkenly called him on dare, and then right after a few slurred words had hung up. That one always seemed to make her smile.
Closing her eyes and opening herself up to the river of Force energy, while dropping the Illusion from her eyes, letting her senses flow out till they touched a very familiar Force signature in front of her, one Tahiri knew very well, but hadn’t felt that close in long time. Understanding fully now, that the Darkness surrounding her and Titius was Kul’s doing, Tahiri had released Titius after patting his arm. Her whole being feeling as though it was vibrating with how close they were, yet Tahiri held back from throwing herself into his arms.
"Well now, long time no see,” smiling, she walked confidently forward. Slipping from basic to Zabraki with ease she continued, stopping just in front of where she could feel his signature, “Shuree larsla I'sharee mai'ul fromeni oen. Shuree'tozo laktu sharee fej iair, gin meni ah'lu et fro for mu. I'sharee fej I'shur'slarislaret. Fro'tlesu sharee vintash su'ka shur yol Furnek, Kul'tak Drol?”
<@525423962797375488>
TuQ walked the grounds taking in the sights. It wasn’t too often that Plag hosted a party, in fact it wasn’t exactly “on brand” for them being all dark and evil and all. But everyone needed to blow off steam from time to time, and the clan had been working hard lately. Everyone from the oldest veteran to the newest recruit had been showing up in reports all across the Brotherhood, and at least sixty percent of it was good news.
Still dressed in his new festival shirt, TuQ decided that it was about time that he join in the festivities himself. He casually strolled past a series of stalls with a wide variety of strange, kitschy and probably over priced prizes. The staff at each stall doing their best to yell louder than the others about why people should play their game. The Pro Consul ignored each one as he walked past until his eyes landed on the perfect one.
“Care to try your aim, sir?” the worker at the shooting gallery asked as he handed TuQ a small toy rifle that fired small pellets.
<@375384499770359819>
“I personally wouldn’t. Things rigged…” Titius scooted by, hot cup of something in his hand per usual.
TuQ looked over and watched the soot covered man walking away. And just like that, he realized that these games were in fact in line with the clans carefully curated public image….but maybe he could be the one to outsmart the rigged game….
Quejo Xyler - aka: Donovan Grimwald Xyler - Rented Room
“You’ve helped me forget her, Oblivion.” The figure sat in his darkened room as tentacles periodically sliced through the traces of light shining through the hydraulic shutters. “But I can’t let go of the anger I’ve tried desperately to suppress - I will never forget what the Jedi did to her.” a gloved fist slammed down onto the arm of a chair and the clouds broke. In that moment, those same traces of light shifted to paint the face of rage. With quivering lips a single tear rolled down his cheek and his eyes burned with intensity, an intensity forged from a darkness and pain so life altering that it caused the very color of them to change.
His brow sank and furrowed as his lips curled into a snarl. The large chest that the tentacles of the Mairan had been caressing unlocked and almost as if it had a mind of its own, the lid flung open. The glint of metal could be made out and the eyes of the wraith flicked downward.
“We meet again, old friend.” He inhaled deeply and traced the casing of a converted lightsaber hilt with his index finger before gripping it. “We will end them, all of them.” He closed his eyes as the music outside grew louder. Everyone had been enjoying the festivities. But this individual was waiting for something, no. Someone in particular. A Jedi named Fau Santo who had been working undercover. A rat trying to gather intel on Clan Plagueis. It wasn’t hard for the former member to gather his own Intel. Afterall, Oblivion could be quite persuasive.
Lorn cautiously made his way towards the festival grounds, the shouts of joy and raucous laughter echoing out from the festival goers gave him pause. People, too many people, he didn’t like people. He almost turned back, he thought about how much he’d prefer to be alone on a remote planet away from all of this, able to be away from the chaos and pain that civilization inevitably brought to its citizens, about the freedom to be who he wanted to be without the oppression of the regimes who sought to rule those they thought below themselves. But no, he was showing weakness once again and that angered him. No, he came here for a reason.
That chance encounter with the Kel Dor in Jedha opened his eyes. He knew now that he could only grow so strong on his own, and when Varick had offered him an invitation to join clan Plagueis and continue his training, well he’d be a fool not to entertain the offer. Maybe these people weren’t so bad, and if they were as bad as he feared, then at least he could take their knowledge and use it against them.
Discomfort grew as he entered the festival grounds proper. Lorn found a tiny bit solace in the smiling faces around him, he was glad that they could feel safe in a galaxy so tumultuous, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be near them. Rows of carnival games lined the path before him, ahead he spotted what he was looking for. A man talking to one of the festival staff at a shooting range, his unmistakable wide hat standing out like a beacon. As he approached, Lorn drew back the scarf turned hood and pulled down his face covering. TuQ turned to acknowledge the newcomer. Pinching the brim of his hat, he nodded in greeting.
“I see you made it! Welcome to Aliso.”
“I…have decided to take you up on your offer.” It pained Lorn to say the words out loud.
Titius cruised by again, a different color cup in hand. Slurping obnoxiously, the mercenary interupted rudely. “Did you win yet, TuQ or am I just in time to see you take second place on the board?”
The young man behind the shooting booth counter smiled as he recognized the Quaestor this time.
“Ah Mr. Osseus. Nice to see you again. I’ll say that not a single person has been able to beat your high score as of yet, sir,” the attendant shook his head. “Most haven’t even gotten close, though some have gotten within fifty to sixty points of your score.”
He smiled warmly and motioned towards the pellet rifles again, looking between the big hatred Kel'dor and the tall Shaevalian, “Would either of you like to try your hand beating Mr. Osseus’ record score? I can explain how this game works.”
<@348547724628721695> <@379840612788076544>
TuQ picked up the pellet rifle tethered to the wooden counter top and quickly looked down the metal sights of the gun before turning back to his acquaintance and shrugging.
“Duty calls, I can’t let Titius over there have the high score. Care to join me, my brooding buddy?”
Lorn scowled at the Kel Dor but thought it would be a good idea to keep his thoughts on that comment to himself. Instead he simply raised his hand as if to say ‘nah, I’m good’.
“Alright then.” TuQ turned back to the young man working the booth. “Let’s get a quick run down before I wipe Titius’ name from the top spot.”
Like an apparition, the Count of Gothengromer slipped through the shadows. There was no rush in his steps. No hesitancy. Just deliberate, carefully planned strides. He watched from afar, quietly brooding as the anger within churned like the horrendous brew of a Dathomiri’s cauldron. Still, there was still life behind those eyes. Still a compassion that he discovered when in exile. A feeling he thought had been driven from him long ago in service to the Inquisitors. His mind twisted and broken during his Indoctrination.
A sliver of a smile could be made out as he leaned back against a wall and crossed his arms while placing the sole of his boot against that same wall for balance. He watched the festivities and missed those he could remember from his past in Plagueis. These new faces, many of them, probably had never even heard of him. Hell, perhaps that was for the best.