If the man hadn’t been wearing his helmet, Ashen was sure that the Consul would have been wearing his fatigue all across his face. Fresh from Athiss, the dust from the laboratory…and tomb of Vodal Kressh still lay upon their robes.
Yet, when all was said and done, they had gotten what they had came for. At least, he assumed. The humming in the back of both of their heads seemed to corroborate that, although… Treachery was the way of the Sith. Much more time and study was needed. But for the time being, it was good to be back in familiar territory, among friends instead of foes.
The Lion looked over at the consul, the wordless sentiment shared between them instantly. They could both use a drink.
: It’s been a long time since I’ve had a drink: dragoon thought to him self as he stepped off the transport in the hanger bay. :so this is the new hold out for CNS: as he spotted a few of Naga Sadows troopers checking papers. As he looked around he was thinking he could get used to being back when a lowly private approached him asking for papers. He slowly reviled a data pad that had been given to him by the grandmasters guard, confirming his right to be there as he just transferred back from the rouges. He had heard there was a skirmish recently and thought it was time to return…. Home.
The Event Horizon had landed in the hanger its system shutting down rather quickly “ Man B3 its been ages sense I have been able to come here and relax, watch the ship will ya” Quentin says to his little R2 unit as he exited the ship. Crossing the hanger he can see one of his fellow Shar Dakhan members showing his documents to the local security that paid no mind to the Quaestor who strolled passed them his black robes flowing behind him. “Lets hope no one has my normal seat ” the Archpriest says to his self entering the bar.
The Shadowhawk’s landing gear touched down softly in the hangar, the familiar hum of its engines slowly winding down. Strask emerged from the shuttle, his gray eyes scanning the bustling activity around him. His cybernetic arm drew the usual curious glances, but most of the Clan members knew better than to comment.
He moved with purpose, his mind already ticking through the maintenance checks his ship would need after its latest sortie. He noticed Dragoon dealing with a junior officer and offered a nod of acknowledgment, bypassing any need for formalities due to his rank in the Grand Master’s Royal Guard.
As he approached the bar, he spotted Quentin making his way inside. “Quentin,” he called out, his voice carrying over the din, “how about some company?”
Entering the bar, Strask found a table in the corner and sat down, ordering a cup of hot herbal tea, a simple and comforting choice. The ambiance was a mix of weary relief and quiet conversations, a perfect backdrop for a moment of respite.
“Surviving another day,” he murmured to himself, taking a sip of his drink. “And ready for whatever comes next.”
“Company would be nice maybe take my mind off these damn reports ” Quentin says with a motion with the hand carrying a datapad in it . Following Strask to a table he orders his usual Heritics blood drink.
Goil sat at small table near the bar having a Corellian Whiskey one of his favorite drinks as of late, as he notices over to his left the Strask and the Quaestor of his house enter the cantina carrying a small datapad in one hand. Goil raises his glass toward the Archpriest with a slight bow of his head as a sign of respect, before taking a hand and pushing back his messy pink hair that fell down in front of his Mirluka Facemask.
The Archpriest returned the sign of respect to the Shar Dakhan Acolyte with a slight bow of his head as he took his seat.
“ Everything seems to be in order sir.” The trooper said as he handed Dragoon back the data pad. Dragoon nodded and headed towards the cantina’s entrance. He noticed Strask headed that way after he had nodded toward him. As he walked he pulled up the hood on his black cloak he was wearing. :I wonder where my old master is these days: he thought to himself as he entered. He went straight to the bar and collected his bourbon before finding a seat at a table all the way in the back among the shadows. Just the way he liked it. He looked around and seen several people of interest including muz. He cracked a slight crocked smile. So the Lion does live after all. Dragoon watched the room intensely as he sipped his drink. Whatever it was it was good to the taste for this old sailor…
The droid bartenders wheeled around the circular bar with ease, fast hands pouring drinks and spinning bottles as they went. The subtle lighting effect that cast the Great Seal of Naga Sadow onto the floor interrupted by patrons of the Ancient Clan, the room was markedly silent save for the whirr of droid motors, the clinking of ice in glasses and the sounds of liquid pouring. It would take a few moments for them to recover, to settle in and become more at ease.
Muz slowly lifted a glass in silent tribute, then took a sip. The spirit was strong, woodsy and smoky, one of the whiskies imported from the far reaches of the Tingel Arm. Nodding once, he turned from the bar for a moment, making his way toward the jukebox and pressing the buttons to cycle through the available tunes. Perhaps some music would help soothe everyone.
Strask nodded at Quentin, appreciating the company. “Reports never seem to end, do they?” he remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips. Settling into his chair, he sipped his hot herbal tea, letting the warmth and familiar taste soothe his tired mind.
He noticed Goil’s respectful gesture and returned it with a nod, recognizing the Acolyte’s courteous demeanor. The cantina was gradually filling up, the low hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses creating a comfortable backdrop.
Dragoon’s entrance didn’t go unnoticed, and Strask acknowledged him with a slight wave before turning his attention back to Quentin. “So, what’s on your mind?” he asked, genuinely interested in diverting Quentin from his burdensome reports.
A newer looking not as familiar face entered the cantina. He had long reddish purple hair pulled to the side and his violet eyes scanned the cantina as his long pink ears listened to the sounds of conversation. He was wearing a long brown jacket, brown slacks and red button up shirt. He spotted an empty table nearer to the bar and sat down. As he looked around, he spotted the Lion of Tarthos at the jukebox and smiled. “Well music never hurt to lighten a mood.”
Roxas had stepped off the transport after Lord Ashen and had headed directly to his ship to get cleaned up. The Tomb of Vodal Kressh was a chore and he wanted to get washed up and having a stiff drink. After a short while he emerged from his ship clean and refreshed and headed for the bar to drown his aches and clear his mind. The Mandalorian watched the Lion of Tarthos lift his glass and he did the same before downing it and slamming it on the bar letting the droid know to fill it again. He stayed silent as he drank, pondering the things they saw and their objective in the tomb. The Sith were schemers and were always plotting and planning. It was as if they didn’t live, they just worked.
The morning had been busy already. While many Sadowans had been busy about their own business, the former Consul has kept himself busy tracking the system’s communications. Any time that there was a notable uptick in traffic, Bentre had always made a point of investigating, and the travel of the current Overlord and the Lion of Tarthos had been interesting enough. Security protocols had noted the gathering of several other Sadowans, which further caught his interest. He pulled the nose of his Lambda-class shuttle’s nose up slightly on his final approach towards the Dentavii facility. Something serious had went down, and he was going to have to find out just what that was.
Vance sat at his table, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned back against his chair. He had grabbed the beverage menu and scanned it. “Hmm I think a nice tatooine sunrise will work for now.” He placed his order from the small pad on the table. As he waited the mercenary spotted a mandalorian just eyeing the Lion of Tarthos drinking and chuckled. “They definitely do have all sorts of folks for hire.” A droid came by the table and dropped off his sunrise. “Order up,one tattooine sunrise sir?” Vance smiled. “Aye that’s what I ordered thanks.” Grabbing the drink, he began to down a bit of it. Sweet, but had a nice bite to it he loved. He continued to drink and watched others filing into the bar. “Always whenever that crazy Twi'lek is busy she sends me to all these gatherings. It’s like either wants me to enjoy myself or get information. Hmm, maybe both?” He replied as he pondered this a moment, stroking his goatee with his left hand. “But either way she hired me to be here for this so might as well enjoy it.”
Malisane entered the cantina and sat at a table. He was feeling better. He had managed to have a quick shower in the living quarters above the bar, and as luck would have it the postal staff at Mt Dakhan had redirected his dry cleaned spare robes from the Herald’s office on Arx to Dentaavi. He glanced round the bar, noticing the Clan leaders, the Dakhan Quaestor and the Mandolorian from Ragnos. There were several others who had the look of Sadowans amongst the usual off duty Warhost offficers, local staff and a few passing merchants. He looked up as the familiar gammorean waitress stood by his table. “Water, still, room temperature.” She grunted and walked off, returning a minute or so later. Malisane stared at his glass. “There is vegetation floating in my drink.” Nova pointed at his glass, then back at the bar, talking in her own language with a slightly irritated tone. For someone who did not understand a word of the language, the dark jedi could always tell the gammoreans meaning from her tone and attitude. “It is not supposed to taste of anything,” he replied, “that is the point.” She met his glaze and pointed at him and then drink, talking more fiercely. He took a sip and contemplated it. “Very well. Keep a jug on the counter, I doubt it will do the regulars any harm.”
The archpriest scrolled through his reports on the datapad “No they dont seam to end at all, luckly this is just progress reports on a Shar Dakhan project” Quentin remarked to Strask. “all done know we can enjoy what time i have left here” Quentin says as he puts the datapad away in a pocket within his robes. “Ever try the Heretic Blood, Its a special drink, taste little fruity but quite strong.” Quentin asks Strask as he raised his red hued shot glass up.
Strask nodded as Quentin spoke about the never-ending reports. “Progress reports can be a grind, but at least they’re a sign of movement,” he replied, appreciating the brief respite from his own responsibilities.
He watched as Quentin put away the datapad and mentioned the Heretic Blood. “I haven’t tried it,” Strask admitted, eyeing the red-hued shot glass. “Fruity and strong, you say? I usually stick to simpler things, but maybe I’ll give it a shot one of these days.”
Taking another sip of his hot herbal tea, Strask leaned back in his chair, feeling the soothing warmth spread through him. “So, what’s the latest with the Shar Dakhan project? Anything exciting on the horizon?”
He turned from the jukebox as the opening strains of music started to filter through hidden speakers around the bar. Pausing mid-step to raise his glass to his lips, he let his eyes take it all in. There was some old adage about working hard and playing hard, although lately it seemed to bebiased in only one of those directions. Continuing his pace back to the bar, he watched as the Bobots whirled around the center. Bob would be proud. He had heard that the old nerf-wranger had shown up inn clan space for a moment, but he hadn’t been in-system long enough for anyone to arrange a meet-up.
Names and faces, a parade of memories, people lost to time and their own goals and drives. Muz let out a quiet sigh, as he leaned forward on the bar, elbows straight. Even he himself had found himself too busy at times chasing ghosts to remember his old home here. And yet, here they always eventually returned.
His mind wandered to the artifact, mind seeking out the truth of the matter. The crystalline matrix harvested from the asteroids where Ilum used to be, constrained by finely worked metals, the words of power in the old tongues chiseled into it. How entertaining the next few months would be, as the Consul and he would plumb the depths of that which they had found. But that was tomorrow’s work. He nodded at the droid, metallic hands uncorking the bottle of fireshine spirit and pouring a measure over the large cube of ice in his glass. Tomorrow’s work.
Quentin hears the music fill the cantina as he begins to speak. “The Heretic blood is a custom recipe from a hidden Krath tavern called the Red Scepter down on Aeotheran, I kinda brought the recipe with me so i could enjoy it here as well.” Quentin replied to Strask before continuing “ as for Shar Dakhan projects…Hmm… well we just finished our skiff sail races, and currently working on sourcing some things for a new research facility but other then that no to much going on at moment which gives me time to come and relax” The Archpriest says as he downs his shot and presses a button to order another.
“Any news on where you’re wanting the new research facility?”
“ohh Its was already built in a hidden location on Aeotheran , races gave me perfect cover to get it built while every one was diestracted ”
“Glad to hear it. Anything you’re able to talk about, or something better suited for another time and place?”
“I can discuss the upper levels tho the research area is suited for another place i am afraid but the upper levels will be a new Krath temple, it will contain a library , dorms, training halls and what not a mini krath academy of sorts”
Strask’s eye’s look bright, “You’ve got my attention. When are you headed there next?”
“Currently gathering some resources then gotta find prospected recruits before i can get it fully up running but hopeflly soon.”
“Let me know when you’re headed that way. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to show the clan my ship after the upgrades, could be a good excuse.”
“What type of ship do you have Strask?”
“A heavily modified Phantom”
“Nice, I still have my old gx-1 freighter hardly use it spend most my time on the Shar Dakhan fleet as of late”
“Anymore, I just live in that ship. Haven’t put time anywhere else.”
Don’t get to spend much time on my ship anymore, there is always a duty that needs full filled but that goes with the job so I wont complain"
“Understood, at least you’re getting a moment now,” Strask raises his glass.
“Indeed, so tell me Strask, what have you been up to lately always living in your ship?”
“Just working to be the best pilot around. Found a platform I could build off of with the Phantom, and then started looking for anyone that needed a pilot.”
“If you don’t mind me asking what is your specialty past piloting?”
“Honestly, that’s been about it for a while. Just the drive to be the best in the Galaxy.”
“May have need of your piloting to transport some things if discretion could be used in such matters”
“Anytime, just say the word and I’ll make myself available”
Taking another drink the Archpriest leans back in his chair “Ya this was a much welcome break ” he says as he smiles
A mechanic whistles for attention behind us and gestures towards Strask. “That’ll be for me. Have to finish an rebuild on the engines. Harrass me if you need something, I’ll be around.”
Quentin bows his head “ I look forward to seeking your aid soon, until then May the force be with you friend”
Strask reciprocates the bow, “And may the Force be with you as well.”
Now that Quentin sat alone at table, he pulls out a small com-link “My presence has been noticed, begin operation black sea” the Archpriest says into his com-link before a reply comes back “yes Archpriest at once”. After receiving the message he slips his com-link back into his robes.
“Greetings Adept,” a womans voice suddenly said next to him. Malisane looked up from his drink in surprise wondering if the Gammorean waitress had learned basic, and saw a familiar Miraluka female in a Warhost flight suit looking down at him through dark glasses. “Captain Dagen,” he replied, “it has been some time.” “Lieutenant Dagen,” she replied in a slightly cold tone, “I woke up one morning in Mount Dakhan to find out you had resigned as Quaestor and left with your ship, and I had been transferred back to the Warhost and my previous rank. And that my flight status had expired a year earlier.” The Adept had some recollection of that, It had been over two years ago. He had not given any thought to his former pilot since. He remembered her as efficient, hard working and willing to accept whatever tasks needed doing for the Clan was ultimatley for the greater good. However the same could be said for any number of Warhost and Dlarit officers he had worked with over the years. He found them more stable and easier to work with than his fellow Clan members. “I see,” he finally replied, “so what have you been doing?” “I manged to get back on the flight roster flying shuttles again,” she replied, “but I’m not going to get combat again now unless I quit and go corporate.” The Adept considered that, “So what can I do for you? I have no influence over the Warhost and not much more over the Shar Dakhan military now.” “I want back on your ship,” she replied, suddenly intense, “I flew with you across the galaxy for three years in the name of Clan Naga Sadow. The missions, the fighting, the exploration, the danger. All that fire and fury. I want back in.” “My ship sits in a hangar now Lieutenant,” Malisane replied, “I manage this cantina until the Clan leaders decide they want me elsewhere. We serve Sadow where we are needed, or we do not serve at all.” She studied him for a few more seconds and then turned away. “I see. Thank you for your time.”
Dragoon watched the interactions between the two dark Jedi seated at the bar. Then one left. His attention was then pulled to malisane and a fairly good looking pilot. He over heard her state she was looking to work with him again. She then left when he politely told her he was not interested. That brought a thought to Dragoons head, he needed a pilot for his next leg of his adventure, whenever that would be. However he decided that would be at a later time. He turned his attention to muz. The bobot was refilling the grandmasters glass. He signaled one of the bobots. When it arrived he simple had 2 instructions for it. “I need a refill bourbon any type. And the consoul and proconsul do not I repeat do not pay for their next 2 drinks each.” And then handed the droid a stack of credits he had earned while he was away. He took another sip of his fresh bourbon as he noticed the droid hand both men two more drinks and pointed to Dragoon. Dragoon saluted them both with his glass and the. Down the hatch the drink went as they say. He then simple got up and left a few credits on the table for clean up and proceeded to walk out toward the shuttle bay to wait the delivery of his star fighter that he recently purchased.
Locke ducked out of his ship and surveyed the hangar. He wasn’t really interested in the bar and the stories and antics that would go with it. If he was lucky maybe some drunk idiot would set off a thermal detonator in there. But alas, Muz would probably stop it. That man’s physiology didn’t seem human when it came to alcohol.
He noticed a couple of new faces. Or at least, ones he had not seen in a long time. Was that Dragoon? Locke hadn’t seen him in years, maybe even a decade.
“Another one of Macrons disciples, ” he muttered.
Then he saw a Bothan who he had definitely never seen before. He (Locke assumed, since he knew little about Bothans), seemed like a Force user.
Locke couldn’t remember any Bothans in the clan. So he circled around so he wouldn’t come up on the man from behind and waved.
“Well met, ” he said “I hope you aren’t too busy for a chat.”
<@160104786631327745>
Strask was nearly inside one of the engines, coming out from time to time to grab a different tool from a rack that had been pulled over near his ship. “The name’s Strask, what can I do for you?”
“I’m Locke”, Locke said casually. He glanced at the engine, but he didn’t know where he was looking at. He was barely familiar with the other end of craft like this.
“I thought I’d say hello since I haven’t seen you before. What brought you to Naga Sadow?” he asked bluntly, and added silently to himself: and which of my rivals do you like?
Feeling a strange arrogance from Locke, Strask responds with an equal tone, “I honestly don’t remember how I wound up in Naga Sadow, but this is where I am and I am here to work for those that need it.”
Locke figured he had kinda been asking for that. He blinked, and softened his tone to something more amicable, gesturing at the nearby ship. “Do you enjoy working on your ships personally?”
“I feel like if you want something to be the best, you’ve the need to get your own hands involved,” Strask responded with an equally neutral tone as he continued to work.
Cerys walked away across the cantina, the coloured images and auras of the people standing out amongst the cold dull metals and plastics of the bar. She was partly embarrased and partly frustrated. She felt like a door had finally closed on her ambitions. It had not been easy being a Miraluka pilot amongst even the fairly diverse Orian Warhost. She had struggled to even get close to a fighter squadron assignment despite performing well in simulations and exams, or even on the reserve list. After a fews year of shuttling freight, three years of adventure, and then back on freight or low level personell transports, she was utterly disillusioned. She could probably get something far better in the corporate world as an escort pilot or part of a facility defence force, but she had believed in the Warhost and its mission. It was hard walking away. She clicked the communicator as soon as she was outside the bar. “This is the pilot of Shuttle Krenth Sixteen. How long until I’m ready for departure?” She listened to the response and sighed. “Very well.” She contemplated the store and the food vender, and decided she did not want anything. She walked back into the bar and looked at the machines near the back of the bar.
She faced the machine, and took a deep breath, and then pulled back and released the ball, feeling the vibrations of the table and the slightly changing patterns in the force as the sphere bounced back and forth, her fingers poised over the side buttons, until she quickly pressed the right one, feeling the vibration as the ball was deflected away from the hole at the bottom and fired back up the table. She allowed herself a slight smile as she focused, the sounds of nearby crowds fading as her fingers flickered on the buttons, her eyes not seeing the rising score but hearing the machine make a satisfiying noise as the ball or multiple balls bounced against the sensors. She was enjoying herself, her previous malaise forgotten.
“Definitely,” Locke agreed. He usually let other people handle mechanical things for him, but he was trying to get on this guy’s good side so he wasn’t about to say so. “I don’t know much about this, honestly. What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The Bothan replied with a chuckle as he tossed a tool back onto the rack, “Strask, I said that to you earlier.”
Vance leaned back in chair drinking the Tatooine Sunrise he had in his hand and continue to watch people around him, he nodded happily at the tune, Muz had gotten going and wondered who might be interested in chatting with a mercenary like him. He saw a couple others walk in. He noticed a miraluka made her way to the arcade side of the bar and was happily playing a game.
Roxas stood from the bar, inebriated. He slowly walked across to a cushier seat and plopped down in it and just began to people watch. His breath heavy from the alcohol as he turned his head slowly back and forth to scan the room. He watched his clan mates enjoying themselves. Some of the sadowans were chatting, others were playing games with each other, others were eating and drinking. They were all cold blooded killers, but here in this place they were all peaceful. Sure some had schemes against the others, but as for right now they were all one big happy group.
Adept DarkHawk Sadow accepted the drink from Lord Keibatsu with a nod of gratitude. The lights of the dimly lit room cast shadows that danced across their faces, revealing the lines of weariness etched into features. The past few weeks had been relentless. Clan missions that pushed the limits of endurance, bounties that required every ounce of skill, and countless hours strategizing with Proconsul Lord Keibatsu—it all took a toll.
As he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, DarkHawk took a moment to breathe in the rich, earthy notes of the whiskey. Lord Keibatsu knew a good whiskey; this one was no exception. The scent transported him back to the dense forests of Shaevalis Prime, where the aroma of damp earth and ancient trees had a calming, almost hypnotic effect. It was a brief, welcome escape from the burdens of his responsibilities.
His mind, however, refused to stay at ease for long. The memories of recent battles and close calls flashed vividly in his mind’s eye. Each mission, each decision made, had been a step closer to either triumph or disaster.
DarkHawk’s reverie was suddenly disrupted by the familiar voices of his comrades echoing through the hall. He lifted the glass to his lips, savoring the complex flavors before downing the delicious beverage in one smooth motion. The warmth of the whiskey spread through him, offering a momentary respite. He set the empty glass down, ready to face whatever came next with renewed determination.
Dragoon stood and watched as a pilot brought his new fighter into the hanger. After it landed one of the engineers approached him. “Mighty fine fighter sir. Just needs a name now. Any ideas?” As he posted up next to dragoon. He thought for a second and then turned toward the man. “How about the pride of the dragon?” He said. The man nodded and said “copy that I’ll get her painted up ASAP sir.” As soon as he said that he walked off to do just that. Dragoon stood and watched as several men started to paint the new name on the starfighters all black hull. It was his pride and joy after all. First fighter he had purchased all on his own and also came equipped with the auto pilot upgrade he ordered. Which was a good thing since he was not much of a pilot himself.
“oh yeah you did,” Locke answered absently. So what type of ship is this? It looks pretty fast.“
“It’s an X-70b Phantom that’s been modified to suit my needs. She does her job well”
“oh, phantom” Locke said, like he knew what he was talking about (he does not), “I don’t think I’ve seen one of these that I can recall, but it’s a big galaxy. I’m guessing by the size it’s a freighter or shuttle? Do you have the full length of living space in there? I find having an the amenities really helps with long trips”
“Unfortunately, it can only bring 4 passengers comfortably. Originally it was built for smuggling, but this one’s been retrofitted a bit with some extra firepower.” Strask mutters something unintelligible into a commlink and many panels on the ship begin to open up. “We’ve got missile tubes, couple laser cannons, and an Ion turret on here now, as well as the engine upgrade I’m working on finishing up now.”
Locke took a step back and admired all the now visible weapons that had been hidden a moment ago. “That’s pretty impressive,” he said with an approving nod. “I guess the firepower is worth the lack of passenger space.”.
“That’s mine over there, and it isn’t near as subtle.” He gestured to the Decimator on the other side of the hangar, with its laser turrets plainly visible (and impossible to hide.)
“Not a bad looking ship,” the Bothan said, running his fingers through the fur on his chin.
“It gets the job done. I’m not a huge fan of the design, but it’s what was available at the time and I had the interior redone a couple of years ago so I’m sticking with it.
"I like the look of yours though. I can see the practical applications of not having all your weapons visible at all times.”
“It’s got a few more bells and whistles, this isn’t the time or place though. There’s a reason I’m the one working on it on my own,” Strask gives you a wink.
Malisane got up from his table, pulling his black mask back over his head to hide his ravaged features. He took another look around. The Consul and Pro Consul were still engaged in conversation, and a crowd seemed to have gathered around a pinball machine where his former pilot was playing and apparently tapping up a storm. Perhaps he had been wrong to dismiss her services so quickly? Aside from his Senth, his former DAC bodyguard and later Warhost officer, the Sith had found her the easiest to work with. He would see how matters developed he had few allies amongst the military.
He continued to walk through the bar, and then paused as his gaze fell on a cloaked figure sat quietly at a table watching the pinballing Miraluka. His features were Sephi, though his reddish skin and hair marked him as at least part Zeltron. The Sith did not recognise him as a Clan member or any of the visiting Warhost officers. That suggested a mercenary, as did the rifle leaning against the table. There was no hard and fast rule against weapons in the cantina, the security in the overall Dentaavi facilty were known to be efficent and brutal in their dealing with trouble makers, but it was still something to note. After a few seconds the Sith walked over to him, accepting a second glass of the flavoured water from Nova the gammorean waitress who was passing.
He stood in front of the mercenary, and gave a slight nod of his head. “Greetings. I am Malisane Sadow, the manager of this bar. I do not recall seeing you here before. I trust you are enjoying our facilities?” <@277745193527279626>
Vance cocked his head to the side and looked at the black masked man and smiled. “Ah, you are the owner? Well, great place you have here. I absolutely love the setup and drinks.” He nods lifting his glass. “I am Vance Whitlock, mercenary for hire, though I am here on behalf of Tasha'Vel Versea. She couldn’t attend due to her other duties, but she sent me to at least take part and get to know some folks. I understand she has worked with you a bit I take?”
Malisane felt his suspiciouns lower somewhat. If the Sephi was an associate of the Twi'lek Elder he was unlikely to represent a threat, he knew her enough to know she was a sound judge of character. He sat opposite the mercenary, placing his drink on the table but leaving his mask in place. “Indeed, I worked with the Adept for some time on Aeotheran. We ran an efficent operation, the planet saw a significantly increased economic growth and stability during that time.” He was about to add more when a large figure leaned over the table, placing a second Tatooine Sunrise in front of the mercenary. The waitress gave a polite grunt and turned and walked away, the Sephi’s eyes following her. “Nova, our head waitress. The droids are quick and efficient, but many of our customers prefer the more personal touch. We have also noticed a significant decrease in cheating and people attempting to leave without paying since she joined us.”
“Well I can most certainly see why. She has a good sense of no nonsense should someone get a little out of hand. "He replied as he took another drink of his from his own glass saluting Malisane. "Ah you like Tatooine Sunrise as well? It is a personal favorite of mine. Just the right drink for relaxing. Glad to see you stop by my table. I don’t know many here and a lot of times, I do tend to be wary just because, well some are hard to read and you have to be very careful trusting people sometimes. Tasha'Vel though is an interesting one. She actually saved me from a life of slavery and owe her one. She does seem to know quite a few folks here, so I guess mostly I was sent to socialize myself.” He chuckled. “Don’t mind getting to know a little more about who she works alongside. So what do you like to do for fun, Malisane?”
Malisane considered the question. “I train, I meditate, I assist the Aeotheran Security Force tracking down criminals, and I study our resource, utility and transit systems and make suggestions to improve them. I also take care of my cave and hunt the creatures that scurry amongst the rocks for food. They are small but enough of them make an adequate stew with local roots and vegetables.” He indicated the cocktail. “The drink is yours by the way, I drink only water. This one is complimentary.”
Vance listened intently. “Resourceful and can survive off the land, I like it.” He finished his one glass and took the complimentary one in his hand. “Well thank you, heh first time I have heard a Sadowan that didn’t drink. No judgement of course, just surprised me.”
The Sith was finding the conversation oddly disarming. This was possibly the longest non work conversation he had taken part in years and yet he saw no harm in being honest, people took him as they found him. He looked back at the Sephi. “When I was younger I was weak, decadent, ambitious and foolish. My actions lead to much loss and destruction amongst those I was responsible for. Along with years of pain I was left with a permanent reminder of my actions, but it was also the greatest gift I have recieved.”
He reached up and pulled down his hood revealing his burnt, scarred and ravaged features and his cold blue eyes met those of the mercenary. “Now I live by a simple oath.” He paused as the words came automatically to his head. “My will and my life belong to Clan Naga Sadow. Wherever it says to go, I will go. Whatever it says to defend, I will defend. Whoever it says to kill, I will kill. When it says I must die, I will die.” He reached down and took a sip of his water through his torn lips. “To me there is nothing else.”
Vance didn’t even flinch at the sight, he took a drink from the glass setting it down while his violet eyes met the Sith’s icy blue as he listened. He gave a nod of respect to the man. “We all make mistakes, some bigger and more costly then others, and for some they never really learn from it. You seem to have reflected, learned and decided to follow the path you see as best for you. I got no issues with that.” He reached into his pocket taking out a small black torn slaves shackle. “I had to fight to survive on some forsaken slaver camp on tattooine for the longest time. I had no freedom at the mercy and whims of my slavemaster, that is until She came into the camp one day. I had done something wrong as usual my master didn’t care for it and decided he was gonna teach me a lesson with his vibrowhip. As he pulled it back, A blue Twi'lek female just out of nowhere grabs the whip, lifts the huge man into the air above her head, glaring at him these fiery emerald eyes and I will never forget those words. "Your days of torturing the weaker are over and you will never do it again.” Then she like throws him so hard against the side of the hut, he just crumples and never rose again. She then turns to me eyes now so gentle offering me a hand. Asking me if I am hurt and just waves her finger and all my shackles come off. She tells me I am free and to follow her to her home. When I got there, she gave me shelter, clothes, a weapon and asked me if I needed a job. So I accepted her offer as a hired Mercenary and I would follow that lady through all the nine hells of she asked me to. Tasha'vel gave me a new life and I owe her a lot.“
The Emerald Dragon docked at the hangar. And audible hiss released as it settled in. Sully threw a few switches before getting up from his seat.
“I’m glad that’s over.” Ashia rubbed her head for a moment before getting up from her own seat and following the Lasat.
Their encounter with Veevu, had been less than desirable. They had not been able to acquire the item she wanted but had brought her something less valuable and negotiated for more time. She had not been pleased and part of the negotiation kept them indebted to her longer.
Sully was unhappy but he tried not to show it.
“What?” She looked at him expectantly.
“It’s just that…” he started to say but got hung up on the words. He shook his head.
“You aren’t happy about the situation with Veevu. You are upset because I went off to Atthis instead of dealing with this and now we’re in deeper because of it. That it?” She was so matter-of-fact.
He blinked at her. “Yeah, basically, I guess.” He didn’t have the words.
“I’m sorry. I ended up leaving early and didn’t get to see it through anyway. I should have stayed.” She let a sigh slip past her lips as her shoulders slumped slightly.
“Let’s go get a drink and we’ll come up with a plan. Maybe someone in the cantina will be able to help.” She moved towards the door.
Sully perked up slightly. Tentatively He asked, “Can we stop by Squeek’s?” His eyes shone eagerly with anticipation.
“Of course we can.” a smile crossed to her lips as he quickly made his way towards the ramp.
In the dimly lit hangar the Sith Fury Interceptor known as the Reaver was neatly tucked away. Tytus O'Baieron, a seasoned pilot with a refined demeanor and a thick regal accent, approached the sleek vessel with a sense of reverence. His long, dexterous fingers hovered over the ship’s hull, caressing it as if it were a rare gem.
“Ah, my dearest Reaver,” he murmured, his voice dripping with condescension. “You serve us well, but it is time to elevate you to unparalleled magnificence.”
Tytus was known for his meticulous care of the Reaver, allowing only a select few to touch her. Today, he aimed to repair and upgrade the avionics and targeting systems, ensuring the ship remained the pinnacle of technological prowess.
As he began his work, Ellee, the ship’s custom pilot droid, approached. Ellee’s blacked out casing gleamed under the hangar lights, and her tone was filled with self-importance.
“Master O'Baieron,” Ellee intoned, “one must wonder if your incessant tinkering is truly necessary. The Reaver, under my flawless guidance, is already perfection incarnate.”
Tytus smirked, his fingers deftly adjusting a cluster of wires. “Ellee, my dear, your delusions of grandeur never cease to entertain. Perfection, you see, is a constantly shifting target. Much like your aim before I recalibrated it.”
Ellee’s optical sensors flickered in mock indignation. “I assure you, Master, my targeting routines are the epitome of precision.”
“Indeed,” Tytus replied dryly, “and yet, here we are.”
He continued his work, installing state-of-the-art processors and navigation systems. The Reaver’s avionics soon hummed with renewed vigor, ready for the most treacherous of maneuvers. Next, he turned to the targeting systems, integrating advanced sensor arrays and automated tracking modules.
Hours passed, filled with their colorful banter echoing through the ship. Finally, Tytus stepped back, admiring the rejuvenated interceptor. “There, my glorious Reaver, reborn in splendor.”
Ellee moved in closer, conceding a rare compliment. “I must admit, Master O'Baieron, you have outdone yourself. She is… mildly acceptable.”
Tytus chuckled, giving the droid a playful pat. “High praise indeed, Ellee. Now, I must venture off to the Sadowan Lounge. I believe a few drinks with comrades are in order.”
Tytus entered the lounge and saw the Consul getting ready to light a cigar. Soon wafts of a pleasing aroma filled Ty’s nostrils. DarkHawk looked up to see Ty carrying quite the scowl over his face. “Bloody’ell man, did you unlawfully liberate those stogies from my private collection?” Ty said demandingly.
“Ah yeah, aboard my ship. Plus Ty, I have told you countless times, you do not collect these Sir, you enjoy these.” DarkHawk said jovially while sliding a fresh cigar and a tall whiskey glass over in front of Tytus.
Ty shot a glance towards the gesture, then up at his brethren, “Bollocks!”
QuentinShadows rises from the table well feeling the one to many Heretic blood’s, “Finally I can relax” he says to himself as he heads to his normal place near the fireplace. Approaching his favorite seat and settles in pulling out his datapad, “Now where are those scanned in scrolls?” saying to himself once more as he flips through the files on his datapad.
Dragoon was standing and watching as the Sadowens engineers worked on his fighter. Soon it would be ready. He turned to head back to the bar when suddenly he sensed something. He felt the heat from the laser before he heard the report but due to his enhanced senses he was in mid roll as the laser blast missed him by a centimeter. In mid roll he pulled his lightsaber from his belt and activated it as he turned to face the fighter. As he did he say the chief engineer throwing the assistant out the hatch and watched as the young lad hit the durasteel floor with a loud “Thud” followed by a “umph” from the man laying on the ground. Too close he thought to him self. Way too close. As the senior jumped out of the cockpit and drew his blaster Dragoon had thought to himself wait. So he spoke “Wait!” The man stopped and looked at Dragoon “sir? “ he replied as he kept his blaster pointed at the Moran who almost took Dragoons head off. “I said wait.” Dragoon stood up, deactivated the saber and replaced it to his belt. He then walked over to the two men. He looked at the assistant and realized he couldn’t have been more then 20 or 21. He was just a kid. “Get up.” He said to him. Apparently he wasn’t moving fast enough cause the engineer helped him up kind of roughly. “ what did you do?” Dragoon asked the kid. He hesitated. The engineer smacked the kid across the back of his head “the Warlord asked a question son now answer him!” The young kid started to stumble on his words a little, “I… accidentally hit the wrong wire as I was….” And he stopped and the engineer chimed up. “ he attached the wrong wire to the auto pilot sir causing a-“ Dragoon swiftly throat punched the man causing him to drop his blaster and himself to the ground. “ I asked HIM not you. You will speak when spoken too! Do you understand! I should execute both of you malcontents right now for your ignorance! More so you sergeant for allowing such a mistake to take place!”