A Deal with the Devil

[Saraya Arenais]

If he hadn't gifted her a working knowledge of the battle between light and dark the quip would have flew right by her, but it didn't. The subtle joke earned him a soft chuckle from the depths of her chest. He seemed determined to talk about the merits of her people and how well they did to survive and why not? He was right when he said they weren't as different as they seemed. They had both come from a place that had its prosperity robbed by greed and in turn that had given them the strength to adapt, even in the harshest of circumstances.

When the planet span on its axis the wondrous expression on her pale face grew, cast softly in the blue light emitted by the holoprojection. The dreadful sensation of jumping into hyper-speed had long since been forgotten and the only thing on her mind was the warmth of his hand against hers and how the whole projection even worked. Her curiosity about the glowing orb was reflected back in her eyes as the mountain range span into view.

Alora lent in further, squinting her eyes to try and make out any unusual shapes tucked away in the great stretch of rocks he had motioned to. She quickly discovered there was nothing much to see, just as he had said, so she gave up searching and instead settled her green gaze on mapping every inch of the Devil's face. There was no shortage of amusement in her expression when his not so pure thoughts ran through her mind.

'You're distracted. Will you be this way when we're fighting?'

For the first time since their conversation began Alora's voice wasn't its usual monotonous tone, instead it was laced with a sly enjoyment. No doubt he could tell exactly why she was feeling this way, there was some pleasure to be had about being noticed.

'Lightsabers?'

She could understand him perfectly well, each word on its own had a meaning in her native tongue, but when she put the two together they made little sense. It took her a few moments of heavy concentration to try and figure out what he meant by it. Alora turned to Metus and made a subtle motion with her left hand. When she spoke her tone was a mixture of mild confusion and uncertainty.

'A sword made from light?'

Alora shook her head and lifted a single paper white finger to halt him from any speech. In the blink of an eye she raised herself from the chair and dashed off into the quarters. When she returned she clutched the only thing she had bothered bringing with her from the makeshift camp they had left behind. The thick leather satchel was almost the same length as her torso, as wide as it was tall. Leaving Ochota had been the hardest thing for both her and her family, they had been sure to pack her all the home comforts she would need. At first the bag had been intolerably heavy, wearing it was a task that left her with sore shoulders and a bruised spine.

Now that she had used up all the food and the thick furs had been left behind the bag was relatively empty, save for the one item that would never leave her side. Alora reached into the open bag and pulled out a beskad as long as her arm. The same blood red material her armor was made from decorated the handle. As it moved fluidly through the air the tarnished metal seemed to swallow more light than it reflected. There was a smile as wide as a Cheshire cats plastered on Alora's face as she rolled her wrist, bringing the blade humming through the empty space in-front of her. With the bag abandoned in a heap on the floor Alora turned her head to face Metus. Her eyes flashed with wild excitement as she motioned to her weapon.

'This is Ebere. A hundred of my ancestors held her hilt before me. In my language Ebere means mercy.'

[member=Darth Metus]

 

[Malok]

Perhaps, this was the reason..

Whenever it came to relics or reflections of the life he had left behind, Darth Metus was often a moth drawn to the open flame. Consider Haseria, home of the Mandalorian Protectors. On paper, the planet was a backwater. Her people were so loosely organized that there was no true presence within the Viceroyalty; and thus the Protectors were essentially free to govern themselves as they saw fit. What purpose did the Vicelord have for visiting this planet? What advantage was there, truly, for taking time away from his responsibilities in order to grace the backwater with his presence? As far as logic went, there was no reason under the stars that he should have went. But in the name of sentimentality, Darth Metus was drawn.

And in the instant that [member="Alora Fae"] returned with his beskad in hand, the Sith felt himself drawn yet again. Though there was no obvious connection between the world of her origin and Mandalore, the blade within her grasp seemed to be the common denominator. Beskade were not something that could be easily or frequently found in the Galaxy at large. And, from a cursory glance at the state of the weapon, it was far older than both of them combined. The Wildling’s description of the weapon gave credence to Darth Metus’ thoughts on the matter, as she stated that hundreds of hands had wielded it before she. Therefore, it stood to reason that, at some point in the distant past, a Mandalorian had been the one to gift her people “Mercy.”

Perhaps this was why the Force had seen fit to intersect their destinies. Perhaps it had something to do with the faint connections that she had to his former life. Was she to be a beacon for him to follow? Something to correct and redeem his path to becoming a Mandalorian once more? Or. Was hers the path in need of correction? Would it be Alora Fae who would see herself walking further and further away from what her people desired? Only time would tell at this stage. Nonetheless, when Alora proudly displayed the weapon, Darth Metus rose from his seat and joined her side so that he might inspect the weapon a little bit closer. He would be lying to himself if he did not also enjoy the faint scent which yet lingered to her form as well - no doubt from a bed of wild lavender which had been slept upon or something.

”A blade called Mercy. Your ancestors were either vicious or had a sense of humor.” he remarked. ”Your possession of this blade is good, however. Beskad are naturally immune to the blades of lightsabers - which can typically cut through anything. And, physical swordplay translates very well to a lightsaber once you master the weight difference. For now, I want you to continue to carry that weapon with you everywhere you go. And, we will spar with it regularly once we finish our objective on Krant.”

He then returned to the pilot’s seat without much else on the topic of her weapon and invited her to join him once more. ”It won’t be much longer now, fortunately enough. Once we arrive, we will be in a forested environment - do you have any skills that will make navigating easier in this regard?”

[member="Alora Fae"]