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Private Bad Vibes

Major Faction

Sable Varro

A Vessel for Violence
Sable Varro
Character Bio


sith-divider-pink.png
​

Bad Vibes

Tags: Darth Morta Darth Morta

Equipment Loadout:



​
Sable settled into a booth near the back of the club, the low cushions barely giving under the weight of her armor. She kept her posture casual, one arm slung over the backrest, but her eyes flicked through the crowd behind the polarized tint of her visor. The music was a steady, pulsing thrum in her bones, the air thick with spice smoke and the faint burn of low-grade coolant used to chill the drinks.

At first glance, it was just another den of vice—smugglers flashing stolen credits, mercs bragging about body counts, a few naive rich kids slumming it for the thrill. The usual. But something was off.

She let herself sit with it for a moment, turning the feeling over in her head.

The club wasn't loud enough. It had all the ingredients of a packed underworld hotspot—the music, the lights, the drinks—but the energy was wrong. Too many people sitting too still, drinks barely touched. The conversations that did happen were hushed, subdued, as if half the club had already checked out of reality.

Her visor's sensors flicked through filters. Heat signatures looked normal—no hidden droids, no stealth fields. Aural filters cut out the music, isolating voices. She expected the usual underground dealings: gun sales, spice drops, bounty talk. Instead, she got...silence. Not literal, but a kind of dead space in the noise, like people who should be talking simply weren't.

That's when she started spotting them.

They weren't clustered together, but spread out, positioned carefully. Too carefully. Their movements were deliberate, fluid—not like drunk clubgoers or rowdy criminals. They were watching. No, waiting.

Sable exhaled through her nose. Anzati.

She ran through what she knew. Predators. Parasites. They fed off sentient minds, draining something deeper than blood. ‘Soup,’ they called it. The essence of thought, memory, life itself. And they were patient. Anzati could wait hours, days even, for the perfect moment to strike. They didn't rush. They didn't need to.

Her eyes flicked to a man at the bar. Young, wealthy, dressed too well for a place like this. He was staring straight ahead, his drink untouched, body still. Too still. Not unconscious, not drugged—just…empty.

Sable leaned forward slightly, glancing toward a booth in the corner. A woman sat there, her companion slouched beside her. The woman was speaking, voice soft, hypnotic. Her fingers traced idle patterns on the table, her expression warm, inviting.

And yet, the man next to her wasn't responding.

Not asleep. Not dead. Just…gone.

The Anzat woman tilted her head slightly, as if sensing she was being watched.

Sable didn't move.

The woman smiled.

A slow, knowing curve of the lips.

This wasn’t a club.

This was a feeding ground.

Sable rested her gloved fingers against the table, tapping out a slow rhythm, calculating. This wasn't just a few rogue hunters picking off the weak. This was organized. Controlled. A set up.

She needed to decide, and fast. Play along? Slip out unnoticed? Or start making bodies hit the floor?

She flexed her fingers.

This was very not good…

 
Major Faction

Darth Morta

Character
Darth Morta
Character Bio

​

Darth Morta sat in a VIP booth, it was never hard as a Sith to get exactly what she wanted in these kinds of places and the emotions that came out of people in these parts were rather energizing to a darksider like her. She swung a booted foot up over her knee to relax as she sipped at a bright blue cocktail. At the same time, the music blasted from speakers in every corner of the room. However, it was still oddly low for this kind of club, it was too loud to overhear someone at the next table, but within your booth you could have a conversation with no difficulty, normally clubs like this usually had the music up so loud that you couldn't hear yourself think.

Those oddities had her start to notice things and Morta leaned forward, focusing her senses on the building she was in rather than the wider area. The whole sensation was off, the energy in the club was wrong, none of the wild energy and raw hedonism that usually floated though the air was missing here, rather it felt like a gathering of hunters.

Anzati

Normally Darth Morta would be fine to leave them, one predator to another, but this gathering was far too organized to just be a few hunters in the same place, in fact, barring a handful of regular beings it was all Anzati, and the aura that hung in the air was one of hunger.

With a mental shrug Morta finished her cocktail, stood up and stepped out of her booth. One of the Anzati, no doubt seeing what they thought was their greatest prey starting to walk away, grab at a vibroblade on their belt and start to approach. Darth Morta simply reached up with a hand and lazily flicked air in the being's direction sending it crashing back into a table, and in that moment, it was possible to hear a pin drop in the club as the music cut and heads started to turn.

Sable Varro Sable Varro
 
Last edited:
Major Faction

Sable Varro

A Vessel for Violence
Sable Varro
Character Bio


sith-divider-pink.png
​

Bad Vibes

Tags: Darth Morta Darth Morta

Equipment Loadout:



​
The crash cut through the low thrum of the music like a vibroblade through synthsilk.

Sable didn't move. Not at first. She simply sat, one arm slung over the back of her booth, fingers still idly tapping against the table. The club had been off from the moment she walked in, and now, whatever careful balance had been in place just shattered.

The music cut out. Silence.

She let it linger, listened to the way the room shifted. Breaths held. Muscles tensed. Not in fear. In anticipation.

Sable didn't need to look to know what had happened. Someone had gotten too bold. Too cocky. And now every Anzat in the club was staring at whoever had just knocked one of their own into the furniture.

Slowly, finally, she turned her head just enough to glance toward the source of the disturbance.

A woman stood near the center of the room, dark robes, sharp lines, an air of self-assured lethality. Not some terrified club-goer who had stumbled into the wrong place. No, this was someone who knew what the Anzati were and had decided to start something anyway.

Sable exhaled through her nose, shifting slightly in her seat.

Well. That was one way to handle it.

She didn't recognize the woman, but the way the Anzati reacted told her enough. They weren't pouncing. Not yet. They were watching, waiting. Which meant they either respected her, feared her, or—most likely—were deciding whether she was worth the risk.

Sable let her gaze drift back to the nearest Anzat still seated. Unlike the rest, she hadn't gone for a weapon or stood up in outrage. She was still. Too still. Watching with those deep, endless eyes.

Sable rested her elbow on the table, tilting her head slightly as she spoke, voice low and conversational.

She wasn't here to make a scene.

Really, she had come here to try and relax.

“Can I take a drink to go?”

The moment Sable spoke, she knew she had their attention.

Not the casual kind, not the kind exchanged in passing glances. The real kind. The kind that measured, that weighed, that determined whether she was prey or predator.

She was still angled toward the seated Anzat when the attack came.

It was fast—blurring fast. A shape moving in her peripheral vision, silent, calculated. No wasted motion, no bravado. One second she was sitting, the next something cold was slicing through the air toward her throat.

Sable moved.

She twisted in her seat, left arm snapping up. The vibroblade meant for her jugular scraped against her gauntlet instead, sparking as the durasteel plating absorbed the hit. The force behind the strike was enough to send a sharp jolt through her arm—strong. They always were.

Before the Anzat could retract, Sable caught his wrist with her free hand and yanked. Hard. The assassin overcommitted, forced to stumble forward.

Sable drove her knee up.

The impact cracked into his ribs, forcing a sharp exhale from the hunter. Not enough to break anything—not yet—but enough to throw off his balance. She released his wrist at the same time, letting him stagger back a step. Not dead. Not incapacitated. But now they were both standing.

She could feel the shift around her. The tension spiking. The others were still watching, still waiting, but they weren't lunging yet. Testing the waters.

She let her stance settle, rolling her shoulders once. Slowly, deliberately. Then, only then, did she let her visor tilt slightly toward the robed woman who had made the first move against the club goers.

Sable exhaled, flexing her fingers. Looked back toward the Anzat still in front of her. He was watching her now, his expression unreadable, his breath steady despite the blow.

She tilted her head slightly, and let out a sigh.

Right as the Anzat fell away from her.

Sable was in the midst of looking for another attacker, she movement to her left caught her attention.

She stepped back, arm moving to block, and collided with an iron grip. She drove a right knee, colliding with something, then wrenching out her arm. Another Anzat rumbled to the floor, though it was hardly the only one that was now moving in on her.

She just wanted a blasted drink…
 
Major Faction

Darth Morta

Character
Darth Morta
Character Bio


Darth Morta saw the crowd start to move, not a surge, just a few of them starting to slip forward, the brave or foolish few. It would be their death sentences; the fools' only chance would have been coming at her all at once and hoping to overwhelm her. Morta reached out with the force her hand held as if she was holding a bowl in the palm and picked up several chairs, pummeling them as they tried to cross the gap.

With the easiest targets on the ground and dazed Darth Morta took the moment of reprive to draw her lightsabers, igniting the twin crimson blades and holding them out from her body to each side in a silent dare.

That seemed to be the signal that the Anzati were waiting for, as the bar suddenly erupted into violence, and not just around her, as several other fights broke out as the Anzati went after the few normal beings in the bar that they had yet to drain, blaster bolts, knives, and other weapon came out. Morta rushed forward, not one to let her foes grasp any of the initiative, and swung one of her sabers, disarming one of her opponents in the most literal method. As the blaster-wielding arm hit the floor, she kept going and crashed into another Anzati, knocking him to the floor and stomping on the back of his had with one of her severely heeled boots. Feeling the crunch of bone beneeth her Morta spun on her other heel, gave a mocking salute, and she jumped down to the main floor of the club where most of the action seemed to be.

Sable Varro Sable Varro
 
Major Faction

Sable Varro

A Vessel for Violence
Sable Varro
Character Bio


sith-divider-pink.png
​

Bad Vibes

Tags: Darth Morta Darth Morta

Equipment Loadout:



​
Sable didn't think. She didn't need to.

Her body moved on its own, the rhythm of combat taking hold like an old, familiar song. Every instinct, every lesson beaten into her bones, took control, and she let herself sink into it.

The next Anzat lunged. She twisted into him, grabbing his outstretched arm and yanking him forward. The momentum carried him straight into her rising knee, the sharp crack of bone snapping through the noise. He let out a strangled sound, dazed, and she capitalized on it instantly. A quick shift of her grip, one hand grabbing his chin, the other bracing against the back of his skull—one sharp jerk, and his neck twisted violently to the side. The body was already crumpling before she had even let go.

Another was on her before the first had fully hit the ground.

She stepped inside the wild swing of his knife, deflecting his wrist with a sharp upward motion. He staggered, just slightly, and she used the opening to drive a palm strike into his sternum. His breath hitched, but she didn't stop. Her fingers curled into the collar of his shirt, twisting the fabric as she pivoted and slammed him back-first into a nearby pillar. Before he could recover, she drove an elbow into his throat, crushing his windpipe.

He collapsed, wheezing, hands clawing at his neck, but she was already turning toward the next threat.

An arm came for her, reaching, grasping. She caught it mid-motion, gripping at the wrist and twisting, forcing her attacker onto their knees. Her boot lashed out, cracking into their ribs once—twice—until she heard something give. They gasped, barely getting a breath in before she snapped her free hand down onto their shoulder, driving them fully onto the floor. A final, sharp stomp to the side of their head, and they went still.

Another came at her from behind. She could feel them before they struck—could hear the minute shift of fabric, the subtle exhale as they prepared their attack. Sable pivoted just as they lunged, sidestepping smoothly and catching them in a brutal hook to the jaw. Their head snapped to the side, but they recovered quickly, fangs bared in frustration.

They swung at her again, but she weaved under it, closing the distance before they could readjust. Her hand shot up, fingers pressing hard into the pressure points just below the jaw. Their body seized, the pain stunning them for just a second, and that second was all she needed. She shifted, arms wrapping around their head in a fluid motion, and twisted sharply.

Another broken neck. Another body hitting the floor.

She didn't stop moving. Her world had shrunk to the violence in front of her, every enemy just another problem to solve, another equation to balance. Another body to break.

She could feel it, the subtle shift in the room. The way the remaining Anzati hesitated now, the way they measured her differently.

She rolled her shoulders, cracking her knuckles as she surveyed what was left.

There were still more standing. Still more to put down.

Good.

She exhaled, steady, and moved in to finish the job.

All in time to notice a pair of red sabers that cut through the dim lighting of the club.
 
Major Faction

Darth Morta

Character
Darth Morta
Character Bio


Darth Morta deactivated and put her lightsabers away, cutting them down just wasn't satisfying enough, and these aliens only presented a real threat if they came at her in a group, which they seemed ill inclined to do at the moment as they only worked up the guts to strike out individually. She pulled out a mace-like weapon and double-tapped a concealed button, letting the head fly out as it transformed into a flail and the head crashed into the jaw of one of the Anzati that had come at her on the dance floor that she now occupied.

All around her there was violence that seemed to be dying out as the Anzati overwhelmed and drained the few normal beings in the club, all but one other than her, another force-sensitive woman, a human, or near enough. Morta didn't put in the effort to reading her force-aura fully since there would be time afterward to find out fully, either from the body or a conversation.

Morta had to snap herself back into full attention as a trio of the aliens moved forward in unison, finally, a group of them had found the balls at the same time. Darth Morta smiled and let force lightning flow from her hand into the weapon. The head suddenly crackled with energy as she spun it around letting the weapon lick out and impact the stomach of one of her opponents, a strike that normally wouldn't have done more than knock the wind out of a foe but nearly threw the Anzati across the room as all that energy stored in the flail was pumped into it's body.

Darth Morta quickly pivoted and swung her flail, letting the chain wrap around the neck of the next Anzati and yanked hard with a satisfying crack as the neck snapped and the new corpse fell to the floor, adding one more obstacle to the steadily growing mess all around her. The last one came at her with a knife, but Morta double-tapped the same hidden button that let the head loose and it pulled back in, making the weapon into a mace again which she slammed into the Anzati's hand, crushing bone and making it drop the weapon. She gripped the knife with the force and shoved it into the the alien's neck and out the back of his throat before whirling to see what was coming next.

Sable Varro Sable Varro
 
Major Faction

Sable Varro

A Vessel for Violence
Sable Varro
Character Bio


sith-divider-pink.png
​

Bad Vibes

Tags: Darth Morta Darth Morta

Equipment Loadout:



Sable didn't flinch as the Anzati lunged, the creature's tendrils snapping out like hungry whips. She stepped into the strike, not away from it, one arm crashing upward to deflect the reaching hand while her other snapped into a tight elbow hook that crushed cartilage and sent the alien reeling.

Her momentum never slowed.

She caught the Anzati by the collar and drove a knee into its gut hard enough to lift it off its feet—then twisted, using the weight of its body to slam it headfirst into the corner of a broken table. The crunch of bone was immediate, wet, final.

She didn't stop moving.

Another came at her from behind—she spun low and swept its legs with brutal precision, catching it mid-fall by the throat. Her gauntlet crushed inward as the creature writhed, gasping for air that would never come. She held just long enough to feel the twitch of its limbs, then let the body drop with a thud beside the others.

Three down.

She stood amidst the carnage, breath steady, eyes flicking briefly toward the center of the club where Morta's flail crackled and danced through bodies like a conductor of death. The lightning illuminated the room in violent flashes—and Sable fed off it.

Not the power. The fear.

She could feel it now—those still lurking in the shadows, thinking twice about charging her. Good. Let them think. Let them hesitate. That was the moment she thrived in.

She turned back to the next one daring to approach, blood on her gloves, breath misting faintly through her visor.

"Come on then," she muttered low, voice like a blade's edge, "let's see if you fare better than your friends."

The moment the batard moved, she had already ignited her laser cutter on her wrist, and cut the Anzat open. She looked back to the stranger with the sabers, only to find they had moved to another weapon.

She shrugged at this, deployed her whipcord and leapt towards what she could now see was a Twi’lek.

Coiling her cord around one of the lights, she swung herself onto a strut, and spoke down to the unknown warrior.

“I heard ladies night here was a scam, but I didn’t expect this.”
 
Major Faction

Darth Morta

Character
Darth Morta
Character Bio


Sith-blood.png

Darth Morta saw the new form leaping in her direction, though the force very quickly told her that it was the figure she had noticed earlier, the only other non-Anzati in the club who had been holding their own against the onslaught, and that they weren't coming at her to attack, at least not at the moment, and that was all she needed to know for the moment.

At the same moment, she lunged towards another one of the aliens who had thought pulling out a blaster was a bright idea, not wanting to give them the chance to use it, Morta reached out with the force and grabbed a table and threw it into the alien one of the legs going directly into it's chest and coming out it's back in a spray of blood.

"The drinks here were never that good anyway, but the decor and music." Darth Morta joked back, looking up at the fellow warrior that was now perched on one of the support struts in the ceiling. "But this is a new low."

Morta lashed out again with the force, sending lightning arcing from her fingertips and spreading across a trio of Anzati, sending them collapsing to the floor, twitching as residual energy ran through their muscles.

Sable Varro Sable Varro
 
Major Faction

Sable Varro

A Vessel for Violence
Sable Varro
Character Bio


sith-divider-pink.png
​

Bad Vibes

Tags: Darth Morta Darth Morta

Equipment Loadout:



Sable crouched low on the support strut, one boot braced against the metal beam, her silhouette barely illuminated by the lightning flashing below. Blood streaked her jaw, not hers, and her knuckles were raw beneath the torn fabric of her gloves. She watched the carnage below with a calm, clinical interest—until Morta's voice drew her gaze.

"Low's relative.” She replied dryly, voice carrying easily over the noise.

With a casual motion, she vaulted down from the beam, landing in a crouch beside one of the still-twitching Anzati. Her hand moved like a viper—grabbing the creature's arm, twisting, snapping. Then, without even looking, she drove her heel into its throat, silencing it with a wet crunch.

She rose, smooth and deliberate, standing beside Morta now—an unspoken alignment forming in the chaos. Not alliance, not yet. Just recognition. Two apex predators circling the same kill zone.

Sable glanced toward the bar, where another Anzati was foolishly trying to crawl behind cover, assuming he'd been forgotten. She raised her blaster, and fired over to the man, blowing a hole in his back.

"Not much of a crowd left," She said, pressing her knee into the back of his skull. "Probably for the best.”

Then she looked over at Morta again, eyes narrowing slightly beneath the shadow of her hood. "You're not with them," She said simply. "So…who are you?"
 
Major Faction

Darth Morta

Character
Darth Morta
Character Bio



Sith-blood.png

"No, I'm not with them. I've noticed them here before, but never in the numbers like they were tonight." Morta said, looking around and seeing that the club was starting to empty out pretty well now, with only a handful of Anzati left standing, unsure about attacking or fleeing.

Darth Morta reached down to one of the Anzati that hadn't quite died yet and reached out with the dark side and syphoned off that last of his force energy, feeling reinvigorated like she'd just drank a piping hot cup of caf after a long night of no sleep, and enjoying the little irony that this creature that who came to drain her had been drained in turn.

"You can't just ask who I am, not without providing something in return." Morta said "And since I know how to mix my own drinks, you'll have to do the same as me, tell me who you are too."

Moving over to the bar as the other Anzati backed away from the pair, dripping in delicious fear, and grabbed a bottle of Ryloth Spice Liquor from the top shelf and popped the cork off, pouring a generous measure into a pair of glasses that avoided the worst of the violence. "I am Darth Morta, the Sith Queen and Governer of Krayiss II."

Morta used the force to float one of the liquor-filled glasses over to Sable as she took a sip of her own and said. "Your turn."

Sable Varro Sable Varro
 
Major Faction

Sable Varro

A Vessel for Violence
Sable Varro
Character Bio


sith-divider-pink.png
​

Bad Vibes

Tags: Darth Morta Darth Morta

Equipment Loadout:



Sable caught the glass in mid-air, fingers brushing lightly against the cold surface of the liquor. She stared at the glass, easing back, and would slowly remove her helmet.

It gives a soft hiss, fresh air hitting her face, as her white fair and tired expression emerge from under the helmet, under her crimson eyes hung bags that indicated she hadn’t slept in a while. She felt strange without the damn thing.

She brought the glass to her lips, savoring the slight burn as she took a slow, deliberate sip. The taste was sharp, spiced, and burned down her throat in a way she found oddly satisfying.

Then she couldn’t recall the last time she had actually had a drink.

Her gaze stayed on Morta as she set the glass down with a soft click, her demeanor as unbothered as ever, even amidst the carnage.

"Sable Varro," She replied calmly, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen their fair share of bloodshed. "I’m an oddity, I am told."

She turned the glass between her fingers for a moment, as if weighing her words, then added with a smirk, "And you're right, I don't give up much for free."

Her eyes flickered over the few remaining Anzati, their fear palpable in the air, before settling back on Morta. "Krayiss II? Sounds like you're playing a big game, fancy name like that."

Sable's stance was loose, almost casual, but every muscle in her body was coiled with potential, ready to strike if need be. She felt for now, most of the club had been dealt with.
 
Major Faction

Darth Morta

Character
Darth Morta
Character Bio



Sith-blood.png

"The game's not worth playing if the prize small." Darth Morta said with a nod of agreement.

Noticing through the force that Sable still felt like a coiled snake, ready to strike at any moment, and took a long draw from her own glass, with the recent development of her homeworld becoming the capital of another galactic power, she wasn't likely to get her hands on another bottle without putting some real money or effort in. She'd have to get some contracts in with some smugglers and get some regular shipments coming in.

"So, what brings you to the Order territory? You have the sense of the Dark Side about you, but not of a Sith." Morta asked mostly out of idle curiosity, she wasn't worried about this Sable Varro Sable Varro woman overpowering her if she attacked so kept her own stance casual as well, trusting in the force to warn her if any threat.
 
Major Faction

Sable Varro

A Vessel for Violence
Sable Varro
Character Bio


sith-divider-pink.png
​

Bad Vibes

Tags: Darth Morta Darth Morta

Equipment Loadout:



Sable didn't touch the glass at first. She just rolled it between her fingers, eyes half-lidded, studying Morta across the rim like a predator gauging the weight of a rival animal. There was no humor in her expression. There is a tired sort of calculation, as though her mind had already played out a dozen different ways this conversation could end, most of them bloody.

"I'm not here for the Order," She said finally, voice low and even. "I guess I should read my maps better, I thought I was outside the Order’s borders."

She took a small sip of the liquor at last, more out of politeness than desire, and let it burn down her throat. Her gaze never left Morta.

"As for the Dark Side…" Sable tilted her head slightly, the faintest smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. "I don’t even know what that is. It’s just…nonsense words to me, honestly. Something that scares little padawans."

She leaned forward, elbows on the bar now, eyes hard. "I'm not a Sith. Never was really. Not a Jedi either. Whatever I was- let me clarify-whatever the Sith made me-“

She stopped, thought for a moment, and shrugged.

“It doesn't matter. I'm just… doing my own thing."

There was a pause. Then, a flicker of dry amusement. "But I guess in a way, it’s like any game, right? Play it long enough, and eventually the prize stops being anything worth winning. You’re just committed now."
 
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