Private Bearer of the Black Sword

[Bastard]

Coruscant.

The scent of unwashed bodies packed too closely together assaulted Errant's sense of smell. He furrowed his brow and pushed away from a large, four-armed alien who drew far too close to the Knight. It looked back at him. Much larger than the pale-skinned humanoid, it screwed up its two yellowed eyes and sneered. Errant met its gaze with one carved from marble, his smooth alabaster skin unmoving. The surrounding crowd took note of the sudden altercation. Some pushed away, disinterested in the affairs of the Albino and the Beast. Others paused. They turned to watch, smiles plastered on their grime-covered faces. Even within the Core, on Coruscant, cruelty ran rampant. These people hungered for something to break up the monotony of their crawling lives. What could be more entertaining than watching a black-armored Imperial beaten in the streets by one of their own?

Errant remained still, his crimson eyes locked on the besalisk's smiling face. Murmurs washed over the crowd as they theorized on what the cloaked Imperial would do in the face of the inevitable. He was far smaller than the Beast. Perhaps they mistook his stoicism for fear. Laughter erupted as calls to action were made.

"Crush the Imperial bastard!" one shouted.

"Put 'em down! Show 'em what for in the Core dammit!" a second joined in. "We don't give a damn about no Imperial Orders 'round here!"

The Crestfallen Knight smirked. He looked to those who condemned him, his silence more threatening than any word he could hurl back. It would be enough.

At the besalisk's first step, Errant turned back. His right arm flashed forward, a black blur following not far behind as the scrape of metal echoed throughout the street. His assailant stumbled to an abrupt halt. It screamed in pain, clutching at the bloody stump of one of its four arms. Shock kicked in all around. The crowd gasped in a mixture of fear and excitement. The alien fell to his knees, mewling in pain, quietly begging for mercy, head bowed in defeat.

Errant turned away, flicking his blade out to the side with a quick turn of the wrist. Blood splattered across the besalisk's stained, gray shirt. The Knight sheathed the weapon and moved on, his attention drawn to a bar not much further down the street. Where he walked, the crowd parted, providing the Albino a wide berth. If they chose to hate him before even presenting him the chance to make his case, so be it. He cared not for the likes of common trash who mobbed those who walked a different path. They were lucky his retribution came in the form of maiming rather than the brutal execution expected of one such as he. The Imperial was not a forgiving man.

He pushed through filth-covered doors, gaze cast about the room in one fluid motion. Curiosity turned to disgust as those gathered within placed the Albino. Rumors had made the rounds through Galactic City. Imperials were now welcome following the Galactic Triumvirate's establishment, but one had walked among the far longer. A Black Knight, sworn in service to the Triumvir. He carried a black blade, wreathed in the Crimson Shadow of Bogan. A dark cloak clung to his body, hiding the set of plated-metal strapped over his lithe form.

He tucked loose strands of silver behind an ear before quietly moving towards a lone figure hidden away in the corner. Without saying a word to her, he took a seat across the table.

"This establishment is run down and smells of piss," Errant stated. "Why bother yourself with such lowly living when you could instead dine in decadence with your brethren?"

Isobel Mattis ​

 

[Isobel Mattis]

Bastard
____________________________________________​

Abyssal urban depths were all that greeted the eye in the lower-level of Coruscant. Regardless of the influence extended by the current reigning power, there was always a sense of crawling desperation that only the poor, underprivileged, and beaten could truly exude. The Galactic Alliance had done what they could to curb the spread of the cesspool that the underbelly of the ecumenopolis brought to bear. Even still—They remained far above it all. Hidden beneath the gleaming cloudcutters and skytowers, hundreds of levels below, lay an ugly truth. An often ignored and accepted state of being.

At the very bottom of the well was a hole.

A hole in the world. ​

Filled with hundreds of thousands of people that lived and died, sometimes, without ever catching as much as a glimpse of the fabled sky. While the WeatherNet governed that life in the clouds was pleasant and carefree it did not stop acidic runoff from etching grooves into the foundation. Those on top were entirely oblivious of the people they poisoned below. Entirely unaware that they were walking and building on the bones of the dead.

Neon Nights was a famous meeting place in Galactic City. The ambiance gave way to a dull light that was wan and pallid. The pulsing of phosphor lights from outside grimy windows only enhanced the dismal conditions. This was where the “underdwellers” eked out an impoverished life of brutality and despair. These were the mouths she intended to feed. The aches, pains, and injustices that Omni Prime sought to mend. To what end?

Prosperity. Justice.

Simply—Because she had nigh unlimited resources, a winning smile, and because she could. No one else had stepped to the plate in all the time she’d spent moving through political circles and speaking with members of the Senate and their supporters. They had more important issues at stake. So important, so breathtaking, that they continued to allow the status quo. Meddling, power, and intrigue was king among credits and clout.

She held a tumbler that was partially full with whatever smuggled or bootleg liquor the Neon Nights could get their hands on. The fire-water was often so potent that it could have been likened to tihaar in the way it could strip the reflective coating clean from a starship hull. Needless to say, she never drank it. She simply ordered and tipped well. Isobel didn’t turn toward the entrance when she heard the portal woosh open. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor caught her attention and dark eyes pulled away from the Holo-Broadcast that was running.

Confidence oozed from his person. Confidence, and disdain.

“I think you have the wrong table.”

His wording was peculiar and caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise slightly. It was no secret that she had supported the Imperial presence that had last held Coruscant, though, she had never advertised how she felt about it. Not in her mind; and certainly, not in print. Chiseled features coupled with smooth albino characteristics, potentially, gave away part of his heritage. Only Echani and their mixed off-shoots seemed capable of accurately being both terrifying and beautiful in equal amounts.

Her gaze flickered while they traced the sharp lines his form made against the soiled backdrop of the cantina. He was too clean, to start with, and for about a dozen other reasons was clearly not from around here. They were similar in that way. The only thing in the Neon Nights that stuck out more than he did, truthfully, was her. The only difference was that they were used to her lingering. She didn’t make trouble. They didn’t ask; she didn’t tell.

“If the locale is so offensive to you, perhaps, you would prefer to visit a higher elevation.”

Waves of midnight colored hair fell into intelligent eyes for a moment and she reached up to brush it behind her ear. She was wearing a fitting red peplum coat with a black belt. It held tightly to her form until it flared into a tasteful, ruffled, swallowtail hem with a grey contrast collar, lapel, and cuffs. Beneath that, she had on a black sleeveless top and equally dark leggings that were tucked into pointedly tall heeled boots. Just like him, though.

Too neat, too clean.

She caught the bartender shooting their table a furtive look while he whispered to some of the other patrons. He kept glancing outside, or, toward the decade-old security system. Something about the stranger seemed to have set the typically hardened employees on edge. It made her both curious and wary.

What did they know that she didn’t?

 

[Bastard]

A tight-lipped smile saw his stoic mask fall away.

"Oh no, my dear, I believe I've found who I've sought since my arrival on Coruscant," Errant leaned back in his chair, one arm resting lazily across his chest, the other propped up by the elbow, slender fingers holding tight to his pointed chin. "I walk amongst similar circles, and your intent has crossed the desk of a particular senator, one who holds me in high regard. It shouldn't be a surprise, given the nature of your work. No matter how careful you are, Isobel Mattis, you cannot avoid detection forever. There are eyes everywhere on this smelly, decaying planet. I am merely one who has the means of taking advantage of them."

His gaze drifted lazily towards the bar, settling on the whispering bartender. Errant tilted his head to the side, his smile shrinking, though it took on a cruel edge. When the weary man turned away, Errant turned back to the woman across from him. The ignorance he saw within her chocolate-colored eyes softened his stony visage. Reputation alone scared most away. The Black Knight, Traitor, the Albino, all titles synonymous with a bloody-handed killer responsible for the deaths of hundreds on Bastion. His ardent saber delivered doom unparalleled across the conquering of Ravelin by the New Imperial Order. The Sith Empire's counterattack delivered more souls onto him, though it was his black blade that sealed the fates of these unfortunate loyalists.

Few realized the dark power attached to his hip had a hand to play in his intimidating presence. Even fewer would know what to make of it.

"I needn't be here, had you chosen a location suiting one as lovely as yourself," Errant motioned towards the bartender. When he approached, the Albino slowly shook his head, two fingers raised. "Two glasses of your finest. Pray it tastes better than your establishment smells."

He turned back to Isobel. "Forgive my abrasive nature. As you know, it is not niceties and kindness that drives these people. My patience for this endless city wears thin with each passing day."

The bartender delivered on Errant's order, setting two glasses of a bubbly, fizzing blue drink before the both of them. Errant slipped him a cred-stick and lifted the glass.

"Cheers to new beginnings and pleasant conversation, dear Isobel."

Isobel Mattis ​

 

[Isobel Mattis]

Bastard
____________________________________________​

Something about the way men always seemed to refer to her with vaguely endearing terminology like “my dear” set her irrationally on edge. Pearly white teeth ground together behind scarlet lips that feigned polite indifference. It wasn’t that the pale one was particularly condescending about it. Moreso, it just simply didn’t do him any justice. He was too comfortable in a place that should have made his skin crawl. For all of her experience in dealing with people from all walks of life, the young Galidraani couldn’t tell yet where his confidence came from. Whether it was deserved; or hubris.

Perhaps a bit of both.

“…If I was trying to avoid detection my face wouldn’t be splashed in full color on the side of a high rise...”

Isobel wouldn’t have spent so much time in the Neon Nights, seemingly alone, where rumors could circulate of their own accord. He was right about one thing, though. This planet, if it could be called that, held more eyes and ears than could ever be fathomed. She used it for her own benefit often enough. It only made sense that he might have taken advantage of it too. Already, he seemed well-versed in things he shouldn’t have known. That bothered her.

Not as much as it should have, considering, but it did.

The silent exchange he held with the bartender wasn’t missed. She couldn’t quite see all of the visitor's face when he turned to look but she could imagine that the older scoundrel had seen something he didn’t like. The about-face was severe. Rather, something he was afraid of. Danger. Her gaze flickered and tawny chocolate depths seemed to close down and become guarded. She hadn’t succeeded this far by simply trusting anyone. She did not know him. The playing field was vastly uneven; and for that, he would find himself speaking to a representative of Omni Prime. Not, Isobel.

“You needn’t be here if you hadn’t have concerned yourself with my affairs.”, she returned lightly, leaning back slowly, while he placed an order. Her arms came to cross defensively beneath her bust while she shifted in the uncomfortable high-backed chair. His dismissive nature toward the people of Coruscant, the true Coruscant, solidified that they did not have the same concerns. The senator that he had spoken with could have just as easily sent him to shut down one of her many projects under the veil of a common thread. A good deal of them were considered extremely controversial.

Reformation of the sub-levels. The liquidation of vile establishments that openly preyed on the weak through addiction and fake happiness, poison, in their veins. The unseating of senators that placed their bottom line above the lives of the citizens they were tasked to protect. The Great Golden Pearl of the Galaxy, Coruscant, was little more than a toxic waste dump, painted, to appear enticing.

“I may forgive it. I may not.”

His abrasiveness wasn’t the issue, in truth. It was the vagueness. The things unsaid. The thinly veiled commentary that gave away how very exceptional he thought he was while quietly exuding the stillness of one half-alive. Perhaps that was just the Echani in him. The true depth of a soul, its sharpness, was defined through adversity. While she knew next to nothing about this man—She was she could feel that.

Blood, war, death.​

What business did he have with her? What could they share, aside, from a glass of dubious blue liquid?

Isobel glanced toward the bartender while he walked away and her arms slowly unwound. The mysterious albino had already paid, but she shook her head and took both glasses. High-boned features seemed to melt into an indiscernible expression when her palms hid both tumblers for a moment. Silken hair, a matte deepness of black, took on an almost sapphire-like sheen in the reflective phosphorous lights, as wayward waves fell over her shoulder again. “I wouldn’t—If I were you.”

She released them, but, left the glasses closer to her side of the table. If he chose to test the waters after her clear warning it would no longer be on her conscience. Instead, she turned her thoughts back toward his words. What little information he had actually provided.

“You know my name. I don’t know you. If you were looking for me…I’ve been to every gala in the last month. Every event. Surely, you could have used your connections to arrange an invitation or an appointment with my secretary.”

Unless he was deliberately keeping things…Silent. Possible, probable. Internally, Isobel sighed.

“Mundane. I know. But—It would have spared you this little adventure into the crypts.”

 

[Bastard]

"Hmm."

Not an eloquent response to settle on, but Errant preferred it to something more telling. There was tension behind the mask she wore. The citizens of Coruscant's lower levels couldn't pull a single truth from such a carefully crafted illusion. It was charming, in a way. Her deep brown eyes peered out from her flowing crown of onyx like she had something to hide. Of course, they both know she did. It made her all the more alluring. How many fell victim to the mosaic beauty before him? Bathed in the city's iridescent lights, hidden away in dirty bars, or rubbing shoulders freely amongst Galactic City's elite. It wasn't often the echani came across a specimen of her breed. One meant for greater things in the galaxy than their current locale.

"This shift in demeanor is an interesting one. What is it you seek to accomplish in doing so? Are you hoping to put me off balance? Perhaps force me to reveal my intentions for coming here?" Errant watched her take hold of both glasses. The threat of poison hadn't slipped his mind. No snubbed bartender could pass up an opportunity to bloody an Imperial. Especially one like Errant, who wore his title with pride. It kept him on his feet when the galaxy felt him a worthy target for its cruel machinations.

"I'm afraid to inform you I have no greater purpose in coming here," he admitted with a shrug that was joined by the slyest of smiles. "I've been to my fair share of galas, my sweet. And truth be told, if I have to see one more ballroom, well, I might just lose my mind."

He laughed aloud, his shoulders bouncing with each faint chuckle. A momentarily lapse in his stern features revealed the youth for what he was—a young man merely enjoying a night out on the town in his own, strange way.

"You may call me Errant," the Albino stood tall and swept his arm out to the side. His black cloak danced at his command as he lowered himself into a bow. The gesture revealed his aristocratic nature, though the sardonic look in his eye showed how little it truly mattered. "You see, Isobel, I have grown bored in recent months. Following my recent troubles, I've found myself wandering the galaxy, searching for some greater purpose. I do not much care for the matters of light versus dark. I am a man who sees the value of law while understanding the universal truth that is chaos. Even here on Coruscant, the center of the galaxy, chaos festers like an open wound, infecting adjacent muscle, robbing the city of its strengths."

Errant plopped back down in his seat. He enjoyed the confused glances sent his way. This man, only moments before, had commanded fear from the gathered scoundrels. Now they stumbled over their own thoughts, unsure of what to make of him.

"I do not care one way or another if you forgive me. You will continue your work regardless of how this meeting ends, just as I will return to hunting down those who threaten the societal pillars that hold sentient-kind aloft," Errant tucked loose strands of silvery-white behind his ear, his chin raised to reveal more of his handsome visage to his momentary companion.

"I assure you, you have nothing to fear. I've come to talk philosophy, or maybe current affairs. I am unsure," he met the woman's gaze with a knowing smirk. "Do tell, Isobel, what interests you these days? Aside from your quest to clean up the streets of Coruscant, that is."

Isobel Mattis ​

 

[Isobel Mattis]

Bastard
____________________________________________​

“You hold the cards—And the weapon. I can’t make you do anything.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but it was neither here nor there. Down in these depths, below the clouds, was where the jetsam of the galaxy tended to take root and rot. They were far enough from the Crimson Corridor that there was some degree of security, but if they were essentially surrounded on all sides by a rowdy street fair or marketplace. They were on the 17[SUP]th[/SUP] level of some no-name sector along the equatorial strip. He would have only found her here by searching, specifically, for her.

He would have been required to know her schedule. At the very least he would need to have been in contact with someone who knew, or, hacked her schedule. Very little of her time wasn’t budgeted.

“Business.”, she replied, briefly, after a moment. Normally she might have let her eyes linger on the less-than-desirable real estate just outside the window. Not too far away were numerous factories and slums that spit unfortunate souls back into the harsh reality of life beneath a smog layer that hid them from the rarefied upper levels. Isobel had hardened beneath his scrutiny because above or below—Coruscant was not safe. Not for someone like her. She made waves. The elite didn’t like that. “My work requires a certain level of professionalism and cynicism in order to stay ahead of the curve. Currently, I am the skeptic.”

The word she didn’t say was control. Pushing Coruscant to adhere to her goals, toward a better future, required absolute control. He had it. She didn’t—But she required it. He claimed that he had no ulterior motive in seeking her out but that didn’t follow a logical path. The smile that followed caused her hair to raise on the back of her neck while gooseflesh swept down her arms in a draft that wasn’t there. It wasn’t cold. My dear, my sweet. So many blandishments. Was it for her benefit or was he always this way? “Events can be dreadful things.”, she partially agreed, though, they were a necessary evil. There was more to learn from those with loose lips when they believed they were safe.

When were they safer than surrounded by finery, fawning sycophants, and expensive alcohol?

He laughed. It was a rich sound that lingered in delicately scrolled ears long after his shoulders stopping shaking. The rigidity in his features seemed to bleed away, perhaps, in a trick of the phosphorous light. Years fell away from him. In a moment, she realized, that he was much younger than she had initially suspected. Young man, old soul?

Watchful eyes of tawny chocolate followed him when he stood from his seat. For a moment she thought he might leave. Negative. Instead, he gallantly introduced himself, complete with a bow, and it left her with a singular eyebrow raised. He, rather, Errant continued to speak and explained his stance on current events and somehow tried to wordsmith his way through their unlikely encounter.

She waited.

Waited for the lie. Isobel was sensitive in ways she never discussed with anyone save her twin brother. They were the same. She could feel a malignant aura from a mile away and a lie ran swiftly like ice water along her nerves. If his words rang false; she would instinctively know it. “You must understand that you have me at a loss. This is not a place people frequent when they become bored of higher-living. This is a place where the unwashed are quarantined, left to rot, and die in squalor.”

The bartender really, really didn’t like her “guest” if he could be called that. She could see him whispering again. Her efforts in keeping Errant from imbibing the beverage he ordered had not gone unnoticed, nor, was it appreciated. Her gaze tore from the balding near-human and returned to the far more gilded visage of the unwanted interloper. Again, she was struck by how very Echani he seemed when the neon lights washed over him. It painted a specific gleam against a head of silver. Lightening, washing out and softening already pale skin.

Such reserved arrogance.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’ve come to me for entertainment this evening. There are plenty of well-versed women that can speak on philosophy, politics, and current events.”, Isobel returned as she leaned back in her chair, again, crossing her arms while her right leg shifted so that she could cross it neatly over her left. It was a seamless movement of practiced ease. “For a price.”

Anything could be bought, here. From organs, spice, to slaves. Anything.

“Many things interest me. Care to narrow the field?”

What were her interests? She had no hobbies that didn’t eventually develop into something that might benefit Omni Prime, or, the Coruscanti people. A pearl of wisdom appeared in her mind and scarlet lips pursed for a moment before she breathed, briefly, to continue. “I recently had to engage a senator in regards to a trip that Omni Prime requires for ONN. The people of Coruscant want to know the truth of the wars between the New Imperial Order and the Sith Empire. As you can imagine…There are mixed feelings.”

ONN was the Omni News Network. She had gone to hotspots before to handle basic reporting. This would be a whole new level of immersion in something that could potentially be very dangerous. “Much of the immediate Core historically holds a disdain for Imperialism. The only thing that seems to incense them more is the Sith Empire. That…”

Isobel could hardly blame them. After the Sith Empire ripped through the center of the galaxy and tore it apart during the reign of the former Galactic Alliance, many, were left without homes, food, water, and had the entirety of their livelihoods destroyed. Her eyes darkened at the memory of sith spawn running through the streets as if they belonged. She could remember great, gaping wounds, tearing from the lower levels while hidden ships raised from the catacombs. Hundreds of thousands of Coruscanti people were sentenced to death via a planetwide extermination attempt. “…That—They would like to see burn.”