Dominion Chains of Spice | SO Dominion of Sevarcos

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Alina Tremiru | Quinn Varanin | Mercy

Adean ducked as one of the slaves was thrown over her head. She couldn't help but flinch as they hit the ground. She may have been getting desensitized to death among her current fellows, but casual cruelty still left a poor taste.

Her eyes widened as the newcomer spoke once more, offering to show Adean 'the ropes'. She had a distinct feeling whatever metaphorical ropes were being offered were ones she very much didn't need to see. Suddenly, all at once Alina and Quinn seemed almost friendly faces.

"My familiar is fetching more slaves, how else am I to report their arrival?" A protest disguised as commitment to the mission. Just about the only protest Adean had the nerve to use. It seemed her protests would go unheard, however.

"You can call me Brassius. What do I call you?"

 

[Mercy]

Tag: Adean Castor | Quinn Varanin | Alina Tremiru

But even as Adean protested Mercy's thick arm already moved to sling itself around the acolyte's shoulders. In truth they were lucky because she used her regular arm. Not the one pulsing with tattoos that seemed to be alive, moving on its own accord, and reeking of the Darkside. "Dunno, don't care, kid." Mercy said with a laugh as she moved them both towards the Mercy-shaped hole in the wall.

"Brassius, huh?" A glance up and down there.

"That's a fancy arse name. I am Mercy." Which was an ironic name if there ever was one. "You ever punch someone without cringing, Brassy? Ever knocked someone's teeth out?"

Brassius didn't seem like much to Mercy, but in Brass' defense... nobody really did.

Mercy was the kind of suicidal that would storm face-first to challenge anyone. It was a wonder she hadn't yet thrown the gauntlet in front of the Emperor himself at one point or the other.

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Alina Tremiru | Quinn Varanin | Mercy

Adean found herself stunned to obedience as an arm was slung around her shoulders. It wasn't the first time any inkling of resistance was seeped from her the moment a hand was on her shoulder, not unlike a bird with a towel thrown over their cage.

"I didn't choose it." It was perhaps as close as Adean would get to the truth when it came to her borrowed name. The name had been offered and she has perhaps unwittingly accepted it, a choice she was slowly coming to accept rather than actively regret, though this mission was certainly putting that to the test.

"Uh, no, punching isn't exactly my strong suit." And I'm perfectly fine with it never becoming such. Considering Mercy's question, it seemed unlikely Adean would get her wish. It was very clear Adean would be along for whatever ride Mercy thought of. She was very much at Mercy's, well, mercy.






Across the field of battle, the not-bird that was Adean's familiar continued on it's winding way. The creature had nicked a couple more shinies, making note of even a couple books to lead it's humanoid food-give to later. Almost begrudgingly, it stayed relatively on its course, eventually finding a small group of slaves that seemed more afraid than eager to fight.

With a couple hops and a chirp that sounded just wrong, it coaxed out the most curious of the group before beginning the trek back to it's food-giver. Huh that was strange. It seemed the food-bearer had moved. Better bring these fellows to them.

 

[Mercy]

Adean Castor

"Oh, no? Then why still carry it? You are a Sith." She said absently, looking around for more slaves, but they seemed to have all fled this area after Mercy had crashed through the wall. "Sith can choose their own names. That's the point- breaking the chains that hold you and becoming your own creature." That was what had appealed to Mercy from the very start.

To get away from her parents and the stuffy noble life full of expectations she could never match.

"What kind of Sith isn't good at punching?" Mercy said with a snort. And since there were no slaves nearby to work her aggression out of, she turned to face Adean.

Raising both her huge hands, shaped more like violent shovels, than dexterous things meant for graceful pursuits.

"Show me what you got, kiddo. One two punch."

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Mercy

That was precisely it. The name was Sith, so while posing as a Sith, it would be her name, too. There was more complexity to it, namely fearing for her life should she go off the rails of what had been set for her. But those weren't details she was about to share with a relative stranger. "Perhaps I'll grow into it."

Had she been more solid in her position, maybe with an ounce of confidence at that, she would've scoffed at Mercy's question. There were plenty of scholars among the Sith. Illusionists and alchemists, too. Surely not all Sith were big on punching.

She faltered as Mercy turned to face her, hands raised. A demonstration of strength had not been on her agenda. "We have a mission to attend to," she started with half a mind to push past the taller woman.

Flustered, fully aware she was at a disadvantage, her fingers curled into loose fists, thumb resting outside of the fist. The basic form had been discussed in one of her academy courses. The punches she threw were rushed, lacking finesse. "See, not a punching person."