Echani Dating Simulator

[Tathra Khaeus]

​Glass shards arrived on the empty wet curb with a clatter, following by the thud of two bodies dropping with it. The first was a overweight Rodian, with a vibrodagger lodged in his throat. The second, a much larger figure pushing himself to his feet. The Matador rose momentarily, only to feet the metal bat connect with his lower back, knocking him forward. The street was narrow, allowing his to arrive at another wall and steady himself. He turned quickly, seeing the Trandoshan bouncer swing at him once more. The Matador pressed himself against the wall, tensing his legs as he dropped down into a crouch, allowing the bat to connect with the wall. Concrete and dusk exploded into the air upon collision.

​The music from within the club the Matador had just graciously exited gave a beat to the fight as he quickly jabbed with force enhanced speed at the abdomen of the Trandoshan, knocking him back slightly with his right hand. He used the momentum of the Trandoshan's stumble to wrap his significantly larger left arm around the thin arm of the Trandoshan holding his bat. With a succinct twist at the joint, he snapped his opponents arm, causing him roar in ferocious agony. The Matador had a moment then to observe the club, seeing two other Trandoshans leaping from the broken window. Six or more other thugs flooded the street from the duel doorway entrance.

​That two Trandoshan bouncers had taken two projectile based shotguns from the armoury within the club, explained why they had came from the upper level. But it also made killing the other six carrying various melee weapons easier. He quickly jabbed his knee into the Trandoshan he was holding captive, knocking the wind out of him with such momentum that his body jolted violently, lifting slightly into the air from the kinetic force. The Matador grasped part of his clothing near his shoulder, using this momentary shift of weight in the Trandoshan to toss him like a rag doll at the six who had exited the club to finish what they'd started. Six. Two humans, a Duros, a Twi'lek, a Devaronnian and a Feeorin carrying a Glaive.

​The first to flinch was the Duros. The Matador dashed forward with frightening speed, using his entire upper bodies strength with a single downward swing of his left hand, forming a fist with his metal clad hand and slamming it directly into the temple of the Duros. The attack carried such weight, the Duros lost his feet beneath him, his head connected with the ground with a crack as orange blood poured from his fractured skull. The next closest was one of the Human's however, his next concern was the Feeorin, who stood nearly equal in mass, swinging the Glaive in his direction. The Matador ducked under the Glaive, spinning on the spot and using his body weight to pull the staff of the weapon back to him from his crouched position, also pulling himself to his feet.

He threw his shoulder into the Feeorin who was surprised by the Matador's strength, this temporarily allowed him some control of his enemies Glaive. The human then attacked, he had dashed to the Matador's exposed side and slashed at his leg, cutting through his exposed joint and connecting with bone, his knee began to ache. The Matador grimaced, swinging around the Glaive to connect with his attackers second strike. He focused momentarily, ignoring the pain as he pushed the vibroblade down; and struck out with his uninjured leg, striking the Feeorin in the stomach. He used his unstable weight to push the humans vibroblade down.

​This put the blade of the Glaive within the defense of the human, the Matador grunted; thrusting the Glaive forward as he brought himself to a stop, bringing his foot down as the Glaive cut through the humans throat. Now, barely holding onto the Glaive; the Feeorin was able to free his weapon, slightly throwing the Matador off balance as the Twi'Lek took that opportunity to throw a punch. He stumbled as the Twi'Lek threw all of his weight into his swing, the Matador feigned a moment of weakness, baiting his attacker.

​The Twi'Lek fell for it, striking once more. The Matador countered using his momentum against him as a shotgun blast came his way. Perfect. The Matador crushed the Twi'Leks arm, twisting his body around to receive the blast. His body jolted, going limp in his arms as his neck and upper jaw evaporated in a gush of blood. The Matador dropped the body, leaping over a strike from the Feeorin with force enhanced agility. The second human thug was carrying a stun baton, and thrust it towards his chest. The Matador sidestepped and threw his arm around the women's neck, her neck was trapped in the joint of his arm as he swung her around to face the two gun carrying Trandoshans, they hesitated to fire.

​The Matador used his body weight to slam her down into the ground and placed his free hand on her head for friction, and snapped her neck. The Glaive connected with his collar bone, causing him to grit his teeth. Then, both Trandoshans fired, the projectiles connecting with his Beskar breastplate. It knocked the wind out of his chest, and down onto the cold wet ground. The Feeorin spun his Glaive in the air, and thrust it downward in an attempt to stab the Matador's throat. His hand shot up instinctively, the force enhancing his body beyond its already extensive capabilities. He grabbed the shaft of the Glaive moments before it entered his throat, the momentum of his contact redirecting it to the ground between his neck and shoulder. He thrust himself upward with the force, throwing his shoulder into the Feeorin and causing him to lose his grip of the Glaive and stumble backward.

​The Matador ripped the weapon from the ground and threw it like a Spear with such speed that it caused one of the two Trandoshans to leave his feet and dangle from the wall like a fly caught on a dart. The second fired again, the Matador outstretched his hand; redirecting the projectiles in multiple directions. The Matador called upon the force to pry the shotgun from the dead Trandoshans hand, and fired at the remaining Trandoshan, his shot was a glancing blow as the Feeorin tackled him to the ground. He thrust the butt of the shotgun into the Feeorin's face, knocking him off of him. However the other trandoshan had dropped his weapon, his arm too injured to use it properly. He drew his claws and ran at the Matador in a mad frenzy. Likewise, he dropped his weapon. It was only fair.

​Now, the Feeorin returned to his feet, slightly dazed. The Matador had an enemy on both sides, maybe now it would be fair. The Matador dashed forward, reaching the Trandoshan before the Feeorin could emphasise on his advantage, this sudden movement didn't allow the Trandoshan to put his full momentum into his swing, allowing the Matador to easily block and he thrust his palm into the chest of the Trandoshan, the strike cracked a rib or two and sent him hurling backward onto the ground. The Feeorin swung wildly at him, all his weight thrown into a last desperate attack. The Matador tilted his upper half, dodging the attack and allowing the Feeorin to nearly collapse on himself. He danced around the large fighter, and clasped his forearm around its throat. The Feeorin struggled and gasped for air, his face turning an ugly dark purple from its natural cobalt.

​The Matador tightened his grip, motionless until the Feeorin went limp. He dropped the heavy body with a thud, and looked up to the broken window. "I told you I could do it without it."​ He responded, taking his saber from is belt.

​"You're hired."

​​[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

It was chaos. Unbridled, merciless, unstoppable, slaughter. Bedlam. She knew not enough words to describe the scene that was unfolding before her. She had been through bloody battles. The slender and pale daughter of the Vail had survived civil war. She had fought on the vicious front lines and had sewn fear with her fellow Echani into Thyrsian hearts so thoroughly that they literally gave up and abandoned battlements. That felt like nothing compared to this. All of this mayhem was caused by one man. One being, with strength, speed, and raw power that she had very rarely seen in one of her kind.

Silver eyes took in every blow, every breath, every movement made on the ground below her. She seemed still as stone, barely real under the light of two moons, and very aware of her surroundings. She could sense the loss in the area like a thick smog settling in heavily on the alleyway. Srina didn’t flinch or look away when necks snapped and bodies rag-dolled to the streets. Death felt almost abstract when it had nothing to do with her. It felt cold, faraway, and almost benign when it shouldn’t. The distance was an artificial buffer that allowed her to metaphorically dance around it, poke at it, and flirt with the finality…But she didn’t feel incredible pain it could bring.

Part of her outlook was based on how she processed the scrimmage. There was much to be learned about someone from the way they fought. It was like reading a book about them, a novel that detailed their secrets, their strengths and weaknesses. It was raw data that was waited to be evaluated. All of these men passed with an expression of disbelief or fear. They were not like those that she had seen die with such bravery and fierceness that she was left quaking in awe of their spirit.

There was no wonder in this. No fascination, no unanswered questions.

It was final. It was a black hole. Consuming and destructive.

A mirthless expression remained on her seemingly frail countenance. Her heart was heavy. There was weight pulling it down as if something were attached to the tip of it. Both for this man whose services she required—and for the creatures that had lost their lives.

She didn’t know how the Echani Clans had found her. She didn’t know how they kept doing it so quickly. The flaxen haired woman half wondered if there was some sort of tracker she hadn’t found in her ship but she’d had it swept a half dozen times. She’d kept an extremely low profile and had only dealt with sustenance or shelter with chips or bills. While it was true that Echani were not all that common, even on Ord Mantell, how her cousins kept finding her was baffling.

Srina wore two extremely thin bladed vibroweapons on a sheathe that ran the length of her spine. A dark jacket hid it from sight. Beneath that lay a corset that rounded off to protective leathers and knee high boots. Echani were used to fighting in minimal clothing; But in times like these she missed her armor. It was lightweight, biosynthetic, and never let her down. Her hand was wrapped around a disruptor pistol that sat on the outside of her thigh. The cool grip was comforting right then.

The Matador wasn’t coming for her. Still, she was apprehensive.

“You did.”, she called down to the level below. Her melodic tones were soft, even, yet edged with steel. There was something taciturn about her that didn’t seem right. “We should be leaving.”

With so many dead…It was time to go. The Echani would be looking for any sign of her. Any disturbance and any report of an unearthly woman with white-gold hair. They knew she was on Ord Mantell.

She met the mercenary on the bottom floor via the broken window. Srina landed surprisingly lightly, knees bending just right to absorb the impact. The Matador looked like a walking apocalypse. Aside from being covered in blood there were other meatier chunks that she was glad the darkness hid from her. She wasn’t squeamish but that didn’t mean she liked looking at various dismembered parts. It was a fact of life, that death was one of her callings, not a hobby.

“They’ll hurt you.”, she breathed out, leading the way out of the alley, glancing behind her shoulder only once. For how much credits he was being offered—She didn’t think she would find something sharp sticking out of her back. “Or—They’ll try to. They'll search for your every weak point. They'll wait for you to make a mistake. You might have to hurt them. But…You can’t kill them.”

At the end of the day her pursuers were still her family. Whether some of them wanted her alive or died…They were her blood. She needed protection. Skilled, protection. Not an executioner.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador listened intently to her words, her people didn't sound all too much different to his own. The way she spoke of their potential dedication to defeating him, it intrigued him. He assumed most would misinterpret her words as some form of concern for themselves. However he was acutely aware that like many whom had chosen him as their protector, they cared only for themselves. Otherwise, they wouldn't have paid for the services of a warrior to put themselves in their place, to fight their battles.

​He understood it as a form of cowardice, yet it yielded him interesting results, new lessons and plenty of credits. However, something was troubling him. In what world, would somebody wish for those hunting them to remain unharmed. Well, she wished for them to incapacitated, not killed. ​"As you wish." ​Was his only response, he had no fear regarding her brethren or any class of warrior.

​Fear was burnt out of his system, from fighting warriors far greater than himself in the fighting pits. His mind didn't tarry long on the thought of a future fight, he would deal with that then. His mind was on the here and now, he looked to his employer; she had a unique strength in her figure and looked utterly pure. Not, rugged and gruff.

​His visage was worn and ugly, a form composed from years of brutal lessons that he felt was necessary to learn. He could survive where most could not, including this women. Even though she carried herself with a spirit of strength and pride, he assumed that it was more bravado and hubris. On the other hand, he carried himself with a slight hunch. Even so, his wounds didn't seem to phase him much. He took a Bacta syringe from a small metal casing on his belt, and injected it into his exposed flesh on his shoulder from where the Glaive had cut through his body glove.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina was relieved that the mammoth of a man seemed capable of listening just as well as he threw his fists. After such a display of strength and ferocity she would have expected some sort of lingering bloodlust. Yet, he was calm. Rugged and bloody… But aside from increased natural biorhythms the Matador remained entirely unaffected. Silvery eyes chanced another glance back over her shoulder. Had he taken her warnings about her brethren seriously? She couldn’t tell. “I do wish it...Most of the people chasing me have been honing their skills longer than I’ve been alive.”

Most of them, she’d loved the entirety of her life, with the entirety of her glacier heart. This was why she couldn’t bring herself to fight them. Why she couldn’t allow him to kill any of them. Her choices were thin. She could not, would not, marry the man who sought her hand. He was a cruel and intolerable neonate that sought a foothold into the Vail dynasty. He would use his bond to her to try and wrestle control of her House from her mother and father. If she remained on Eshan, and refused, there would be war between their clans, or she would wake with a blade to her throat.

There was no winning, no coming out on top in this scenario. All she could do was run. She couldn’t be forced into a contract with an Echani warlord that would never take to the stars to chase her down. So, she would hide in them. It would eventually save her and her family when the Clans gave up and picked a new puppet bride.

“They are strong, fast, and blindingly quick. It’s much safer to fight them at a distance but I have a feeling you prefer close quarters. You seem more durable than most. That’s good.”, she complemented softly, her dual toned voice a constant reminder, that she wasn’t human. It came with both a higher and lower register that left a sweet and musical sound in return. “It will be one against many…”

“And they will all look just like me.”

Srina had failed to mention that. Not everyone knew that Echani had a remarkable sameness. They weren’t entirely identical, but the children favored one parent or the other very, very heavily.

She stopped when she felt they were far enough from a potential crime-scene. She pulled a small data-pad from her belt and began to scroll through a few things while the Matador took care of his injuries. White-gold hair blew in the evening breeze, silken tendrils twisting like molten silver in the light, before settling down. “I need to meet someone in the entertainment district.”

Srina had met a man who knew a man that could possibly take her E-9 as a trade in and provide a new ship with a clean record for minimal expenditure. The small woman had plenty of credits at her disposal. While the market on Eshan was still touch and go her father’s connection’s and her half decade in the military left her quite the cushion. It would be a long time before she ran out—So long as she spent wisely.

Right now, the Matador was necessary.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador followed his employer silently, attending to his shoulder as he pulled tight a bandage over the gash. She warned him of her peoples skill, but in many ways he was sceptical. If they were so skilled, wouldn't she be just so? Then again; she did make it clear that many of those who searched for her and now him were much more skilled and experienced than her.

​But what stunned him momentarily was her comment regarding their appearance, that could indeed perhaps complicate things. Many silver haired warriors that looked eerily similar to her were coming to hunt her. Perhaps the clans had familial ties throughout, she had not explained their culture to him much. However, he'd been on escort bounties before; he'd seen people cut their hair or get fake markings on their body.

​"Perhaps you should alter your appearance."

​He offered the comment as they entered the entertainment district, watching as she traded in her weapon. The Matador stopped, hands clasped together standing on guard a foot behind her. He observed the various characters within the market they now stood in. He saw a Mandalorian sheepishly look at them, and turn to his Devarronian friend. Perhaps the Echani clans had put out bounty on his employers head, perhaps for her safe return or simply information on her.

​He thought on her compliment for a moment, he had never assigned the adjective of durable to himself. He was used to fighting once against many. He could recall many times being surrounded by vicious Maalraas. Their claws, deep in his flesh. It made him tense.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

[SIZE=9pt]The silvery woman was aware that her new protector was following closely behind her. If she would have known him better, she would have offered to help him with his bandage, but she didn’t want to cross some invisible line. She was officially his employer. She didn’t know what sort of rules there were to be observed. Srina also didn’t want to somehow accidentally insult him. Many male warriors of varying cultures wouldn’t accept help from a female of her size and appearance. [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]“It would serve us both if you could find a place to clean up. You look like you just murdered half dozen men.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]There was something in her tone that could have been considered humor but her silent and unadulterated countenance didn’t give anything away. He seemed to be surprised by the admission that her pursuers were also her doppelgangers. He suggested that she change her appearance and pink tinted lips, lined in primrose, curved into a faintly cynical smile. Perhaps she should find some sort of body modification that would make her unattractive. [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]“Will our sameness bother you?” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Srina surrendered her weapons to security when they arrived to the entertainment district. She tugged free her swords and her disruptor pistol. There was a very, very small blade in her boot that she kept. The pale beauty would never willingly give up every line of defense that she had. Keen eyes swept the crowd as she pocketed the metal chip that was provided to her so that she pick up her things when they left. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]She orbited near the Matador as she walked down the beveled path that led to the merchant she needed to find. He was a special man, capable of creating paperwork that would grant her safe passage, from this system to any other. Her E-9 was too recognizable now. She needed to burn it and arrange new transport as quickly as possible. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Eyes followed her as she moved. Despite her skill in reading others—there was no way for her to account for them all. Some gazed because they found her form pleasing. Some watched because she seemed like an easy mark—and some watched because the Echani Clans had paid them to. Thankfully, simply having the Matador around, seemed a sufficient deterrent. No one bothered her as she made it to the pop-up tent that housed her prize[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt].[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] “I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]“If I’m not out in ten…”[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt], she trailed off, passing him a tight smile, before disappearing behind the deep blue curtain. Srina was instantly assaulted by the scent of tangy incense in what appeared to be a small tea tent. There were various low tables set in the deceptively large space with ornate pillows all over. She approached what appeared to be a human male with black hair and light blue eyes. He was a smuggler and in information broker. She recognized him from the holo. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]“Karn Orlon…I’m here to obtain my package. Talon.”[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt], she spoke plainly, watching the man turn around and size her up. He did the same thing that most did. He observed, enjoyed what he saw, but dismissed her as a threat. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]“You’re early. It won’t be ready for at least six hours.”,[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Orlon responded smoothly. He already had this small woman’s money. He had very little interest in rushing. Especially not when she was the best looking humanoid he’d seen in a week. [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]“Can I interest you in a drink? I know of at least a few hotels or inns that would love your patronage.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]“No.”, [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Srina responded firmly. There was a little bit of steel in her eyes when she did so. She didn’t intent on telling anyone where she was going. [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]“When should I return?” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]“Six hours. Like I said.”, [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]the man spoke, a little put off by her cold shoulder. [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] “Maybe eight.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]“Six.”,[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] she responded with clipped tones and silvery eyes almost seemed to glare. [/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]“Or you refund every credit…And I go see your friend in Northal. He promised me the same deal.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]The smuggler backed down not long after that and Srina headed back outside—Perhaps with seconds left on the clock before the Matador would come investigate her well-being. Srina led the way again and this time headed toward a nearby inn. It was smaller than some of the hotels in the area. More discrete. She needed to get off the street before the wrong person reported her whereabouts. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]“My care package is delayed. I don’t think it wise that we remain in the open for long.” [/SIZE]

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador stood, he was impatient in earnest and disagreeable to leaving her alone. He saw many eyes wondering, some even stopping to observe him for a moment. A plated giant was a rare sight, not to mention he was at an advantage to most when in this particular district. Most people had to hand over their weaponry, he simply had to wave his hand with a strong mental coercion and then could continue onward.

​Now he felt like a glorified bouncer, standing with his arms folded waiting for her to leave the tent. There was a strange smell that felt alien to him coming from within, it assaulted his senses as they were extended by the force. He could feel everything going on in there, and it gave him little pleasure. A warrior did themselves no credit dealing with the likes of a broker in such a manner. He could overhear a Duros and his two friends speaking, however he didn't understand it. Their large beady eyes clung to the small opening into the tent, one of them began to make his way towards the back of the tent as the Matador was stitching his wound.

​The Matador intercepted him casually. Placing a hand on the small creatures shoulder, and forcefully turning him around. ​"You know I could snap you in half. Go back to your friends Duros." ​With a grumbled curse the Duros shuffled back into the crowd as his employer finally left the tent, announcing that her care package had been delayed. Perhaps, an indirect move by her hunters to keep her grounded.

​While she wasn't wrong about staying in the open, he didn't believe going into a crowded but still somewhat public place was the best idea. But, he didn't know of any alternatives. "Stay close."​ Were his words as they entered the inn.

​As the doors swung open, the sound of music hit them with some force. It was quite loud and the playing of instruments was complemented by the singing of a Zabrak in some ghoulish voice singing about his horns. It was closer to that of a zabrak boy band, and it made him uncomfortable to see so many people enjoying it. There were large neon lights sporadically moving across the large dance floor. Everything else including the bar was lit in a low purple hue contrasted to dark blue marble furniture. The Matador unclipped his saber from his belt, holding it in hand, yet hidden under his cloak. His eyes scanned for a staircase. Somewhere to escape to.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

The slender woman was curious as to how her companion managed to keep all of his gear. He’d moved his hand in a particular fashion but that was all it took. He entered the district free and clear. Srina was tempted to ask how he’d accomplished that but they were on a timetable.

Srina felt more than a little exposed by leaving the Matador behind. It partially defeated the purpose of hiring him, at least temporarily, but the information broken she was dealing with was a wary man. He knew everything about everyone. A man couldn’t even call his wife on a commlinks without him hearing about it. If she walked into the tent with her bodyguard all bets were off. However, if she needed extracted, the end result was the same. It was gamble she couldn’t help but take.

By the time she left the tent her lips were pressed thin with the troubles that weighed heavily on her. She also was feeling a little off from the incense that Karn Orlon used to put his customers as ease. It made her feel light headed and clumsy. Srina always hated it—she didn’t like having her senses dulled. She too detested dealing with smugglers and people like Orlon but her family hadn’t left her with much choice. Disappearing wasn’t easy when every step she took left an imprint for her pursuers to follow.

Silvery eyes flickered over the Matador, unaware that he had sent a Duros thug packing, while she dealt with Orlon. “Did you have any trouble?”

She also found herself looking at his arm again. Was he patched up well enough? She couldn’t help but wonder how badly he’d been hurt. Or how quickly he healed. The Matador didn’t yet know exactly what she’d hired him to be. More than anything—He was a wall. He could take level of skill her family had to offer, he could live through their attacks, and if he could keep his word, they would live as well. It wasn’t pretty but it was all she had.

Srina nodded softly when he told her to stay close. She would. And she gave others a fairly wide berth. Every time she saw someone with a particular gait or a shock of white hair she tensed. It had been too long since she’d had a decent meal and a good night’s sleep without waking up every five minutes to make sure nothing was amiss. “How’s your arm?”, she questioned before they entered the inn.

The loud music that poured from the open door might have concealed her words. She let him lead and hid neatly in his shadow. She’d taken to covering her hair more recently but in her haste to leave their last stop she’d left her scarf behind. Pale cheeks took on a faintly pink hue when the warmth hit her and banished the vague chill of the night air. Srina wasn’t sure what to think of the music and merely watched curiously. The Matador looked like it might not be his cup of tea. “Not a fan?”, the lovely woman questioned as she noticed him pull out what may have been a weapon. The lighting was poor enough that most people wouldn’t have seen it. Her Echani eyes did.

The Matador seemed to be looking for somewhere with less variables to contend with and just when Srina noticed a life that would take them to the second level a hand on her shoulder pulled her back. The Echani reacted without thinking and grasped her attackers’ wrist from her shoulder before she twisted it painfully away. The cry of pain the man made was lost to the music. She pushed the man down and applied pressure until he fell to one knee. If she hyperextended his joints any further something would definitely break. “What do you want?”, she demanded coldly, more frost emanating her than anyone would have thought.

“Just a dance! You’re gunna break my arm!"

Srina eyed him for a moment before letting him go. He was drunk, handsy, but not a threat. Reaching for the Matador she placed a soft hand to his arm to get his attention before she pointed toward a turbolift in the back that would take them to the second floor. It seemed to belong to a lounge. Perhaps that was quieter, less populated.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador was moments away from turning on the drunkard when his employer did it herself, he was tense; ready to activate his saber and cut him down. He returned to a relaxed posture as he watched her push him to the ground. He studied the man's face for a moment, seeing his groggy and pained expression, he was intoxicated. The Matador turned away once more, examining the rest of the club and extending his senses.

​He could feel eyes from above them on a balcony and around the edges of the room watching him, he probably seemed like a large alien creature to them and the fact he was armoured might make many nervous. Even so, tensions were high for various reasons, trivial issues among others. However, he couldn't sense any real threat to his employer. Then he felt her delicate hand on his arm, he tensed himself in an anxious response.

​She pointed to a turbolift in the back of the club, he lead the way to the turbolift. Either pushing people out of their way or people were smart enough to get out of his way. He stopped just before entering the elevator, watching behind his employer with a intense focus. He stepped inside following her, his eyes lingered on her for a moment. She was composed, and seemed completely calm.

​Her composure was admirable, perhaps he was wrong in his assumptions that cultures outside of his own produced inferior warriors. He had to admit that in many ways he was naïve to the rest of the world but a master in many things he was used to. He would have to take his time to learn about other cultures outside of his own outdated teachings. He gestured with his hands for the turbolift's doors to shut and the lift began to move upward. ​"You shouldn't draw attention to yourself."


[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

She could feel the Matador preparing for a fight without looking at him. It was a budding electricity in the air that she was all too familiar with. It quieted when he seemed to realize that in this instance, she was able to deal with the problem, versus the problem requiring him to cut its head off. Srina would leave it at that. He was still covered in slightly bloody armor from a previous incursion. Adding more to it, and another body to the pile, would leave a trail. Srina couldn’t afford for her people to follow the line of bodies like breadcrumbs through Ord Mantell.

Everyone seemed to be looking at them. She certainly hadn’t helped matters by practically grinding a near-humans nose into the floor—but she wasn’t entirely sure what caught more attention. Her swift reflexes or the Matador’s imposing form. Silvery eyes lingered on the mezzanine above and for a moment she thought she saw another pair of eerily familiar gray orbs. She tensed with the implication but she couldn’t be sure.

With the Echani Clans—nothing was certain. Except, that they were here.

Srina could feel the Matador tense under her hand, no matter how gentle the touch had been, and she felt a small mote of apology for it. She hadn’t meant to breach his space. The music was just mostly too loud to hear over unless she yelled. He led the way and she followed almost like an obedient child. Her steps echoed his and she ducked around him neatly when he waited for her. She didn’t want to make his job difficult. She would be happy if he never had to fight anything at all and would consider it money well spent.

The small woman waited unintentionally like a little queen as the Matador activated the lift. Her chin was ever high, eyes observant, and posture ever perfect. There wasn’t a hair out of place on her person despite the small altercation on the dancefloor. She appeared human but the pale loveliness of her plainly claimed her as alien. Her protector passed advice about drawing attention and she smiled briefly. It was almost sad, touched with acceptance. “I do the best I can.”

“But if a stranger touches me without my permission…I won’t react kindly. One day it won’t be an intoxicated suitor. One day it will be the people that hunt me. If I let them that close…”, Srina trailed off softly, the dull turbo-lift music soft in the background, “It’s over.”

It was a fact. If her people got the drop on her there was very little she could do about it. Except, to have backup. Which was where the Matador came in.

They exited the lift and the much quieter lounge greeted them. There were round tables with comfortable looking chairs. Srina pushed toward the balcony that led outside. It faced a great expanse of flat land and vine-ridden trees that would make it hard for an enemy to gain higher ground. From here they could monitor their surroundings, and had way out, if necessary. There was a cool breeze that caused her arms to cross over her chest, a slight shiver running down her spine. The later it got the colder it got.

There were a few sets of outdoor tables and chairs but the Echani took a quiet position leaning against the durasteel wall near the door. Lanterns with red paper lids kept some of the darkness at bay it wasn’t quite enough. The remaining shadows hid the silvery gleam of her hair but there was very little that could detract from her fair countenance. The Matador told her not to draw attention. It was difficult when her genetics ensured the opposite. Changing herself via conventional means wouldn’t be enough. There was just something about Echani that seemed otherworldly. At least, until they were cut down, and it was revealed that they bled and died like any other creature.

“I’m hoping this will be uneventful. I apologize, if you were hoping for a fight.”

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador followed his employer outside of the turbolift, the lounge area reminded him of something similar to the Hawk Den on Nar Shaddaa. All these worlds seemed the same to him, he visited one after the other and yet all yielded the same results. He walked out to the balcony following his employer. He stopped for a moment, moving to his left to observe the people below him. He had a full view of the crowd, examining the people around them.

​He cursed them in his mind, he looked down on them. These people were hiding from their problems, hidden away in here like ignorant creatures. He folded his arms, first observing the people in the club for potential suspects; however there was none. None he could spot, however what he did see was what he had always seen. Their weakness, if a man like him activated his saber downstairs or any Mandalorian or fool with a gun entered the club with weapons free. What would they do? He doubted they could do a thing, they would either die or cower in fear waiting for someone else to save them. He went out into the Galaxy, hoping to find a better people than his own. But, he had not. He only found the weak and undisciplined; like the rest of the Galaxy. It made him understand why the Tol Varen people were the way they were, and it made him faster to find resolve in their teachings.

​He moved toward the entrance to the balcony, he watched as his Employer blended into the shadows against a Durasteel wall. The Matador walked outside, looking to see that his Employer remained unharmed. Even in an attempt to conceal herself, her silver hair and skin caused her to stand out regardless. She apologised to him, for the night being perhaps uneventful.

​He didn't quite understand the comment. He didn't wish for combat, not exactly. He understood that it was necessary and helped better his skills as a warrior; yet most people within the Galaxy did nothing to sharpen his senses and simply kept his mind from growing dull. It was almost rudimentary, they fell prey to basic tactics. Even though she claimed her people were something of more merit, he didn't hold much stake in words. He stood outside opposite her, his body twisted in the doorframe. His mind half on the lounge and the balcony itself.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

She was very aware of the large mercenary shadowing her every step. It should have made her feel at ease to have someone so physically impressive watching her back, but for some reason, she only felt more anxious. Would her people take her acquisition of a body guard as an invitation for open conflict? Increased muscle was akin to issuing a challenge. He paused, and she didn’t comment, watchful eyes making sure that no one was paying too much attention to him.

It was mostly a futile effort. If the Echani Clans attacked it they wouldn’t bother hiding in plain sight. It was too difficult to keep a dozen, highly attractive, well trained warriors, hidden in the middle of an inn with a bustling dance floor.

The slender woman pressed her back against the wall as tightly as she could. No one inside the inn could see her and there was no vantage point outside. Unless she sat down at one of the tables she would be mostly invisible to everyone but the Matador. Her mind was aflame with possibilities, mapping entrances and exits, all the while making a mental note that in less than six hours she ought to be free and clear from any that would pursue her. At least for a little while.

“How did you get into the district without giving up your weapons?”, she questioned the Matador quietly, her voice a gentle lullaby in the darkness. Srina was curious. She had felt something strange, almost like when she accessed her gifts from the moon mother, but just a twinge, nothing more. The small woman had only ever known Eshan. Her father had traveled off world frequently but he generally liked to keep his family where they knew they were safe. Her knowledge of other world was vast—but her experience was very limited. ”I don’t think there is anything I could have said to convince the doorman to let me keep mine.”

She smiled briefly, though the dim light would conceal it, and she tightened her arms around her small frame. They couldn’t remain outside all night. Her energy shield helped but it really wasn’t built for this.

Suddenly, her head tilted to the side, when she thought she heard something over the distant music. It was far away. A high keening wail that was entirely familiar. “Do you hear that?”

It was a rhetorical question. It didn’t matter if he heard it or not. She knew what the Seeker battle-cry sounded like. She’d issued it herself hundreds of times. The helmet of either Sun Guard or Spiritseeker armor was augmented with a device that projected their ghastly wail and amplified it. Some argued that it literally paralyzed their enemies with fear. Srina knew better. It was a scare tactic that was just eerie enough and steeped in so much lore that it worked. Especially, on Thysrians.

In this instance it was a message. It was for her. Plainly stated—Clear as day.

‘We are here. We are coming.’

Srina closed her eyes as she listened to the howl. They wouldn’t be able to run for six hours. A fight would come whether she wanted it to or not. “That sound…It’s an Echani Screamer. It’s caused by something in our helmets. It belongs to the people we want to avoid. They’re warning me.”

“They’re hunting.”

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador turned to her, removing himself from his leaning position to stand upright. Her question was worth responding to, he was surprised that she didn't understand the concept of it. As a mercenary, he had jurisdiction to carry firearms where many others could not. That was the long and short of it, even so it was a basic concept that he could've used the force to bypass the security check with minimal effort.

​"Privileges of Mercenary work."​ Was the easiest way he could explain it with the least amount of effort. He returned to silence then, as much as his employer was attempting to socialise. He did not buy into the act of pointless conversation, he saw no benefit for it other than to make one feel comfortable or to familiarise themselves with someone. He was not here to feel comfortable and didn't concern himself with how comfortable his employer was, he was here to ensure that his employer was not captured by her kin. Furthermore, he did not wish to become familiarised with someone that had a high probability of dying.

​Suddenly his employer perched up in response to the sound of something like a distant scream. He didn't quite make it out to be anything more than a distant howl but according to his employer it was a warning from her hunts. He moved closer to her by a few steps, examining his surroundings. It lead him to recall how Maalraas would howl as they called on their pack to hunt prey. However, even then he was used to being the Predator. Even so, he had studied the Maalraas for months, where as his current opponents were something unknown to him. Regardless, his body language did not imply urgency or panic.

​"Does this mean they know where, we are?"

He asked, an intentional tinge of urgency becoming apparent in his voice. It was important that he was on the same page as his employer, if she wanted him to protect. He needed to know all that he could.

​"What types of weapons do they use? What kind of armour?" ​His voice danced between unnervingly neutral and an apparent rise in adrenaline in his system. However, he had yet to ignite his blade.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina should have expected a clinical response from the Matador. Perhaps she was foolish for thinking that ‘All Weapons Stop’ at the doors like the signs proclaimed but it didn’t feel right that someone could just claim to be a mercenary and keep every tool in their arsenal. He hadn’t shown any paperwork and they didn’t seem to know each other so the pale-skinned woman was left with mild confusion. When broken down logically, unless the weapons collector was just that terrified of the Matador on sight, it just didn’t make much sense. “Right…”, she slowly responded, wondering, if speaking to her hired help was a waste of breath.

Sometimes, she didn’t even think he heard her at all. That wasn’t good.

The white-haired woman tried to converse with the Matador to get a sense of whom she had hired. She couldn’t fight him because neither could afford to be winded, so discussion seemed to be the next best thing. Only, it was like talking to a permacrete wall.

Then the scream began. Her whole body felt it, not just her ears. If nothing else the Echani knew what to do to set someone on edge. The thought of fighting those she had gone to war with filled her with two kinds of dread. Firstly, because they were her brothers and sisters in arms. Secondly, because she knew what they could do. As a unified force, they moved like some sort of plague. Her eyes closed as the Matador asked if the howls meant that her people knew where they were. It was easier to listen when there was nothing to distract her. After a long moment, she responded.

“Not exactly, but they’re in the district. They’re closer than we want them to be.”

It was the best answer she could give. Seekers were taught to use the amplifier in their helmets to make the sound come from anywhere. From everywhere. But, if they knew where she was, the cries would be coming from one source as they converged. Not from different points all over the area. Adrenaline was beginning to flood her veins in anticipation. She knew a countdown when she heard one. It truly was only a matter of time.

The Matador asked about what kinds of weapons and armor her people used and she stared at him for a split second. Now, when they were running out of time, he asked. “Echani vibroblades. Cold forged so the wounds burn. Some use small throwing daggers. Personal shields. Typically tuned to deflect energy, melee, and sonic attacks. Blasters are rare but not unheard of. Most Echani consider them clumsy and uncivilized.”

“Most of them will be wearing light armor with an elegant design. Don’t just assume that since it looks nice—it doesn’t serve a purpose. The weave is threaded so that force from physical blows is distributed all around the body after an impact. It dissipates the strength of the blow. The helmet will make the scream you’ve been hearing. It’s amplified up close. It doesn’t feel…”, she trailed off slowly, trying to find the words to explain, “It doesn’t feel pleasant.”

“More than anything…Don’t let them surround you.”

The shrill wails were moving. Searching. Srina pressed herself back against the durasteel wall and wished that she could just disappear. They close, very close now. She could see flashes in her mind’s eye that she attributed to the strange gifts she’d always had. A pair of Seekers were entering the inn on the first floor. Her eyes were distant as she whispered, far away, as she watched them thread through the crowd. “There’s two downstairs. More coming from the south.”

“A lot more.”

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador was surprised at how quickly his employer relayed the details of her peoples weapons and armour. Their lack of range weaponry was certainly a mistake, the Matador had limited experience in combat at a distance. He was more comfortable with close quarters combat, but apparently as were his adversaries. He could now hear the screams himself, they seemed as if they were circling their position slowly, perhaps attempting to cover any route of escape.

​He tapped into the force, slowing his thought process to a crawl as he examined every sound. He was listening as the turbo-lift began to move upward once more, the sound of its mechanical movement drilling into the Matador's head that his opponents were a moment away. His heart began to beat faster, adrenaline picking up as he readied himself for a fight.

​The turbo-lift grinded to a halt, to which he responded to by drawing slightly closer to the balcony entrance. The Matador didn't move, his eyes were fixated on the doorway. He had expected them to come rushing, nothing as of yet. He closed his eyes, stretching out his senses, all around them. He could feel them, but as to where they were he did not know. ​"Don't get in my way. But stay close." ​His words came with an authoritive nature not present previously. Battle was his domain, otherwise the field was hers.

​He felt fear from her and irritation, she didn't wish to be here, to face her own. He empathised, to have ones own turn against them was something unwarranted on the guiltless. He wondered perhaps if he would wish to fall into darkness and disappear if perhaps the Tol Varen people turned against him, if he were to be exiled from his purpose in life; would he be able to forge his own purpose? He did not know. But he knew that he was not afraid, not now. He awaited with glee the moment to face a new foe, he was the Matador and it was his duty to face beasts in any form for his clan with the full ferocity of his capable might. But he had been ordered to not deal lethal blows, that could make things difficult.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Any loyalty that Srina should have felt to the House of Eägon died when their son decided to turn her refusal of a marriage contract into a miniature guerilla war. The Queen of Eshan was currently in hiding and the government was a mess. Her representative couldn’t manage to battle the Thyrsians and keep the various Echani houses in line. The nobles were of no use and would use the opportunity to their advantage as much as the Thyrsians would. The only way she could keep her family, and her house, from crumbling, was to stay away. “Certain sects in our military use disruptor blasters but they are rare.”

Srina’s eyes remained closed as the screams grew louder and louder. They were speaking to each other in the darkness. Closing in. How it was that they kept finding her, kept tracking her, she couldn’t understand. She’d checked every square inch of her body and had turned up nothing. No tracker, no tracker powder, nothing. She’d initially blamed the E-9 but this was getting ridiculous.

When she opened her eyes she could see the Matador readying himself for a fight. Her gaze grew distant as she saw what stepped out of the turbolift without looking. The images played in her mind’s eye in a split second flash. She didn’t understand how she knew, only that she did. “There are two coming in from the lift. Both have personal shields. One has a vibro-glaive and the other a vibro-blade.”

The Matador warned her to stay out of his way and the silver eyed woman nodded her head. He could not see her, but she would obey nonetheless. She didn’t want to make things more difficult for him. They looked similar, fought similar, and had similar patterns on their armor and weapons. In the heat of battle a mistake would be easy. She didn’t want to be cut to pieces two after being mistaken for an enemy.

“No lethal blows…”, she repeated in a hushed whisper, still pressed against the durasteel wall as if she could somehow disappear. “…But if it comes down to…Defend yourself by any means necessary.”

Srina would not have the Matador die for her war. He had been hired for a job he couldn’t possibly have any concept of. The Echani were not known for their forgiveness. They could take a bounty out in his name, they could target him, as they targeted her. All for helping her when all other mercenaries had refused. The silver eyed woman held her breath as the tip of a glaive appeared in the doorway.

Two fully armored Echani Seekers walked onto the balcony and immediately turned to her as if they had tractor beams for eyes, and Srina tensed.

“It is time to come home. This game is over. Do not make this any harder than it needs to be Srina Vail.”, uttered the first warrior, clearly male, and rather annoyed with his current task. They had been ordered not to harm the Vail girl but not everyone agreed with that. While Eägon remained unwed his house weakened. He needed a bride, from a well-off Echani House, and he needed one now. Yet this girl, this small, hardly impressive woman-child was the one he wanted. Why? The soldier didn’t know. He was just following orders. “We do not want to hurt you.”

Srina heard what the Echani did not say. “You do not want to. But you will.”

“If you do not comply. Yes.”, the solder responded simply, lowering his glaive in her direction.

“I’m not going.”, Srina informed the Seeker with hard silver eyes. She looked up, chin strong, sweet countenance defiant. “Tell Dalantus Eägon that he can send as many men as he wants. I would rather die than marry him.”

“With a tongue like that...You very well may.”

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador noticed how the two warriors hadn't even acknowledged him, both their heads turned almost automatically to face his employer. The Matador tensed, perhaps expecting a net to close around her, he knew they had both heard just more than two. But where were the others, the Matador felt an excited anxiety rise in his chest as his periphery began to pick out strange shapes that formed a blur in the corner of his eyes. He wished to turn to see if perhaps the other hunters were headed their way.

​Yet his eyes were locked on the back of the two warriors who had stepped out of elevator and now shared the space of the balcony with himself and his employer. He studied their weaponry and clothing, there was some symmetry shared in every design that imbued their appearance with an aggressive elegance. This was shared by their appearance which, to his surprise held very similar features to that of his employer. That would make things difficult.

​The Matador was a careful and precise fighter, but if she were to involve herself in the haze of battle, he could very easily mistake her for one of her kin and strike her. He would rather avoid further complications. The Matador instinctively stepped between him employer and the two warriors. His armour was a dark blood red in the dim light, his horns perched menacingly on the ridged tip of his helm.

​"Step aside." ​The male echani spoke, inspecting the towering metal creature. ​"You can walk away from this as an ally to our clan. Not subservient to this traitor." ​The Matador's body language made no mistake, the words bounced off his armour like the rain had begun to as it trickled down the roof of the veranda. The Matador turned his head slightly, considering the proposition for a moment. He looked back at his employer, with a sudden hesitance. Perhaps.

​"Whatever she has promised you we can dou-"

His words were cut short as the Matador slugged his fist in a blur of speed directly into the Echani's chest, the male warriors expression was one of shock at the speed of the Matador's movement. His feet left the ground and his arms involuntarily shot outward as the kinetic force drove his body backward a few feet into the doorway. He groaned as he hit the floor, grasping at his shattered ribcage. The Matador immediately backed away as the second warrior spun his Glaive in hand, swiping the edge at the Matador's neck as he dashed backward.

He ignited his blade, the orange blaze greeting the crimson of his armour. The plasma burned angrily as it escaped the long silver cylinder in his grasp. The edges of his armour, the scaled tendrils welcomed an image of blazing fire on their edges. The Matador spun the blade and brought the hilt to bare across the length of his free hands gauntlet as the second Echani ran forward whilst the first recovered. The Echani was cautious, with a mix of fear and pride peering through the mask of a face they wore.

The Matador enhanced his speed for a moment, striking with both hands on his saber at the left of the Echani carrying the Glaive. The Matador feigned the attack, and moved with starling speed, striking at the staff of the Glaive. The Matador removed one hand, holding down the Echani with just one almost effortlessly. His arms and legs were bent at their joints, having to rely on his overall body weight to contend with the Matador's arm alone as his now free right hand was pointing outward, his fist unfolding and his fingers becoming outstretched.

​The male echani warrior was at his feet now, lifting his vibroblade to assist his brethren. A unseen force forced him backward, once more against the wall. But now, he was planted against it. Almost as if he had been magnetised to the spot, his head shot back in a groan of pain as his limbs succumbed to the invisible force. The Matador turned his head to the Echani still under the weight of his blade. He leaned in heavier, hunching over his shoulder as his arm remained extended. The Echani could feel the weight, looking back to see his brethren attached to the Durasteel wall.

​The moment extended too long as the Echani carrying the glaive was beginning to realise their mistake. The Matador capitalized on the moment, he could feel the sudden change in the Echani's focus as his worry extended to his fellow warrior. A weakness, one he would pay for. The Matador released his hold on the Echani warrior and turned swiftly brought his fist down upon the Echani under his blade. His fist connected with the face of his opponent, teeth shooting out of his mouth and causing him to stagger. Even then, the Matador was pulling his punches. The Matador used the change in his opponents momentum to move his staff, his open hand grasping on the staff as he relinquished the pressure from his saber.

​He yanked the staff upright, pulling the staggered Echani along with it. Now, he had no defence as the Matador spun his saber within the warriors defences. In a moment the Glaive was free, as hot plasma separated the Echani's arms at the wrist. He thrust his shoulder into him, knocking him back. He wailed in response to the pain, carbon scoring leaving the wounds black and scorched, The Matador turned away, uninterested as he inspected the Glaive. The hands were still tense, holding onto the staff of the Glaive. The Matador was mildly amused, he didn't know that could happen.

​He threw the Glaive aside, now turning his attention to the wounded male Echani who had spoke before.

​"Poor choice, arriving before your brethren."

​The Matador remarked almost tauntingly as the Echani tried to push himself to his feet. The Matador stepped forward, and thrust his foot into the chest of the hunched Echani, putting his boot on his throat. "Stay down."​ The Matador warned, bringing the hot raging orange plasma collected in blaze at the base of his hilt that exploded into a beam of orange energy but a few inches closer.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina remained silent when the Matador stepped between herself and the two Seekers that seemed prepared to do anything to bring her back to Eägon no matter the cost. Somehow, the large man managed to move swiftly in full armor and Srina felt a small mote of surprise. Echani traditionally used light armor to provide them with the most mobility possible. The Matador came close, either by strength, or natural agility, and he was far more protected than his current quarry.

If this man were looking at her in such a way she might have felt the blood in her veins turn to ice. As it were, she was certain, the despite the bravado the two Echani warriors put on, they were likely choking on fear. There was nothing wrong with feeling fear. It was a warning, a saving grace, and an opportunity to show real grit in the face of something terrifying.

Her heart sank a little bit when her people offered to go over her head and buy out her contract with the mercenary. At double the price, no less. Her veritable wall of a man seemed like he was considering it.

And then the chaos began. The Matador chose his side and the fight started. As requested Srina stayed out of the way, back pressed against the durasteel wall, as if she could melt into it. She really, really didn’t want to be mistaken for one of the people he was supposed to fighting. When he sent one of the men flying with an incredible punch to the core the silver eyed woman couldn’t help but feel the impact in her bones. She knew what a hit like that felt like.

There were almost moments when the Matador used some unseen force to deal with them. Srina didn’t know exactly what it was, but it was something that she too possessed, and had used to escape sticky situations. It was strange to her, to see another gifted person, outside of the military. Perhaps it was a malady that afflicted all races. Not just Echani.

As the Matador soundly defeated two of Eägon’s soldiers without so much as breaking a sweat Srina heard more yelps, more wails, filling the air. They must have heard the scuffle. “We should be leaving.”, she called to the mercenary and headed toward the edge of the balcony. That proved to be a mistake. A lithe female jumped up from the edge and hit Srina directly in the nose with an upraised knee. The slender woman stumbled back, but reacted quickly, and grasped the Seeker by the shoulder and pulled her down as she drove her knee up into the softer parts of her stomach.

There was a moment when her opponent thought to fight back and threw a nasty elbow—but that was before Srina kicked her in the back of the knee to bring her down to size. A quick movement found straps that held the warriors' helmet on and she tore it off with such ferocity that one might have thought she was about to throw it. Quite the contrary. She wrapped her fist around the woman’s long silver braid and pulled her head to the side, before bashing the metal down on her, hard enough that the Echani dropped like a stone.

It wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done. Srina dropped the helmet. The female was breathing, but she still felt some level of horror, some level of shame. After all of her attempts to reason with Eägon’s people it had come down to this.

Two more Echani rappelled down from the roof of the inn. The larger of the two went after the Matador while the second flew right into her. The collision took her breath away—but that was the intention. A ferocious chop to her neck made her see stars and she rose her arms on instinct to block. Her fighting form felt more natural than breathing, and that was the only thing that kept her from taking several wild, rapid-fire blows to the face. Srina caught the Echani’s wrist and twisted it just like she had done to the man in the club. This time, she didn’t stop, and there were audible pops as the warrior's arm was wrenched from its socket. Srina bent it further. Her bones would snap like twigs. Her kin screamed, loudly, behind the helmet and again Srina felt sick.

How could this be her life? How could she fight the very people she’d been raised to protect?

Because they had turned their backs on her. On her and her house in favor of a cruel, dishonorable, manipulating, jellyfish. A small mote of anger and exasperation rang through her and Srina released the warrior who immediately grasped her arm to recover. The white-haired exile could see what her game plan was. She was going for the vibroglaive that the Matador had dropped. The female tried to roll by her but didn’t get far as something invisible and natural snatched her from the balcony.

There was no preamble, no hand-movement, no planning. It was raw and unrefined with the consistency of a child’s slingshot. There was no real aim but the Seeker still found herself knocked out in the boughs of a tree a few meters away. Srina did not know what she had done, or how she had done it, but as her anger receded the horror returned.

This was madness.

Light red blood ran down from her nose, staining her garments, as she heard more screams fill the air.

"We really, really need to go."

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​His employers words were punctuated when not two but three opponents sprung upon them, the first of which his employer handily incapacitated. The Matador was impressed, he assumed that perhaps she had none of her kins skill and that was why she had fled. But perhaps not, perhaps it was pride.

​He was allowed little more than an ebb of a thought as a larger Echani sprung from the roof above him, dropping down with both feet extended into his chest. The Matador was knocked down from the man's momentum, his hard metal skin hitting the ground as he twisted his body upright to face his opponent.

​His crimson armour swayed between a blood red as the club's lights shun on his shoulders and face and a thick purple in the dim navy colour of the night. The Matador was strewn across the floor, his metal fingers dragging across the wet ground as his hand clamped down tight on the hilt of his saber. His eyes looked ahead of him, the echani had landed gracefully in almost a bow. Two long white strands of thick locks extended from either side of his forehead, like white twirling towers extending from his long and flowing mane of white hair. His eyes, were an emerald blue as they locked with the black slits of the mercenaries helm. His face was a picture of calm and confidence as he twirled a broadsword in his grasp.

He felt an anxiety ring true once more through his mind, as his eyes shifted to his employer. Who was having a much easier time of it than himself. his opponents body was decorated with weapons. He seemed to carry more prestige than the others, his hair was longer and his armour adorned with small jewels. Perhaps, he was their leader. The Matador felt his adrenaline surge, his legs warming as he pushed himself upward with his saber activating in defence. The Echani striked with precision, aiming for the small gap between helm and breastplate for the Matador's throat. He parried the strike, slashing upward with great momentum. Enough, to carry the Echani backward but a few steps as the Matador attempted to counter-attack regardless, swinging his saber above his head as he twirled and landed with an offensive strike.

​The Echani darted around him, as he knew he would. He was faster, and likely thought the Matador to be a brute. The Matador turned quickly, having expected the move he'd make, aiming for a thrusting diagonal strike at the nape of his neck. The Matador swung his saber with the momentum of his body turning to face his adversary. The Echani redirected his strike as his other hand reached the pommel of his weapon and stepped backward, closer to the balconies edge. The Matador dashed forward, catching the blade and bringing them both to the ground to the right of them.

​That was it, he could've brought his blade upward and sliced through the throat of his opponent, yet he resisted. He had been asked not to kill, and would keep to his contract. Banishing his temptation to strike the Echani down, he thrust his upper body forward; slamming his horned helm into the upper body and face of the Echani. The force of the strike caused him to lose grip of his weapon and stagger backward. His lower back reached the balcony railing and his legs lifted from the ground. The Matador dashed forward without thought as the man fell, flipping over the balconies edge. The Matador caught his arm in the grasp of his massive metal hand, his arm stretching down to save the Echani.

​He would've let him fall had it not been for her presence, he felt a strange and alien loyalty to her pleading. He grimaced, beginning to pull the Echani upward as he groaned with pain. He felt a piercing heat in his exposed shoulder, and a kinetic force that drove his arm into the railing and caused him to loose grip of the Echani he held, dropping him to his death, the drop was hundreds of feet. He turned his head slightly, feeling his arm locked in place as he noted that a large spear had pierced his arm and dug into the railing, an Echani warrior standing with both hands gripping the end of the spear.

"We really, really need to go."

​The Matador grimaced at her words. He felt an impossible pain in his arm, the metal had cut through his deltoids and muscle, trapped between bone and with every movement he twisted the blade and shredded his arm. He thought back to his mentor, the Butchers words as he braced his free arm against the railing and tensed his legs for enough momentum. Pain was a constructed concept, a leader feels no pain other than that of his people. The Matador grunted, as he pushed himself back, blood gushing out against the railing as his body jolted back, the spear tearing upward through his arm and slashing his collar bone.

​It had released him, but made his right arm nigh useless. It was too painful to move, too little strength left in it. He kept repeating the words to himself in his head as he put his pressure solely on his right arm. He groaned, truly feeling every pound of weight in his body. As the single Echani warrior was staggered in response to the change of momentum. The Matador grimaced as the he pushed himself up a little, bringing his saber to bare in his left hand as the Echani thrust with her spear in his direction. He dodged to the side, using the force to ignore the pain in his arm as he pushed himself to his feet.

​He frowned, reminding himself once again he was prohibited from killing his enemy. Instead he thrust his elbow into the Echani's throat, he would've rather remove her head from its body. Still, the required effect was achieved as her body launched backward and landed in a clump. Her jaw broken and perhaps her neck, however he wasn't concerned enough to check.

​"Agreed."

​​The Matador replied, his tone hiding his pain.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina wasn’t at the top of her class when it came to combat but she also wasn’t anywhere near the bottom. Spirit Seekers were famed for stealing enemy souls with their hair-raising screams. They were built up of myth and legend, when in truth, they were simply very, very skilled. There was no magical aspect to them that allowed the theft of spirits. Still, it was a good ghost story that kept little Echani children in line and bade them to obey their elders.

This skill was extremely evident when Srina dispatched the first of her people that attacked her. They wanted to subdue her, and the only way to do that, would be to knock her out. Either physically or medically with some sort of sedative. The pale-skinned woman kept one eye on her enemy and one eye on the Matador. She was concerned. The man he was fighting was known as Lokai Inova. He was a strong, powerful, and nearly undefeated General of the House of Eägon.

Her split attention didn’t seem to make a difference to her own battle, especially when her opponent was launched without warning, into the boughs of a nearby tree. Her heart caught momentarily and she was uncertain if the warrior was still breathing. Guilt swept through her, but she couldn’t stop moving, and turned quickly to see how the Matador was doing. It was just in time to see one of her brothers in arms fall as a spear was driven none-too gently into the mercenary’s arm. Srina had seen that he’d been trying to save the Echani. Her eyes stung to know that another unnecessary life had been lost. There was no way he could have survived the fall.

Blood. So much blood. Srina was amazed that the Matador could physically keep fighting. Working through pain was something that the Echani learned early on. That, she understood. But the sheer volume of red splashed along the balcony made her worry that he would exsanguinate before they could get to safety. This needed to end. Now.

Not only did Matador verbally agree but physically put down the last Echani soldier with a vengeance. The woman’s body literally bounced at Srina’s feet and she had to step to the side to avoid getting hit. This was second time in a VERY short time span that her bodyguard had been injured. Not only did they need to vacate the area, but they needed to find someplace to clean up, dress his wounds, and rest. She bent down and unclipped the cloak from the shoulders of an Echani that was currently unconscious.

The mercenary before her was huge. He was a mountain of a man and she didn’t even know where to begin. Either way, they couldn’t leave a blood trail. “Tuck your arm in.”, she directed succinctly, using the cloak to form a makeshift sling. Swift fingers picked up a tablecloth from the floor and she shook the glass out and packed it against the front of his injury. The sling would hopefully staunch the rest and keep it in place.

From there they left the inn. It wasn’t safe anymore. The dim lightly mostly hid the pale-red blood that coated the lower half of her face and ran down her chin. Some of the blood didn’t belong to her but most of it came from when she’d been hit in the nose. Hopefully, they could escape the area before someone discovered the aftermath. There was at least one dead. If the Matador had snapped the neck of the last one…There was a chance she could asphyxiate. “We need to get you patched up.”

Once her package arrived she just needed to make it to Coruscant. Hopefully, once she arrived there, she could hide in the lower levels and be forgotten. They took an air-taxi toward the other end of the entertainment district and were dropped off in front of a fairly seedy looking motel. The clerk at the window didn’t ask too many questions and was kind enough to point her in the direction of a nearby vendor where she could pick up more medical supplies. She had some, but she didn’t know if it would be enough.

Srina tossed down the appropriate amount of credit chips and they were on their way. The room was southern facing, with a few windows, a refresher, and a tiny lightly stocked dinette. There were two uncomfortable looking beds and the pale-haired Echani immediately locked the door behind them. She circled the room, all at once, elegant fingers closing the blinds, drawing the curtains. She even turned the light on in the refresher and checked to make sure they were alone.

It was obvious that she had been on the run for a long time.

“This will have to do for now. Sit down.”, She pointed toward an uncomfortable looking metal chair. Silver eyes seemed to soften ad she looked at him, losing some of their intensity, as immediate danger had temporarily been avoided. “That needs to be looked at and you can’t do it properly yourself.”

[member="The Matador"]