Evening Lights

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There were other warriors with more martial skill than Rook. It would be better for Qyren to learn under them rather than himself. He was not High Lord strictly for his skill in combat -- it was his ability to speak, and hos tolerance for stupidity that afforded him the position. Kelghast and Ijaat both outclassed him greatly as warriors in their own right. Still, Qyren was familiar with him, and he would not deny that he wished to spend more time with her. She'd presented a perfect opportunity to do so.

"I can teach you what I know." He promised, giving her hand a squeeze, "Lightsabers aren't exactly my specialty, but it'll pay for you to know how to shoot a blaster. If nothing else, you'll know how to counter someone shooting at you better." What else could he teach her? How to cleave through an armored man with a phrik claymore? Probably not.

With a shrug, Alex turned to face Qyren. He would take her to Mustafar, and from there they would-... he had no idea. He supposed they would figure it out as they went; planning would do no one any good.

"Shall we get to it, m'lady?" He snickered, leaning down to kiss her hand with all the grace of a drunk bantha, laughing the entire time.

[member="Qyren Leret"]

 

[Qyren Leret]

"I can use a Jedi for my lightsaber training," she said with a smile, assuming Alex was teasing her. His invitation to start immediately, complete with humorous antics, drew a laugh from her and solidified that idea in her mind; the kiss on her hand sent heat flooding to her face, but it didn't stop her laughter. Even with dark things and heavy work lurking on the horizon, they would find a way to make the other smile. That was a soothing thought.

"We can go." Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from his and backed toward the door, chatting with him as she went. "Perhaps we should start with finding an actual room for me before we do any training. It's going to take time. I can point and shoot a blaster, but not necessarily with accuracy." Unless I use the Force. "And I really don't know any kind of hand-to-hand fighting."

This would be building her skills almost from the ground up, rather than just a practice session to refresh her memory of things she already knew. She had to assume they would often be out in the cosmos, on one planet or another trying to set things right or push out the Sith invaders who subjugated those in the Southern Systems. If they wound up that way, they might not have much time for training, but at least they would be together and the option would be available when they did. She doubted she would have as much luck finding a Jedi teacher except when they were with the main Alliance force.

"Tell me about Mustafar while we walk. What kind of planet is it? What will we be doing there?" It might be a conversation for behind closed doors, which Qyren would understand, but if they were leaving already she assumed there was a plan in place for whatever offensive would be occurring soon.

[member="Rook"]

 

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Mustafar was a difficult topic. He was wholly aware that, if negotiations broke down, they would be storming the world. The lava barons would be getting a very rude awakening, and their armies would be decimated shortly thereafter. There were few military forces in the galaxy that could stand up to match the might of the legions, and no singular private army on some backwater was capable of doing so. Mustafar was needed to build the great forge from which all of the Dreadguard's weapons would be created. Only Mustafar produced the natural heat needed to do so.

He slipped an arm through Qyren's as they walked. There would be time for bloodlust and strategy later. Right now, he had her, and that was enough.

"Mustafar is a water world. It's honestly everything you would imagine hell to be." He chuckled. Rook had been to the Netherworld and returned to talk of it. Mustafar was more akin to the tales of horror spread by the many galactic religions than the actual Netherworld was. "It's a planet of lava and fire. The atmosphere is choked with volcanic ash. The ground is black and caked with soot. Horrific creatures feed on the minerals and unwary travelers." He gave her arm a playful squeeze. "It produces the heat we need to forge our weapons. It's also easily defended, and will provide us with a steady income via mining."

He glanced down at her as they walked, bumping his side against her with every other step. Now he was just teasing.

"There are lava barons there that treat their people...unwell. We'll be fixing that."

[member="Qyren Leret"]

 

[Qyren Leret]

It did not sound like a place people should want to live.

And yet we're going with the intention of making it our own. The phrase sounded odd, even in her head. She had never been particularly assertive in most situations; the idea of 'conquering' something was foreign. It would be interesting to see how she felt afterward.

"How will you replace the power structure currently in place on the planet?" It was clear that, by 'fixing' the issue, the Dreadguard would be removing the barons in question from power or would kill them as needed. They wouldn't be there all of the time, she assumed, which meant putting someone in charge. Qyren held firm against the next bump of Alex's body against hers, taking the teasing nudges in stride. "Redistribution of the lands to the cooperative barons? Stand-in leader in the Dreadguard's absence?"

Qyren had recognized the pattern to Alex's body coming in contact with hers. As he stepped in for his next teasing bump, Qyren caught him early by swinging her own hip out to meet his-- well, given his height, his leg-- and looked up once he retained (or regained) his balance, the picture of innocence other than the smile lurking around her lips. The easy playfulness in his nature not only warmed her and eased her conscience about how their relationship would proceed for the foreseeable future, but encouraged a similar childishness in her own interactions with him.

"Who do we see about stationing me in a room close to yours?"

[member="Rook"]

 

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She brought up a very good question. Mustafar's leadership would be a difficult subject. Currently, Rook planned to appoint [member="Ijaat Akun"] as its protector, given his status as the Forge Lord, and allow him to choose how things would play out. The world would be his responsibility, though Rook was quite confident his brother would live up to expectations. Perhaps even surpass them given enough time.

"I think I'll hand the reigns over to the Forge Lord; let him decide what should be done with the planet. His forge is going to be there after all. As " It was not Rook's place to decide the planet's fate, nor would he pretend that it was. That duty fell to those that would call it home, and its future protectors. He would provide the means to make that choice, nothing more.

"As for the room, you'll be talking to me."

Then she retaliated. He lofted a brow in surprise as her hip crashed into his upper leg and made him stumble. He moved to regain his balance -- unfortunately a misplaced engine tool made that impossible. Rook went tumbling to the ground. He span to face her the moment he hit the floor, momentarily adopting a look of rage.

Fortunately, it was little more than a facade. He reached out to sweep her legs out from under her, chuckling as he did so. He'd begun the first battle, and she had started the war.

[member="Qyren Leret"]

 

[Qyren Leret]

The look on Qyren's face as Alex tripped and fell was stunned. It had been a small hit, nothing that should have done more than make him stumble, but circumstances conspired against them; an unfortunately abandoned tool, an inability to stay balanced. In the moment that she saw him pitch forward and felt his arm slip from her grasp, something pricked her memory.

She had forgotten: Alex was terribly accident prone.

The rage in his face as he turned to face her was met with mortification. Her mouth opened soundlessly, her intended apology stuck in her throat when confronted with his anger. That had not been her intention, and if she had remembered his clumsiness-- or bad luck, perhaps-- she would have avoided playing back. Outgoing actions went well for others; they did not go well for her. She should have known better.

Her eyes registered the sweep of his leg before her mind did, and, instinctively, she jumped to avoid it. When she landed, her brain finally acknowledged that he was laughing, a far cry from the rage of moments before, and she felt herself drain of energy in the relief that followed. Whether it had been fake anger or whether he had realized it was an accident and had forgiven her didn't matter. It was over at least, and his acceptance-- or the absence of censure for her actions-- allowed her to find her tongue.

"I'm sorry." The words were sincere, laced with lingering horror at herself, and she thoughtlessly leaned over to offer him a hand to help him get up off the floor.

[member="Rook"]