Often, but Only Once

[Boethiah]

The galaxy liked to toy with the souls that inhabited it, little changes here and there...

Sometimes, however, a big event will come along and toss everything into Chaos, indiscriminate towards the suffering of those who struggle even in its most peaceful of times. Every golden age was built upon the labour of souls hidden amongst the darkness, slaves built monuments that stand still, craftsman invented the weapons used by warmongers, and scientists who help food last longer also create poisons that kill thousands in one fell swoop.

Yet the galaxy held its breath when an unexpected event came to be...

Arriving from the deep reaches outside of the Unknown Regions was a fleet whose markings were unknown to all, their technology old yet fearsome, and the people the steel beasts carried razed entire worlds and left nothing behind but dust. At the same time they rid the galaxy of great pains and terrible corruptions. What could be said about these zealots; The Primeval?

One being of trillions would have the fateful opportunity to find out, Anja Aj'Rou had landed unannounced on the world of Kalee near Primeval space, it was a neutral world once ruled by the Imperials but now independent. Territory was squandered; proud Kaleesh tribes warred over the land on the small arid orb. The Host Lord's shuttle touched down atop a small hill outside of a trade outpost manned by smugglers, a former mining colony until the company that operated it fled when the Imperial Remnant crumbled and faded away.

The Umbaran woman walked down the hill and towards the outpost, no guards nor servants followed her and she was not dressed proudly; instead preferring a simple green robe which held loosely against her body. She wasn't tall nor fearsome like rumors said, she was rather normal -- inconspicuous and unless she had armies behind her few would tremble before her. That wasn't to say she was powerless or that she couldn't inspire fear, she was a witch of immense power who could end the lives of many in a split second. Only she chose not to, keeping to herself rather than making an enemy of people she had no desire to fight.

Arriving at a tent the Host Lord entered, it was a cantina of sort built of scrap metal walls with a tan cloth covering for a ceiling. Inside she took a seat at the table, her mind ignored the conversing of common folk.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Kalee, what an abysmal backwater planet. Arid and lacking of the luxury found closer to the core worlds. At least the hunting is worth while. Zenva mused to herself as she picked her way through another ramshackle town. The Zabrak matron found herself in an ill temperament at what was quickly turning into a wasted journey. The Hutt Cartel was seeking an army and Zenva had taken it upon herself to search out a new source of mercenaries, something Kalee was supposed to have in abundance. If these ignorant Kaleesh spent less time killing one another and more time out in the galaxy they would realize how ridiculous their prices are.

The militant matron had stopped speaking to locals hours ago. She had stopped speaking to her clansman, a pair of heavily armed Zabrak warriors from her personal gaurd which trailed after their matron in stoic silence, several towns past. Yet hope flashed fleetingly as her attention turned to a poorly cobbled building. Kaleesh gathered within a hut of rotted metal and dingy canvas. Her stride shifted, carrying her toward what passed for the enterance to an establishment that barely qualified as a cantina. As she entered she pulled her black leather trench coat closed, shrouding her appearance. All that remained visible, her knee high boots and her tattooed face. A handsome face by Zabrak standards. High cheekbones left her looking youthful, a strong chin topped by full lips that hide her serrated teeth, and bright yellow-red eyes that seemed to take in every detail in a single glance. More tribesmen waiting for the next war with their neighbor.

She spoke briefly in her mother tongue, Zabraki, "May as well have a drink kids." The trio pushed their way deeper into the cantina, settling into an empty table near the back wall.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

The new arrivals caught Anja's attention, the Zabrak and her guards were an unusual sight on Kalee and they didn't seem to comfortable with nor afraid of the warlike culture of the Kaleesh. She too was out of place in her own way but the barefoot Umbaran did not seem to place herself high above the food chain like the well-guarded Zabrak woman.

A metal cup filled with a clear liquid was placed in front of Anja who carried no money, "Are you gonna pay for 'at?" The server asked as Anja raise the cup to her lips, the witch's eyes glanced at the older man. She waved her hand with no words spoken and just like that he turned off and went back about his business. The Witch of Bastion was a keen illusionist whose mind trickery could be said of being second-to-none. Without much further thought on the matter she took a sip from the 'pristine' water.

Her attention returned to the trio, eyes fixed on the central figure shrouded beneath the trench coat.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva and her guards received their drinks in short order. The two elites removed their helmets revealing tattooed, crimson skinned Zabrak beneath, one male the other female. The female guard shared features of her matron, hairless, yellow-red eyes, full lips and tattoos that were nearly identical. The female gaurd began speaking in Zabraki, her voice low, meant only for the trio. As she spoke the three Zabrak made quick little hand gestures, and at one point all three spoke in unison. When the female gaurd finished speaking, all three took up their metal cups and drank.

Zenva's breath caught in her throat, and her gaze suddenly jumped up. Shining yellow-red orbs fixed on pale blue ones several tables away. For several long moments the Zabrak did nothing but stare intently at the near-human. What the frell was that? Was that her? Someone had twisted reality, manipulated the Force in some way. Zenva had felt the pull of energy, quick and ruthless, a near perfect display of power. Near perfect, nothing lay screaming on the floor, and nothing was burning. Zenva had been born to a Sith mother and raised hearing their teachings. With the lack of obvious worldly carnage, no display of power was actually perfect. Her eyes stayed on the woman who was in turn watching her it seemed. "Kil'kae say it again. In basic if you would."

The female, Kil'kae, looked up at her matron, mouth open as though she might argue against the request. Ultimately the guard shock her head and spoke, "Father of Bloodshed, King of War, hear our prayer. Matron of the Hunt, Anointed Mistress, hear our pray." The trio repeated their hand gestures, "Gods of Old, hear our prayer. Your warriors are weary from the day's battle. Father of Bloodshed, take us into your shadow that we might rest. Your hunters are parched from the day's long trail. Matron of the Hunt, fill our cup with thy nectar that we might slake our thirst."

The trio spoke in unison, "Gods of Old, hear our prayer."

"That's enough. Thank you Kil'kae." Several locals had gathered closer to the table of Zabrak, plainly listening in. A small smile played at Zenva's lips as the first local approached to ask about the strange prayer. Her eyes however, never left the odd woman watching her.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Anja's hand tapped lightly on the table, twice. The water was still held firmly in her left, the rim leaving her lips behind she placed the cup down lightly on the table and exhaled. Her ears listened carefully to what they said, not missing a single spoken word. A prayer was a comfort that did not go unmissed, the witch had heard many in her life.

Rising from her seat she stood and walked over to their table with slow steps, the small crowd that gathered around them seemed to be concerned at first, looks of panic crossed their faces until they became expressionless. When she neared the table her quiet steps grew softer and the patrons began to lay down as if they were going to sleep. A droplet of sweat slid down her right eyebrow and fell from her cheek. Anja's arm reached out, a pale hand gripped around an empty chair.

"May I sit here?" She asked eerily with a placid tone.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

The Matron's Elites gave a start as the Kaleesh began to drop. The male pulled his side arm and began to turn the pistol on the only thing left standing. Zenva's right hand snapped out like a striking serpent, grabbing the male's wrist and slamming his hand onto the table. The matron hissed a word in Zabraki, her tone was enough to stop the female mid-motion, a pistol only halfway free of it's holster. Her yellow-red eyes narrowed as she stared into the near human's pale blue orbs. "Kil'kae, please take Renek outside. Make sure I didn't sprain his wrist." The female gaurd turned toward Zenva, a look of disbelief clear on her sharp features. "Now Kil'kae."

The female gaurd rose slowly from her seat, her pistol slipped back into it's holster without a sound. Zenva released her grip on the male and her too got to his feet. The two guards picked their way across the cantina, time and again their gaze turned back toward their matron, watchful of some signal to return or perhaps to attack. Zenva waited, her mouth a hard line, her eyes narrowed. Once she was certain her elites were gone she motioned to the chair opposite herself, "By all means, be seated. Rest."

For the first time in years Zenva thought of her mother. A twisted being by any account and likely the most powerful Sith she had ever had the displeasure of knowing. This woman's power rivaled the nightmarish strength her mother had displayed when she was young. Of course her mother would have left corpses not sleeping bystanders. A cold sweat trickled down her spine though it didn't show in her expression and her voice remained strong, "Is there something I can do for you my lady?"

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Anja slowly sat down into the chair, resting a single hand flat on the table; her other arm rested along her left thigh. Pale eyes wandered from the sleeping natives to the Matron's cold eyes, the appearance of a Zabrak is not one that went amiss. For a moment she simply locked eyes, sizing her up in a way that Umbarans tended to do. It wasn't a trick in the force by all means but their ability to read the will of others allowed them to take a glance into the minds of many... It wasn't perfect, however. If there was any way to describe the process it was like picking up a dozen colours mashed together. By picking apart each colour you could get a subtle glance into the ambitions and feelings of your target.

The pause ended, "not many people come to this world." She didn't answer the woman's question, merely provoking the motive behind it instead. It was clear enough to the witch that what she said applied to both of them. As for the question? Perhaps that one did too. Everything was about gains in the end.

"You seem unusually content, perhaps even strong. Who are you?" Still having skipped the question, she decided to ask her own.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

The Zabrak matron gazed into the pale orbs of the strange near human seated across from her. Her own yellow-red eyes, the window to the soul as they say, gave the first glimpse at Zenva's true nature. Yellow caution causing her eyes to dart to the fallen Kaleesh, red strength brought her gaze back to the Umbaran, as the two studied one another. More colours bled through, deep grey and ocean blue suggestive of a woman accustomed to holding authority and operating with absolute confidence. Golds and purples swirled behind her, traditions and spirituality forged together impacting her thoughts and emotional responses deeply. Glimpses of other colours gleaned only briefly before her mind washed them away. Behind every aspect, bled through to form the backbone of all she was and ever would be, flowed a brilliant red. The liquid crimson of fresh blood and a dangerous pride that held itself above reproach. The man eater. Blood Matron. Vicious, cruel and cold. No, not cold. A fire storm in heeled boots.

The Zabrak lend back in her chair, letting her coat fall open. Under which lay a brown corset, and twin pistols resting in shoulder rigs beneath each arm. "This planet is secluded I suppose." The Umbaran, though Zenva didn't know her for one, had dodged her question twice over. She ignored the slight, minor as it was. She offered up a smile, serrated teeth gleaming pearl white against her dark features. "Content my lady? Yes I imagine so, the hunting on this world is worth the journey." The bit of flattery was noted but she made no reply in regard to what strength she may or may not possess, only the weak boasted of their own strength. "Who am I? I am lady Zenva. And you are?"

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Anja maintained her gaze without much change in the way her pale eyes looked outward. Whether or not Anja intended to do so, she gave off a rather aloof impression to all who stared into her eyes; maybe the Host Lord was not one to understand or care for social implications. Regardless of what was true or false, it was clear that both were rather strong-willed individuals. The witch looked to the corset and the pistols, she herself being completely unarmed outside of her magicks.

"Hunting?" Anja asked with a tone of curiosity, "and are you a hunter yourself, Lady Zenva?" once again she dodged a question, clearly Anja was avoiding the issue; it was far beyond a misunderstanding.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

One hairless brow rose. Questions and conversation was not something Zenva often became annoyed with. It was an avenue of learning. The foundation of any relationship began with questions and conversation. But this woman was purposely being obstinate. The simple courtesy of providing one's name when asked seemed lost on the odd woman. Something that would grate on the Zabrak's nerves rather quickly should the trend continue. Zenva maintained her thin smile, "I have been known to hunt for sport. Boar-wolves on Endor with spears. Rancor on Sriluur with target rifles. Even a Sith on Nar Shaddaa with my own two hands. He took my pistol, I popped him in the mouth for it, so on. You understand."

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

"I am certain that there is great sport in hunting," Anja responded earnestly.

She was not a hunter herself, at least not in any formal regards to the term. The witch had been an Exemplar in the Bleeding Sun before she was appointed Host Lord of The Primeval and lead them to their victories over the Mandalorians and other enemies who have threatened their independence in Wild Space. Now she was sitting face-to-face with someone who she felt had similar convictions and would potentially see eye-to-eye on certain issues faced in the galaxy. Whether or not that may be relied entirely on the outcome of their conversation.

The Host Lord didn't stop there, "hunting is what brought you to this world?" She inquired more deeply on the woman's motives.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

"There can be, yes. If your skilled. Too many rely on advanced sensors to track pray or groups of riflemen to earn a kill. It spoils the hunt, takes the challenge away." The Zabrak matron smiled anew. Pleasant memories of driving her forehead into a certain half Chiss' nose lending an pleased glow to her expression. That was one hunt she would have to take up again, especially with a renewed bounty on her 'baby Bane.' She pushed those thoughts out of her mind. This wasn't the time for flights of fancy, she needed to stay focused. Maintaining a mental barrier between her and the unusual Force sensitive woman across from her was of the utmost importance.

"Sadly no. While the hunting made the journey worthy of my time, it is not why I came." She too could avoid answering questions.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

"Then why have you come?" Anja asked curiously of the woman, her features were strong and likely intimidating to many.

Even Anja respected her for the pride of her species, and the way she spoke and what of she spoke brought similar thoughts to the Host Lord's mind. Certainly there were many things they shared in common initially, but she had yet to truly understand or know the woman in front of her.

Finally, the witch would answer an older question. "You may call me Anja." It seemed random, and out of place, but if Zenva recalled, Anja hadn't replied in kind earlier when she gave her own name.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva's thin smile turned cold. The woman before her may well lack the respect to answer a simple question but, Zenva held herself to a self imposed standard that dealt largely with her personal views regarding honor. To blatantly ignore a question was rude and insulting. Yet to give up the exact reasons she had come to this backwater planet would implicate those whom she worked for in activities far beyond their borders. A dilemma that she could skirt around with relative ease. "I was asked to find mercenaries for someone. The Kaleesh are capable warriors, respectable combatants by any measure. But they will not serve my purposes. I have found their culture to be one deserving of better treatment than they would garner from those who sent me."

The Matron picked up her glass, sipping it briefly. A cheap, bitter ale that Zenva was certain she had been overcharged for. She picked up a second glass, one intended for her guardsman Irons, and set the drink before the witch. "Anja is it. I like it. Has something of a bite to it doesn't it, Anja?"

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

"So you're interested in the locals, then? They do fight proudly, but they're loyal only to their own." She had already tried to gain the loyalty of Kaleesh tribes only to be turned down--sometimes violently. Without a proper warleader at their helm, the tribes will continue to fight each other. Until the day they find someone to take that mantle, they will distrust outsiders the most as many prey on their weakened state.

"As for my name, it means I am favoured, nothing more." Well, there was more to that. It meant she had favour of her Gods, that she was one of their chosen to lead the Primeval to greatness. Of course she did end up becoming Host Lord, but she was far from fulfilling that destiny; if it was hers to fill at all. "Why would someone have another find mercenaries for them? Mercenaries aren't the kind who will work for someone who hasn't the backbone to speak to them on their own behalf." It was understandable for many powerful individuals to prefer secrecy and do business through others... The witch was merely curious as to whom had an interest in the Kaleesh.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

"Yes, after a fashion. They remind me of my own people. Proud, fierce, devout. Your right though, there are few who are willing to sell their services. Rogues and outcasts and little else." Zenva sipped her drink once more before setting it aside. She leaned back in her chair once more, carefully letting her coat fall open to display the twin pistols in their underarm holsters again. To a causal observer she would seem every bit a woman at ease enjoying her company, she knew better than to think the pose would fool the woman across from her. There was a distinct tension to every muscle in Zenva's body, coiled and ready to spring away should she be meet with hostility.

"Favoured is it? Tell me, lady Anja, have the gods favoured you in this life? Or do they still yet wait to show their hand?" It was an honest question and the smile that followed it, cold and cruel though her features might be, was an inviting one. Zenva had no qualms about speaking of gods and faith. A deep tradition of worship and prayer ran through her clan and few of her kin did not acknowledge that the gods had blessed their bloodline.

"Fat and greedy creatures who are to lazy to do their own dirty work. They count on their money to speak for them."

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]