Private Revelations

[Darth Tennacus]

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Location: Netherworld, Lamaredd
Mentions: Jhira Mereel Darth Senthral

Vistas, landscapes, terrains - the treacherous sea - unravelled in the Netherworld like a wave splashing against the rocks. In the shadows of the abyss, the two Sith stood there, until walls, life, noise, music melded itself around them. Their travel had been long and cautious, but long and carefully thought out. Long had Master and Apprentice studied such arts considered unnatural; too long had they stood within their facilities in the shadows of craters and through hyperspace sampling genetic sequences and delving into the teachings of ancient Sith holocrons. But such work, after so very long a journey, had finally paid off. They had finally discovered the key to so great a power: a great and dark, mysterious secret of the Force that had brought the Sith to the seat of inevitable power.

And now that secret carried them here, to the likes of a cantina on a planet no one truly visited unless they had to.

They did not come as Sith tonight, but as patrons. Darth Senthral had been first to enter the cantina, moving between the twi'lek dances and corrupt politicians whilst his Master disappeared deep into the thick of the crowds. The Force had been hidden within them, depicting them as virtually force-dead, unless the likes of an extremely talented Jedi Master could see through the lies of their deceit. But so many years of cunning had given them a natural advantage. Their loyalty to the Rule of Two saw them always passing as fleeting shadows. And no one ever questioned a shadow.

The Sith Lord sat himself down in a dark corner, watching his Apprentice move forward alone. The order had been given; his Apprentice knew what was expected of him. And when the time was right, they would set loose a power that was burning to be free.

 

[Jhira Mereel]

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LOCATION: Netherworld, Lamaredd

Objective: Unlock the Past

Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out | The Echoy’la Sun

Tag: [ Darth Senthral ] [ Darth Tennacus ] [ Aria Vestra ]

The battle above Lamaredd had been bitter, brutal. It both had fully focused Jhira, allowing her to block out the past, and had paid very, very well. The coalition of merchants, underworld magnates and politicians that had wanted to keep Lamaredd out of the hands of the Ssri-Ruuk had chosen to celebrate their Victory with a party. It sprawled across two noble’s homes, three merchant houses and the best tavern in Lamaredd.

The Echoy’la Sun had been stifling, the presence of her surviving family scraping raw against her shattered heart. Jhira had fled, unable to bear the constant reminder of loss. She needed to embrace life, not death. To look forward, not back.

Shereshoy. Its meaning was to take what joy you could, for life was fleeting. Literally defined as: A Lust for life and much more. It embodied the fierce enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day. An exhortation to cling to life and cherish it, no matter the pains life may bring.

And so she found herself in a shimmering gown of silvery gold, personal shield hidden in the rigid, metallic band that hugged her slender waist, and comunit hidden in a matching golden arm band. A single band of cloth cupped her delicate throat, spilling in a split fall down to her waist, daring an unwise fool to look too closely. One arm was fully covered, concaeling her scarred shoulder; the other bare, inviting touch. A gown of contradictions and complexity, it suited her, right down to the long, provocative slit in the skirt which both concealed and revealed the weapon’s holster wrapped about her right thigh.

The ferocious joy and fear-tinged celebration all around her heightened emotions; a frantic attempt to ward off fear and loss. Sipping her Goldschläger, Jhira searched the crowd endlessly, seeking faces and voices she’d never hear again. Music mingled with the murmurs of low voiced conversation; sharply scented drinks and sensual colognes perfumed the air, each a binding on the still-bleeding wounds in her soul. Eyes half-closed, she let the sense and sensations wash over her, grounding herself in the here now.

Yesterday was over, and tomorrow yet to come.

 

[Darth Senthral]

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Location: Netherworld, Lamaredd
Objective: Unlock the Past
Equipment: DL-22 Blaster Pistol
Tags: Darth Tennacus , Aria Vestra , and Jhira Mereel (Engaging) - In Jolly Cooperation

'Through Passion I gain Strength'
This was a piece of the Sith Coda, and one Senthral reminded himself as he walked on through those he didn't hold to the highest regard. There was a cause for his onward march through two parties who lived on lies. Those who pretended to take joy in servicing those who passed the laws that allowed it. Politicians saw the dancers as scum no doubt, and he had a rising feeling that the opposing dancers saw it the same way. Yet here they were communing in this place.

It was of no consequence though, he was no Sith here, he was another warrior perhaps. So in truth maybe he had respect for the politicians in his act, or maybe he hated them all the more. Time would possibly tell him which way to lean. As cause came forth at the spotting of a beauty near the bar. Seducing? Senthral? Well it rolled off the tongue well enough, but he'd truly never considered it till he knew he would have a performance on his hands. There was something of Sith Nature he'd taught himself to apply here though. To make himself smile. Because this was his job and that was that.

As forth he came it was very clear Senthral was dubbed in no Sithly cloths. He wore a dirt-stained brown cloak, that came off and was set atop the bar. Underneath was the most ragtag armor you ever saw, and yet the way he handled putting it atop the cloak lightly alluded to some emotional value. Decloaked, and armorless, he was found in a pallete of browns and creams, the type a simple moisture farmer could be found in. Alas, if he were once a farmer, he was well travelled now, and maybe a few credits up- a nice matching vest told whoever looked his way that. Blond hair and blue eyes might speak of a different heritage, but the galaxy had seen weirder looks on simple folk and complex folk alike.

"You can't hide your sorrows, even from across this here tavern. Nor your beauty." A quick tap at the bar signaled the tender to get the lady another drink of what she was having, and another plus a nod towards some Corellian Whiskey, it spoke more than words were capable. The exchange of credits could have been missed if one wasn't watching it closely. "With every victory the losses amount for the one's doing the fighting, it's a shame, so the drinks are on me warrior. Name's Rhys by the way." It was. Once. Sith or no. Senthral took no pride in lying, he would keep it minimal, though acknowledged it's need.

 

[Jhira Mereel]

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LOCATION: Netherworld, Lamaredd
Objective: Unlock the Past
Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out | The Echoy’la Sun
Tag: [ Darth Senthral ] [ Darth Tennacus ]

The patterns and sounds of the Tavern washed over Jhira. A healing rumble of life, hope and defiance. Another sip of her spicy drink, as Jhira watched the dancers coax tips from the politicians and protection from the warriors. The urge to teach came over her; dancers often had both the spiritual and physical strength to make good warriors. At least once someone taught them they could hit back.

Before the reckless, suicidal impulse could propel her away from the bar, the patterns around her shifted, revealing a tall, striking man pacing towards her. He simply claimed the seat beside her, a natural confidence in the smooth, natural way her drink was refilled without her so much as seeing credits exchanged.

A man filled with as many contradictions she, judging by his gear. An old, dirt-stained cloak in a warm, earth-brown, balanced by an elegantly understated vest. Rag-tag armor, battered but well-fitted, was lovingly settled upon his cloak. The poor armor did not match the perfect balance and warrior’s physique he carried. Nor more did the simple brown-and-cream garb match the patrician good looks or the cultured, educated voice tinged with the accent of the Core Worlds. What was any core-worlder doing risking life and limb for a poverty stricken planet on the edge of Wild Space? This was the end of the Corellion Run; not even the great galactic corporations had chosen to step in when the alien, raptor-like Ssi-Ruuk threatened.

A smile flared at his compliment and insight, then turned thoughtful at his reason for buying her a drink. Not a man accustomed to mercenary work, just yet. It was the truth outsiders didn’t like to think about. Every contract, every job cost friends and family their lives. Mock though the regulars did, they could not possibly match the shear, desperate passion that any well-run mercenary company brought to each mission.

They were not faceless to each other; only to Aruetti. To utsiders.

At a loss to how to give the comfort needed, Jhira settled for touching her drink to his, offering the classic warrior’s toast, “Absent friends.” The words conjured the ghosts of the dead, inviting them to partake in the celebration of life. The very heart of aay’han, the bittersweet celebration of those quiet, perfect moments that both took joy in the still living, and mourned those lost. A deep swallow of the spicy, fiery liquor sought to mask her pain. Gold flakes lingered upon her lips, echoing the golden glint in the haunted, antiqued bronze eyes which studied Rhys so steadily.

“Welcome to the Outer Rim, Rhys. I’m Jhira.” she gave a graceful gesture, indicating not merely the room or the planet, but the whole sector.

“We are all the walking wounded, here. What brings you all this way to oppose these creatures?”​