Sith Justice

[Darth Pyrrhus]

Pyrrhus' ship discretely touched down onto the planet's surface. Due to the nature of this mission, he had not arrived in force. His ship was a smaller transport. Limited cargo hold meant there was not much room for passengers, though this wouldn't be a problem. He was not here to claim prisoners. What the ship did offer him, however, was the one thing he required. Stealth. Discretion. Ideally his target was unaware of him touching down, but that would remain to be seen.

His target had stolen something. Normally, Pyrrhus was not one to be contacted to deal with petty theft. Unfortunately for his target, this was anything but petty. Both the item in question and the one she had stolen from immediately garnered the necessary heat for someone like Pyrrhus to deal with it in person.

The Togruta Sith, draped in the dark robes of the Sith, stepped out from his ship's ramp. He'd sought to touch down out of sight. In his absence he left the ship in the care of one Nautolan pilot by the name of Dawn. It wasn't her real name, but he had never bothered to inquire further. What mattered was the fact that she was reliable, elite, and he had worked with her enough in the past to know that he could count on her discretion. She would keep the ship's stealth systems running. At any sight of trouble or other orders from Pyrrhus, she was to take off.

The hunt had been ongoing for a while. Finally, he had tracked the thief to Syvris; a moon in Hutt space. Many of the moon's residents were smugglers, who lived and worked at a shadowport located in its largest crater. However, Pyrrhus imagined his target had set herself up slightly more isolated. He was eager to discover what she had in store for them, if there were any defences to be triggered at all.

'They', because he would not be alone. One Sith Acolyte, Nyra Mazul, was to accompany him on this one. He had met her once before, though only briefly. From his brief encounter, all he could gather was the assumption that she was an agent of Vornskr. He expected her to prove herself useful. Though he did not imagine the mission would require more than himself, it was a good chance to gain valuable experience for the acolyte. He had been led to believe subterfuge was a focus of hers, so this worked well to that purpose.

Whether she had already set down on the moon in advance to see what she could learn, or if she touched down now as he had, he did not know. Regardless, he set out towards the rendezvous point. It was time to execute some sweet Sith justice.

[member="Mistress Malkite"] [member="Nyra Mazul"]

 

[Nyra Mazul]

Darth Serket wasn’t sure what people thought of her. She was bad at reading people, but Nyra was better. Of course Nyra and Serket were the same person, which made the relationship a bit more complicated. Serket, as Nyra, was on the planet not to enact sweet Sith justice. Sweet Sith justice often involved lightsabers and lightning. Nyra had a whip.

It was something Nyra, now Serket, was used to seeing. A smile crept over her face as she looked at the guard. These were petty thugs and yet [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] would be landing here shortly. Nyra needed to clear the way.

She walked straight up with confidence toward the men, her whip wrapped around her, and a lightwhip attached to her belt at the small of her back. Loosing the whip from around her waist she came upon the three guards. “Hello boys,” she said with a sweet smile. Men liked Nyra. They weren’t too keen on Serket though, better to keep to the Nyra persona.

“You can’t be here,” one of the guards said approaching. His hand was on the handle of his blasters.

A shame, these wouldn’t be fooled by her innocent looks. I suppose that’s only natural for criminals in Hutt Space. Still they weren’t shooting yet. “Oh, I’m sorry I must be lost. Is this hanger four?”

The guards looked at eachother for a moment, “Yea, but you must have the wrong hanger.”

“Oh I’m sure Brando the Hutt said this was the one. I’m supposed to dance for him you see…” Nyra twirled a little letting them see her toned physique through the body glove she wore. “I’m not much of a threat I assure you.”

Again they weren't too sure. Alright enough of this crap. Serket surged forward, clawed hands raking one man and pulling him to the side throwing him to the ground. One guard went for his blaster but Serket lashed with her whip striking his hand breaking it before darting towards the third man. With the whip formed into a lasso she looped the mans head around the neck and spun to put her back to him and applied leverage of her body to flip him onto the ground. A kick to the head did the rest and suddenly there was only one goon left, nursing his broken hand. As he approached to swing Nyra jumped up and wrapped her body around his spinning on him like an axel until she could take him down snapping his arm. Mounting atop his chest in victory she looked down and gave a final blow with the handle of her whip.

Moments later a ship landed and deposited Darth Pyrrhus. Nyra approached and knelt before him as he lumbered off the shuttle. “What is they bidding my master.”

 

[Armand Temi]

After her strange experience in the Netherworld and her alliance with Lady Dah'me of Gallinore, Mistress Malkite kept to herself for the last few months. The Pain Parlour on the Hutt moon of Syvris stubbornly and profitably continued to provide its services to smugglers, criminals, politicians and anyone else who could or would spend their credits on the sweet promise of physical, or even psychological torture. But Mistress Malkite was always in the market for new blood to help bring in customers.

Eventually, the Mistress would retire, and if she had her own way, she would do this with a bigger bankroll than she currently had. Her anti-aging treatments were expensive to say the least. The older she grew, the more costly was the price of her youth.

Had she stolen trinkets and valuables over the last year? Well, stealing is such an awful word, the blonde pain proprietress mused. Perhaps fleecing was a better term. Or grifting. For to imply thievery was to align herself with the filth of the galaxy who could not afford their next meal or were addicted to spice. Mistress Malkite was a businesswoman. She did not plunder. She appropriated.

Her Pain Parlour employees had rotated quicker than Syvris did around the nearby sun. She had a whole new staff at the pain parlor - two Twi'leks and a Cathar female named Lowe. Mistress Malkite sat in her office, perusing the holonet for clients as she normally did this time of day. There was an Embrace of Pain with some lucky fellow's (or lady's) name on it, and she only needed to figure out who that would be.

[member="Darth Pyrrhus"] [member="Nyra Mazul"]

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

[member="Nyra Mazul"] [member="Mistress Malkite"]

Pyrrhus arrived only to find the landing zone perfectly secured by Acolyte Mazul. There was the unmistakable presence of death, but no alarms had been raised. She had sorted it all. Of course, the Darth could have managed it himself but it was nice to be able to walk down that ramp without having to lift a finger.

The girl had manners, he noted, as she knelt before him. "Now we move in to claim what is ours." Justice? Vengeance. Tying up loose ends. "Once we have what we came for, the facility is to be destroyed. We have no interest in survivors today" a slight shame, thought the slaver, who saw profit and use for most able-bodied sentient being. But due to the nature of their situation, the fewer witnesses the better.

Pyrrhus gestured for her to rise. "What have you learned of our target's defences?" he was unsure how long she had been here, and if she had managed to pick up on anything of the sort at all. If they didn't know already, it was time to find out. The Togruta started his march towards the facility, ready to pay their hostess a visit. Just like the characters on a holonet hospital soap drama, they would walk and talk, walk and talk.

 

[Nyra Mazul]

Serket stood up, her face shifting into that of another. Suddenly her features were that of an angelic and innocent looking woman. Her body, her features, even her psyche, was variable. Stagnation meant death and nowhere was this more present than in evolution and thus Nyra considered herself the peak of natural selection. "Pathetic. A few cameras, a few thug guards, and droids." Droids were fairly effective at fighting force users being harder to pick up in the force. Still they were droids and limited by programs. Each droid had only a minimal amount of variation in them, whereas living beings could do anything they put their minds to. And beings with the darkside could do more yet.

"They are nothing more than these ones master," Nyra stood up and indicated the fell goons with a pointing of her nose. "They will be no match for your prowess." A glimmer in Nyra's eyes revealed her intent. Men would die, fall in great heaps. There was more killing intent in Serkets eyes than in those of Nyra and yet both were equally deadly. "Give me the word and I shall carve a bloody sculpture of their flesh."

[member="Darth Pyrrhus"] [member="Mistress Malkite"]

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

[member="Nyra Mazul"]

Pyrrhus observed Serket’s transformation. It was wondrous to behold. With that power, combined with her affinity for the Force, she had the potential to become a great Sith. If she wished, she could become the most lethal assassin. Of course, he saw other paths for her.

With her species’ natural gift for transformation, she considered herself the peak of evolution. Pyrrhus was inclined to agree. The things he would do if he held that power... If he managed to impart anything onto her, it would be that she did not squander her gift. Just like Darth Cognus had taken her species’ natural gift and transformed it into something greater with the teachings of the Sith, so would Sekret.

Pyrrhus nodded at her report. “Then this will be quick. Show no restraint” he added that last line, for even though they held the advantage, believing the battle already won before it was over was folly. Restraint was for those too weak to deal with the consequences, or for those with moral shackles unbecoming of a Sith.

“Make your carvings, apprentice. We take the fortress” though if it was a facility worthy of the term ‘fortress’, was a thing that seemed all the more doubtful after he had landed. The march from the landing zone to the building itself begun.