Location: Mandalore
Objective: Objective II – kill stuff. Uncover the myster of the turkeys of war.
Wearing:
Armatura |
The Forgemaster's Ring |
Ring of Stasis |
The Sofitor
Wielding: 8
Nozhi Blades | 1
Whimsy Knife | 2
Nastirci Combat Knives |
Clarion |
Copero's Wail |
Fire and Smoke |
Combat Gauntlets |
Tessen | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2
Dissuader KD-30 Pistols with
Glitter Bullets
Allies: Omfg, I can't believe Scherezade is allied up with the Mandalorians. Hell hath frozen over, folks! | Open
Enemies: TSE & their friends |
Darth Sephi | + Open
It was radio silence. No one was answering her regarding where the damn turkeys of war were. Scherezade shook her hand, trying to get the communicator to maybe magically start working. Perhaps someone had answered but her stuff was just malfunctioning? But no. No matter what she did, there was no answer incoming.
"Gobble?" she asked out loud, wondering if there was some sort of battle cry that she could give in order to unlock the doors to turkeys that… Wait, what if the turkeys of war had been there the entire time, but the Sith, while occupying the planet, had neglected them, causing the poor flightless birds to die of starvation, eating each other, thinking back to days in which they were the dinosaurs that roamed the planet?!
It was a
horrible thing to think about! Sure, Scherezade was a Sith, she had no qualms about murdering innocents, killing fertile women, punching old people in the face… Mostly she didn't do it because there wasn't any fun or challenge in it, but she wasn't exactly opposed to any of it out of this or other fake ideology that came with an on/off button.
But torture an animal?
Aww hell no!
Animals were meant to be free, or to be groomed, to be treated well, and to be made as friggin happy as they could be before you slaughtered them and gobbled them up. That was the true path, the true way, and anything else was inherently wrong.
With a sigh and a shake of the head, the Sithling threw another handful of cheese cubes into her mouth, thinking the situation once more, when a voice from behind her called her
kitty.
Scherezade turned around, her eyes befalling a person she had never seen before. It wasn't hard to sense the Darkside rolling off of him. Even a Force Dead person should've easily been able to do
that. Still chewing on her cheese, her nostrils moved ever so gently, and she inhaled – not, with her physical nose. No. This was quickly becoming a battle zone, and the last thing anyone ever wanted to do in a battle zone was to breathe it in. These sort of places tended to
reek. Especially if there were rotten war turkey carcasses nearby.
No. What she was doing, was taking his scent through the Force. A Blood Hound, there were many things that the blood that ran in people's veins told Scherezade. Never enough, of course, because why would a single sniff ever reveal enough, but there was still plenty. For example, having known from before what Sephi smelled like, she knew that this was what he was. But… That was not
all it was, was it? There were more things mingled in there, things that had a scent that left Scherezade clueless.
And then there was that whole lightsaber business.
Scherezade shook her head, swallowed, and smiled.
"Cheese cubes?" she offered, holding the paper bag up to him.
Before he could reach her though, the weapons that had decorated her body, that had made her look like she had enough on her to arm a small village, and a few more that had been magically concealed beneath the body tight green armor, all slide away from her. Seventeen blades in total, not counting the two lightsaber hilts that she had yet to grab and ignite, and many of them completely different from each other in length, weight, and special abilities. She controlled them all through telekinesis, something that she had devoted so many of her waking and breathing hours into since the day she had come out of that stupid pebble, adding more and more as time progressed while maintaining near perfect finesse and control.
And all seventeen pointy bits were aimed at the tall elf, ready to turn him into a fishing net if he wanted more than just cheese cubes. Safety was always paramount. If he turned out to be wielding that lightsaber just for his own personal protection, her seventeen blades could easily return to where they'd been a moment ago.
"Hey mister," she asked, smiling,
"do you know what happened to the war turkeys of Mandalore?"