Private War Drums

[Dagon Kaze]

WAR DRUMS
NIGHTSHRIKE vol. II
Issue #1 w/ Corin Trenor
​

This time, the Nightshrike's gaze did not hover over the sprawling district that was the Seven Corners showered in a thousand different colorful lights all draped under the dull dark and grey veil of both concrete, steel, smog, and the night itself. This time, his eyes lingered over the kipple on the rooftop he had been perched on. Dusty bottles of liquor and pop, discarded wraps of junk food, a torn sofa or two, some barely standing chairs -- all spread about the rooftop in no particular way. Just... there. Existing. Signs of a life that Dagon had never witnessed -- not even once -- in any of his soaring journeys through Denon's rooftops. The items were there but the people -- never.

The curious peculiarity faded away from his thoughts at the soft thud of boots landing on the other side of the roof. The night was still early, but there were some changes and reports to be exchanged between the Nightshrike and the Red Mask. The gutters were brimming with blood more than ever before. Gangs rose and perished in mere weeks, territories were carved up, only to be drawn again a day later, and corporations were having their own internal strife, much more violent than before with the Alliance's eye now over them, which trickled down into the streets racking up casualties of their filthy war with the lives of the innocent.

The drums of war were pounding.

 

[Corin Trenor]

"It's worse out there," the familiar and muffled voice called out from behind Shrike, the sounds of exerted efforts continued on as the Red Mask threw his frame into one of the worn in and near ruined couches that somehow made their way onto the rooftops of Denon skyscrapers. Likely the roof access hardly out of view, the man noted once the whites of his helmeted eyes shifted across to it. He settled a piece of fabric between his thumb and index and rubbed off the flakes of dried and newly discovered blood, ideally not his own.

But for all the mindless musings that crossed the vigilante, the truth to his statement remained. Denon was infected and the increased outside intervention only ever worsened her condition. Even the senate dipped their bloodied hand into the polluted wastes of Denon.

He pushed himself out of the seat he found mere moments before.

"Everyone and their mother wants a piece of Denon now, even other masked mongrels. Hell, even the senate."

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

WAR DRUMS
NIGHTSHRIKE vol. II
Issue #1 w/ Corin Trenor
​

"I know." he grimly confirmed as he pulled one leg down from the roof's concrete railing. "We're out trying to fix the galaxy when we still can't fix our home." Nighthsrike cynically commented; a notion he'd held since the end of the Stygian Campaign and their smeared return to the Core, but never truly vocalized. He threw a glance at the cityscape before turning his masked gaze back on his ward.

"You will be taking on more responsibilities in the form of another district, now that you're more ready than before. Same goes for Jem." the raven-haired vigilante said as he tapped a button on his wristpad sending a brief of intel to the Red Mask's datapad. He'd long accepted that this war here would not be concluded in his lifetime. "But that's not what I called you here for."

The Nightshrike plucked a datachip from inside his leather jacket and tossed it at the red masked vigilante to project with his holo. It held files detailing Dagon's investigation of the supposed witch leaving a blood trail among a number of gangs. "There's a Dathomiri Witch in town on a personal crusade against a few gangs running the streets." crusade -- because it followed a specific, premeditated pattern; personal -- because they would've been otherwise rational enough to keep any trails of Magick off the crime scenes. "I want you to pick up on where I left off and stop her."

 

[Corin Trenor]

"Sounds like you trust me." The helmeted of the two commented with a dry tone to his voice while slow steps carried him towards the rail. He leaned onto it with his forearms, eyes cast down towards the neon streets of Denon as the man continued to listen to what Shrike needed to relay. It had been years in the making, this dynamic. Red Rdava was the ward of Nightshrike, not Red Mask.

His covered hand rose to the side of his crimson helmet and pressed on the piece that protected his ear, the information on the tossed drive was fed into it alongside the device and flashed on the inside of the helmet. "If you need me to focus up on this, what has your attention?" He asked with fingers still playing the information and otherwise gruesome videos before his eyes beneath the hood. Just a little witch, Corin mused, no big deal.

The vigilante turned around and half-sat on the railing with arms folded. "People in the Senate have taken an interest in Denon, too. That Alderaani, Organa. Says he wants to help stop the Corpos and their corruption, wants me to hand off all the information I can find off to him. Part of me thinks his involvement is what's made it all worse. Stirring the nest."

Dagon Kaze