"My lord, the compound has been compromised by multiple intruders. We can't be certain you are safe." The Soldiers were scrambling all around them, moving fast with their weapons arrayed in terrible promises of destruction. She felt the thrill of the moment for a single long moment. The ordinary-looking human man in front of her kept braying towards her, "It's possible you could be their target. Or one of them, at least. We're securing Lord Gratham, as well. You should make haste to evacuate." She waved her hand with negligent disconcertment.
Vareta Fraabaal could remember the inky darkness that iced the depths of the Tomb of Naga Sadow. How it seemed almost, to take on a shape and identity all its own and reach out so hungrily for her. She had nearly cried contemplating stepping down to descend into those shadows, to let them surround her, suffocate her. She was left huddling there on the top step, whimpering pitifully in terrible fear. She had flinched back then, from the echo of her own terror reverberating back towards where she stayed and tears pressed roughly against the back of her eyelids. She had tried imploring her own self forward, "Sith are not afraid. They're not!" But she never managed to make that last descent, never moved forward even a step. No, she only stayed there, huddled in a heap. Until her own dearest friend came back up those stairs, from out of the darkness so wearily and clutching the relic the overseer told them to retrieve. Or die in the seizing.
Moira had smiled at her, at first. She never understood that at Korriban, friendship was nothing but a weakness to be eradicated. Especially when there was a prize on the line.
Moira's blue eyes went so wide with shock when Vereta flung the Force at her in a hard, terrible blow. She was so appalled, so shocked that she hesitated to respond, long enough for Vereta's second blow with her training sword to neatly cave in her pretty skull. Vereta yanked the relic from her still-warm fingers then. She studied the way the blood pooled against Moira's pale, blonde hair, until it seemed almost as red as Vereta's own locks. The sight remained vivid in every one of Vereta's dreams ever since. Now Vereta smoothed her coifed red hair back into place, and she glared at the Imperial captain in front of her with a cool, dispassionate gaze. She appeared bored, in fact. It was a very calculated poise. She even practiced the stance in front of her mirror after her master had described to her the value of constant and vigilant showmanship. "Even lesser subjects should be addressed from a position of strength. Even a whisper of weakness can be exploited," Lord Gratham intoned to her.
Strength was valuable. Moira might have been strong enough to climb down those stairs and through the darkness that terrified Vareta. But Vareta ultimately proved herself even more strong, showed it in the ability to betray and catch her opponent off-guard so tellingly. That strength was the sort she wouldn't allow her own stupid Force-blind father to hold over her. Not ever. He would find she was no Moira to be caught by dismaying shock and her hair soaked with thick blood. She would win this game of bickering wills between them, let him bask in his illusion of pained fear for her younger siblings. Let him hire his sorry mercenary, send the bastard after her all he wanted! He would discover she was the better, the stronger of them both. Korriban had honed her and Gratham pointed her. So that she was virtually indestructible now! No mere bounty hunter would be capable of defeating her! It was quite nearly laughable even in the thinking!
So Vereta only yawned as she waved the soldier away, "Leave me be, fool. There is nothing for me to fear. Go and secure the doors if you're so concerned." The man gaped at her for only a moment, as if he couldn't believe she would discount his own prestigious skill. If that's what it might be called, mind you. But he didn't argue any further, just clapped his jaw closed and saluted her before turning sharply on his heel to march away. She chuckled towards his back as he went away, leaving her alone to ponder the terminal where the reports describing her father's recent transactions with the Mandalorian Enclave were displayed.
What exactly was this melee event the reports were describing, anyway? Some sort of contest, that Vareta herself was some kind of prize to win, apparently. She canted her head sideways, thoughtful. The Mandalorians were actually rather fascinating to her, in the way she might consider any sort of predatory and low-born beast on a far-off world that she had never encountered before. Beautiful enough to stop and look, maybe to play with like a cat might swat a simple rodent. Because there simply was no way the greatest Mandalorian warrior could actually hurt one of the Sith! How laughable was that sort of thought, even!
But still. It would be intriguing to see a real, live Mandalorian today. Perhaps he would be wearing one of those pretty helmets that covered their faces so often. Could she manage to convince him to remove it? To violate whatever rule said they needed to cover their faces, at least. Rule-breaking was such a fun, interesting game, Vareta thought. How many rules could she break against his form, his body? Before she was finally done with him and broken him entirely, of course. The thrill of the thought sang through her veins with a near sexual pulse, left her panting with virtual excitement! Vareta thought there might even be a spot of dampness between her thighs, and she shifted in her seat to ease the blistering heat of her delightful exhilaration.
That's when the first shots began ringing through the space, and Vereta leaped to her feet. She spun around to face doorway with eagerness, gripped in her joyous zeal at the impending confrontation. Would he grab her, kiss her? Surely he'd want her. What sort of mercenary wouldn't delight at being able to rouse and please the excitement of a real Sith, after all? And then the Hunter actually appeared, along with a tiny, olive-skinned girl for a companion, and Vereta's dark red eyebrows shot down into a disappointed frown as sudden anger replaced her stirring excitement.
This? This was the incredible threat her father had tossed at her? Not even a real Mandalorian! Only some common, ordinary bounty hunter. A rough, ill-mannered course lout of a female! Oh, and a filthy little vagabond to follow along with her, no less! Argh! The woman was somewhat small, a tad shorter than Vareta herself. But her slender frame was curved attractively in all those ways that men seemed to like more than anything, with perfectly shaped breasts that were rounder and plumper than anything gracing Vareta's own chest and a muscled pair of buttocks that formed a sweet heart-shape against the tops of her thighs. Her leathered armor even emphasized her curvaceous figure. Hell, she probably did that on purpose, the slut.
At least her face was dreadful enough. Scars stretched across the right-side of her face, deep and terrible gouges in her skin that were long since healed over. That, and she had implants that reached back to each one of her ears, too. Oh, yes! The woman's face screamed of the most dreadful flaws. Vareta was hugely pleased as she made note of every one of those defects. She ignored the pretty slant of the hunter's beautiful dark eyes, her thick black hair that gleamed with health and vitality, and, especially, her purely kissable pink lips that puckered very naturally over her softly curved jaw.
That's when she realized the hunter was watching her, too. She stared at Vereta with a shrewd look. Seemingly weighing her, almost like she was trying to judge her somehow. It was actually rather disconcerting, in fact. Vareta almost asked the hunter what she was trying to determine with that gauging gaze of hers. Especially when the woman finally shrugged as if Vereta had somehow come up short in her estimation. What failing did this … person seem to find in her? She was Sith! She was so much greater! How dare such a lowlife reprobate insult her like that? Vareta couldn't help but demand her, "You seem to actually believe you're better than me, somehow? Why is that?" She eyed the woman's blasters disdainfully, ignoring the blood splattered along the woman's leg plate armor in some long arc still wet enough it was sliding in dripping trails down across her knee as she stood there. It seemed that damned lowly soldier had paid the price for not securing the doors as she directed him to, she thought snidely.
"Maybe I really am better than you," the hunter said then. She even rolled her eyes! As if emphasizing her belief there was no real "maybe" about it. Vereta snarled at her.
"How dare you!"
"Pretty damn easily, trust me."
"I am Sith!"
"I'm not," the hunter pursed her lips as she shrugged nonchalantly. "Still gonna kill you."
Vereta laughed aloud, then. She leaned her head back as her peals of laughter winged through the air, "Do you seriously believe you're capable of such a feat?"
"What, you think you're invincible?"
"Oh, no. I might be killed by another Sith. Maybe a really powerful bomb. But not some common … bounty hunter," Vereta waved a pointed finger in the woman hunter's face, shaking her head firmly.
The hunter shook her head, almost appearing sad for a brief moment. It caught Vereta by surprise, honestly. The hunter murmured, "Someone's been filling your head with garbage, Sith girl. I hope you're not all so stupid." For just a moment, Vareta thought there might be some particular Sith the hunter was thinking about. But the insult to her own master sparkled over her anger again.
Vereta glared at her. Lord Gratham had demonstrated time and again how strongly he respected Vareta's abilities, her tenacity, and her skills. He even described his hopes and desires that it be Vereta who found and destroyed the interloper who caught and destroyed his son months earlier, the one who fled Dromund Kaas in terrible fear of her master's retribution. His tirade against that assassin had been gods-awful, a long-winded diatribe that included several comments how the youth might have made Vereta herself a fine husband, if only he hadn't been killed. Such a marriage might have proved a real plum, a gem to tuck into her cap. But the chance was lost now, damn the killer to the Void itself! She would certainly not tolerate such a low slight from this vulgar upstart of a creature! Not today, not ever!
Vareta stomped her foot, "Well. You'll learn different. Not that you will take much from the lesson, being dead. I would say I'm sorry. But why lie?" Vereta activated her lightsaber, then, the sound of the blade sending a thrill through to her belly and groin, tightening her flesh into adrenalin-heightened readiness. This was the part she enjoyed most, she thought.
Well, maybe not the most. She really would have liked to be swept off her feet by the desires of some manly Mandalorian. But this would have to do, she supposed.
Vereta sent a whirlwind of the Force against the hunter's companion, leaving the girl to spin madly against the dynamic power that compelled her small form in hard circles. Even if the cyborg somehow managed to break free of the attack, she would be too dazed to do much harm to Vereta herself, she judged. That left the hunter to deal with. But when Vereta turned to face her, the hunter was … gone.
Vereta growled as she scanned the room, looking around wildly as she tried to find the woman. That's when the first shot caught Vereta across the shoulder, spinning her around in enough time to see the hunter jumping down from the rafter where she was perched after she rocketed up above the space to look down at Vareta. The sizzling pain of the hunter's shot hindered her in responding, long enough for the hunter to smoothly interject herself between Vereta and her small companion, blocking any chance that Vereta might have had to further threaten the girl. That's when the hunter's second blaster fired - so fast on the heels of her first, actually - catching Vereta's hand where she still clasped her lightsaber and sending blood scattering into the air even as her saber fell with a loud clatter against the floor. Vareta screamed piercingly in terrible pain, her vision wavering from the sheer shock.
Like the shadows were reaching for her all over again.
Vereta fell down to a knee, clutching her arm close to her chest as she whimpered from the miserable discomfort of her wounds. It seemed her entire left side was on fire, burning with searing agony. Vereta glanced down to see several large droplets of blood plopping dully onto the floor at her feet. But then the hunter's boots appeared in her line of vision and she shot her gaze back up to look at the dark-haired woman, her eyes wide with shocked dismay as she mumbled, "I lost? How …? It's simply not possible!" It all happened so fast, she thought. She was so confused, so stunned.
The hunter shook her dark head at Vereta, as she raised her blaster and placed it against Vereta's forehead. The Sith whimpered, watching the hunter's eyes, seeing the darkness there, the claws of it reaching out to her. The Tomb was dragging her down, until she could almost hear the sounds of Naga Sadow himself laughing at her along the dark pathways of the Force. It was death, and it wanted her. She felt tears trickling down over her cheeks.
Then the hunter whispered, "Shhh. I'll make this quick. It won't even hurt."
"I just can't believe it …" Would her hair be soaked with blood? But it's already red!
And then the darkness claimed her at last.
Mako's head was still spinning, like she was still trapped in that maelstrom the stupid Sith forced her into enduring. She grimaced as she shook her head yet again, trying to shake free of the dizziness that continued to bother her every so often. She looked over at Kastiel, about to say something giddy and thankful, something like "woopty hells, thanks" or "damn, girl, you're awesome" or "you saved my pitiful life, yay".
But Kastiel was standing against the framework of the swampy landscape, refusing to lean against any of the trees despite how weary she looked standing there. She actually warned Mako earlier about the seeming insects that infested so much of the plant life on Dromund Kaas, enough, she said, that bug-like things could end up covering your body in mere moments after touching something green or tree-like. Basically, don't touch anything, was the gist Mako took from that small conversation. Left Mako shuddering, as she thought, "Yuck"
At the moment, though, Kastiel just looked sad. Mako sort of doubted any expression of gratefulness would work to wash Kas' face clean of that dejected countenance. So she ambled over to stand next to her, silent for a time. She scanned the marsh, watching how the gloom shifted and pulled against the shadows of the dull, blunt light of the planet. Shapes moved through the dark every so often, and Mako squinted, trying to make them out but failing. Kastiel grunted an amused sound, waving sadly, "Most of the life on the planet is Sith-spawned. Twisted obscenities. Good for pitting your skills against, is all." Kastiel spoke quietly, working to avoid getting attention from any of the forms moving through the swamp nearby.
Mako glanced at her sideways. Trying to keep an eye on the moving shadows nearby, "Take it you've fought them."
"Time or two, yea. I came out here sometimes, for practice," Kastiel looked over at Mako, her eyes hooded, quiet. "You know I met Braden in Kaas City, right? He took a bolt to the stomach and almost stumbled into me looking for help." Mako shook her head, her dark eyes widening. But Kastiel looked away again, shrugging, "Guess I should have known that old man would keep his word about where I came from. He was a good friend. I miss him."
"Yea, me too," Mako's sigh was loud.
Kastiel was quiet for a moment, pondering. "Sometimes I wonder. I mean. About the Sith. Are they all like that girl just now was? What made her like that? What does it take, to turn a girl who's father obviously loved her into a pitiful wreck good only for destruction?"
Mako felt her forehead scrunching into a thoughtful frown, "Maybe she was always that way."
"No, I don't think so. I think she was a cute little girl once upon a time. I bet that admiral played games with her, twirled her in the air, gave her sweet pet names."
Who gave you sweet pet names, Mako wondered suddenly. But she didn't voice the thought. "Well, then. Maybe she just didn't learn from the right teachers."
"Exactly, Mako! What if all the Sith are taught to be like that? What if Korriban takes them and warps them …?" But Kastiel finally wound down into morose silence, stubbing her toed boot through the mud under her foot slowly.
Mako watched her shake her head sadly. Then Mako reached out a small hand, placed it on the hunter's armored shoulder, "I bet that every so often there's a Sith who manages to overcome all the bullshit to be a truly remarkable person. And we'll just avoid the ones who can't."
Kastiel chuckled meanly, "Simple rules are often the best ones, huh? Whatever. Let's get moving. Have to let daddy know his girl's gone."