Bloodsport (open)

[Vega Van-Derveld]

When Breckin Pryn awoke, he found that he no longer possessed any legs. In the innumerable black hours that had passed, he had somehow managed to lose them. Certainly he had not misplaced them, as it is quite literally impossible to misplace ones own limbs given how firmly they are attached to ones body. That being said, as he looked down through a haze typically associated with a long hard night in the pub, he came to the conclusion that he had indeed been parted from his legs.

“You aren’t looking too well,” a metallic voice said, drawing Breckin’s eyes up and away from the bloodied stumps of his knees. In his mind, he agreed silently with this voice and its stupendous understatement. He did, however, feel slightly better about himself when he laid his eyes on the man who had addressed him.

Though not bereft of any limbs, this man – if you could call him that – looked as though he was on the brink of death, deeply pale and riddled with veins. Breckin was sure that if he stared hard enough, he would see right through him. He wore a uniform that Pryn did not recognize.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice dry and hoarse. He strained too look around, realizing first that he appeared to be in a medical bay of some kind and second that he was forcibly restrained to whatever table he was lying on. A dull sense of panic filtered in the back of his mind, mingling inconspicuously amongst the far more overpowering apathy caused by a heavy dose of sedatives. Consciousness slowly began to bloom in Breckin’s mind.

Out of the corner of his eye, Breckin saw something dark on his chest. His eyes strained and refocused, seeing only a distorted view of what had been inscribed onto his skin. Drawn there was what appeared to be a crude map, with various lines crisscrossed, marking the locations of his vital organs. The significance of these markings dawned on Breckin only as the man before him lifted a thin scalpel into view.

“You’re ill,” the pale man replied. “Terminally ill.”

***

The news ticker in the Seven Stars cantina had been repeating the same set of stories all day. Many were trivial, detailing various economical statistics or sporting results, though one article did stand out. At the bar, two local men sat discussing the latest reports.

Little more than a matter of weeks ago, a young man had gone missing from the cities western quarter. After three days, his body was found at the cities edge, mangled and dismembered. Initially, it had been believed that his death had been the result of a random attack by the beasts that roamed beyond the city walls, however further investigation suggested otherwise. It seemed as though whoever had killed the young man had done so after removing various bodily organs. In spite of the violent appearance of the crime, it seemed clear that some being of intelligence had committed it.

It was of this, and the more recent disappearance of Breckin Pryn, that the two men at the bar spoke. They shook their heads and took another long drink of their ale, lamenting the loss of such an upstanding citizens while paying no attention to the figure that he just brushed past them, heading into a more secluded area of the bar. He sipped from a tall glass of Orryxian Catsblood and listened with a subdued sense of pride as the cantina buzzed with talk of his latest handiwork.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Disappearances and reappearances of people, especially when they reappeared dead and missing several vital organs, were interesting. The name of the deceased was not given, pending identification and notification of his family, but he was male, and missing innards.

It was gruesome barroom talk, but the people of Onderon were well acquainted with trouble. The fact that what had happened to the young man seemed to have been dealt by a sentient being just titilated the gossip that mumbled around the darkened and smoky room. He'd been missing his limbs (found later, gnawed on by beasts from the wilds); or he had been found strung up and tattooed with various Mandalorian curses as a sacrifice to some hideous god of war. In one version the boys entrails had been removed; in another he was missing only his heart and eyes.

Lilaena sipped her ale slowly as she soaked in the information, eyes drawn to the vidscreen as the newsticker kept running the same story over and over again, interspersed with updates on the galactic world at large. It had finally reached Onderon that there had been a battle at Endor, and the Emperor and his second had both been killed by the Rebels.

It was this news that had sent Lilaena to her cups, and she was studiously downing her fifth ale as a man sat down in her area of the room with a tall glass of red Orryxian Catsblood. She only knew what it was because she'd earned twenty credits two beers earlier by downing twenty Ondorean ounces of the vile stuff.

Still, twenty credits was twenty credits.

Deep down she was ashamed at her behavior. A true Jedi would rejoice that the evil Palpatine had been destroyed, and the traitor Anakin Skywalker along with him. A true Jedi would not be sitting in the corner of a bar, too drunk to walk, letting males goad her into drinking games at the counter. Even so, she'd drunk the drink in one go, and her opponent hadn't managed to drink half of the drink. Drunk half of the drunk. Drink.

Lilaena steadied herself with her hands around her tankard, glaring away her 'friend' from the bar. She should not be going around without A'na Eldhil's cloak on. It grounded her. Reminded her of who she was. A'na Eldhil would never act like this. She never even drank alchohol, let alone in a bar with men who would leer at her.

Lilaena rubbed her temples, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyelids. No, no, no! A'na Eldhil would never cry in public.

The man who'd lost the bet against her earlier slid into the booth opposite her and planted his drink on the table between them. "Look, love, whoever he is, he isn't worth all this. C'mon, let's go dance." He gestured over to where a few people were enthusiastically turning a few jigs in the middle of the room. "Take your mind off the bastard that broke your heart."

"No." No thank you, Lilaena. "Thank you." The woman scrubbed at her eyes, realising that if her mood was readily apparent to this man, it was probably going to be the subject of conversation the moment she left. If she could leave. "No, no, thank you, but I'd rather just be left alone." Lilaena offered him a tremulous smile, but her emptiness fled as irritation crept in when he pressed the invitation.

"C'mon, dancing!" He pulled at her arm as he got to his feet, and Lilaena found herself upright before she realized what he was doing. His meaty hands steadied her, and then his hot beer breath was in her face as his hands roamed over her tunic.

Anger flashed through the haze, and she knocked him out. Just pulled back, threw a punch, and sent the man to the floor.

Wearily, Lilaena sank back into her booth, and sat with her back to the wall, feet on the seat and knees tucked up against her. What would she do now? Palpatine was gone - who would she exact her revenge against? She had even deactivated IG-88 to avenge Master A'na Eldhil's death, and melted down the parts to prevent them ever to be used again.

The worry in the tavern over the missing boy (even if it was exciting, it was a terrible, terrible thing) was secondary to Lilaena's own worry. Twenty-nine years old, and now anchorless. Those damn Rebels.

She didn't realize she spoke the last sentance aloud, just as she did not realize that the booth she had returned to was not hers. The newcomer with the glass of Orryxian Catsblood sat across from her, silent so far at the intrusion into his space.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

A small portion of the bar had become alight with chatter and disapproving talk. Even in their drunken stupor the men managed to summon up some indignation at the fact that one of their drinking buddies had just been floored by a slip of a woman. A few calls of ‘frigid bitch’ were heard above the general murmur, as wary glances were shot in Lilaena’s direction. One man looked as though he was about to stumble, perhaps unintentionally, towards where she now sat – but quickly thought better of it.

“Those damn Rebels indeed.”

Coldly, the pale newcomer smirked. It seemed that already they had something in common, aside from their shared appreciation for quality time spent alone.

“Don’t drown yourself over that old bastard’s death. The Empire lives on.”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Lilaena's eyes slid over to the man, and shook her head. "You wouldn't unnerstand." She ran her hands over her face, imagining that she could feel the lines that were starting to show on her skin. Laugh lines, crows feet - she was old!

She also couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. Life was no laughing matter, it seemed. Lilaena cracked a wry grin at the thought, and emptied her ale. "Sorry to bother you." She thought about moving, but felt too tired.

Too tired to continue Master A'na Eldhil's mission of revenge?

What can I do? The Emperor has died, and I'm sitting here with my dick in my hand. Figuratively speaking. She felt lightheaded, and unsually dense, the paradox making her cautious about moving. "A minute and I will be out of your hair." She looked at her companion in the booth, and ammended, "Ah, um. Figuratively speaking."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

When under the influence of intoxication, people – Vega observed – seemed to become incredibly introspective. It looked as if this woman was no exception and was unlikely to move as a result. A small part of him decided that, given the lack of other entertainment present, this woman would have to provide his evenings amusement.

“No need. Sit… have another ale. Tell me why the Emperors death is such a tragedy.”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She waved off the second ale, ordering a glass of water to try to clear her head. "Well, I don't know that it's a tragedy, persay - he should have died a long time ago if you ask me."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

Van-Derveld reclined. Things were getting a little more interesting. Leisurely, he sipped on the Catsblood. “… if you don’t mind my asking, then, why is it that your’re upset? You’ve gotten what you wanted, haven’t you?”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Lilaena was staring at her hand, lifting it in front of her face and flexing her fingers one by one, as if experimentally. She clenched it into a fist and then held it open, as though cupping the air.

Almost dreamily, in the haze of alchohol she murmured, "The only satisfactory way would have been by my hands... He deserved more than simply death." Her green eyes tracked to the man across the table from her, and her hand abruptly erupted in a ball of white hot flames. "Vengence was to be mine. But no more." The fire disappeared, and it was as though it had never existed.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

“So much anger…”

The urge to grin was almost irresistible.

“To whom will you turn that burning wrath now?”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Lilaena frowned angrily. "I do not know yet. I have a lot of... research to do first."

Suddenly realizing how freely she was speaking with a stranger, she looked at him with new eyes. Even in her drunken haze the Force was there, and it indicated the truth to her. "You are knowledgeable in the ways of the Force." It wasn't a question, and luckily no one else in the noisy bar heard her. "What is your business here?"

Lilaena straightened up in her seat, trying to look stern, and then she vomited up all the ale she'd been drinking.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

As the woman spat the contents of her stomach across the bar-room floor, Vega scarcely blinked. A little bile was nothing out of the ordinary for him. After all, he had been to war – where they spent their days trudging through the blood, feces and vomit of others. It was the fact that she had singled him out with a Force user that was of more concern.

“No business. Just pleasure... and curiosity. I've heard a lot of rumours about Onderon.”

He lifted his glass, as though to take a drink, but instead continued: “Perhaps I could be of some help with your research...”

[Xenos]

There was a ruckus upon his entrance. Clad in a full suit of armor (of Mandalorian quality at that) and a BlasTech DLT-40a strap along his back, he came to sit at the bar. Several eyes came to meet his direction, known to him but avoided. It thought it best to ignore their voice, audible and echoing through his helm. With the recent news of a 'Breckin Pryn' and his dead body washing up at the edge of the city, Xenos had well aware of the talk about Mandalorian involvement. 'A trained and almost savage act' voiced many, barbaric even. But he'd seen footage of the body, examined the report as it passed hands.

"Doubtful Truths, double." he ordered, slamming a fisted gauntlet into the surface of the bar. "Now."

He'd seen the body first hand. Mandalorians weren't ones to miss a dead body. Clean cuts that almost rivalled his own, and the mangling was of course a nice touch.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Lilaena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Maybe... maybe." Her mind wandered over to the other reasearch she was conducting on Onderon.

"D'ya have a ship of your own?"

[Vega Van-Derveld]

“Of course.”

Briefly, Vega was distracted by the entrance of a tall figure in armour. The bar as a whole seemed to murmur disapprovingly at the sight of him, though the criticism seemed to have no effect. With a slight frown Van-Derveld looked back to his drunken companion.

“Is there somewhere you need to travel to? Don't you have a vessel of your own?”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

"Nah, nah... no ship. Too expensive." She edged her feet away from the mess she'd made on the floor, althought a serving droid was whirring over to clean it up.

The bartender was appraising her condition as well, while he mixed the drink for what appeared to be a Mandalorian. Which was impossible - Mandalorians weren't allowed in the city. They were enemies of the humans, after all.

Unless Mandalorians were humans under all that armour. Lilaena made a waving motion with her hand, chasing away her random thoughts. "I may need to travel soon. Somewhere close."

She lurched to her feet, trying to get out before the bartender sent someone over to throw her out.

[Xenos]

Watching as the people paid him little attention, none of which was that of the barkeep, nor the serving droid that'd rolled back and forth a number of times since his entrance. Behind the helm, he made a face which had it been removed, would've warned those within local vicinity. 'Alright. Be like that.' he thought. Reaching into his utility belt, he fingered around the various tools and trinkets until his fingers finally came to grip his target. Mandos weren't known for their patience, after all.

Slaming it onto the counter, he spoke.

"You have.. lets say, five seconds before you're all blown to bits."

Releasing the object and removing his hand, he crossed his arms over his chest as he watched them squirm at what he'd placed down.

"You'd best choose quickly... thermal detonators aren't known for their patience."

Several outbursts of 'you're crazy!'s and 'you'll kill us all!'s rang out, yet no 'here, here, now turn it off's. Onderon was a strange bunch. A very nervous bunch, he noted.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

Up on his feet before Lilaena could fall over, Vega put one arm around her shoulders, to steady the womans balance. “Careful now.”

There was bound to be something to be gained from helping her, if was sure of it. She had shown herself to be a Force user capable of some feats, yet one who appeared to lack direction. If he could not learn from her, or bend her to his will, then he would certainly have a pretty new plaything.

“Let's get you some fresh air...”

Just as Van-Derveld was about to guide the inebriated De'Ville out of the bar, a roar of protest went up through the room. He looked over his shoulder and saw the familiar pulsing red-light of an active thermal detonator coming from the bar counter. The last thing he wanted was to get embroiled in this petty conflict. With this in mind, he urged Lilaena towards the door.

[Xenos]

"I'd suggest a few of you follow their example," nodding his head towards the fleeing two. "while I continue to wait for my drink here."

He had time to kill. After all, he had little doubt that the authorities had gotten word of the Mandalorian in Onderon, and were heading towards him as the seconds passed. One way or another, he'd get into trouble, so why not make the most of it? Tapping his thickened fingers against the counter in wait, he counted down the blinking light and the seconds that were passing..

Just as the bartender was handing him a bottle, there was a mass flash from within close vicinity of his person. A second too late, a nerve too bold. Snagging the bottle from his grasp, he clenched the thermal detonator just before the explosion took place. The warning light was a nice touch, his own if anyone elses.

Instead of moving it towards his mouth, he directed it to his canteen. Unscrew it with a little melody, he poured the contents into the emptied bottle and rescrewed it.

"Good going." he said to the bartender, throwing back the bottle and heading out. Stopping at the door, he produced a thumbs up sign before rounding the corner and heading out. He was on the hunt, after all, for the one who'd so recently directed attention back on the Mandalore. It was a Mandalorian curse alright, and he was about to find the next sacrifice.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She leaned against the stranger, oblivious to the uproar in the bar behind them as he hurried them out the door. The cool night air seemed to make her a little more alert, though it was the coolness of a jungle - still humid despite the late hour.

They walked in silence for a few moments, then Lilaena recalled that she should not just be going wherever this bald man wanted to take her. She stopped still, swaying a little as she slipped out from his grasp. "Thank you for the es... escort. I shall be fine now."

[Xenos]

Not yet drawing any weaponary just yet, he would do this peacefully. Or, as peacefully as a Mandalorian could do in such a situation. He had a vendetta to continue, it seemed. Someone within the walls had made it seem the death was of Mandalorian origin, or their practice. Though he admited, it was one good kill, it wasn't Mando worthy.

Secret entrances and the like obtained through.. slightly less legal means, he penetrated the walls and continued onward. Considering in his mind's eye the most recent events since coming in through the cracks of their walls, figuratively speaking of course.

"Those two left awful quickly.." he said aloud, beginning now to tail them. Turning the corner, he quickly flinched back in seeing the two. He knew better than to come out so quickly. He'd wait this out, and see what he could find out of it.