I met one of Lord Ixor’semo’s friends a couple of nights back.
Uncultured, tattooed, loud, probably uneducated Lethan man.
What a shame he ruined his looks with those gaudy, uneven looking tattoos; you’d think someone with such a desirable skin pigment would be less prone to wanting to mar it with drawings. Perhaps he believes it will make him less desirable to slavers, or perhaps he’s little more than a child with a marker and a blank wall.
The man was friendly enough, of course, despite only introducing himself as Kaz, but so—low class.
On the positive side, he wasn’t a drunk, doesn’t appear to be a regular spice user and, despite his lack of social refinement, does appear to have his head screwed on straight. I do wish those hunter types would realize that they are allowed to wear things that don’t have gas cylinders, small engines, and dirty metal bits attached to various parts, however.
Division comm chatter has been more quiet than usual as of late which, given the recent circumstances surrounding Darth Arannek, is not surprising; I would imagine that Achai is busy scraping up the remnants and reassigning the few Agents of Arannek’s that remain to tasks that are likely less horrible in nature.
As for my Master’s behavior, it’s hardly changed. He comes and goes as usual, we have tea, he talks at me (and occasionally does ask my opinion on something, usually related to his ghastly clothing), and I have been aiding him in going through a backlog of datacrons and the occasional holocron.
Interesting enough work, I suppose.
Augmentation kits seem to have made me rather wealthy, not to mention selling a near closet-fully of gaudy, ugly violet robes.
It’s almost a pity that I’ve got nothing to spend it on. Now that I’ve said, that, of course, I’d be willing to bet that the hyperdrive on my ship blows out or something else equally expensive falls into my lap in the form of an invoice.
Somewhat tempting to see if I can convince Bi’ev to sell me a Darth title.
Silly thought, that. He’d either find it amusing or insulting, and I don’t know that I’m willing to place a bet on amusing.
I seem to have a female admirer of sorts.
She’s rather intimidating; large Pureblood woman.
Evidently, I’m enough of a gentleman and reasonably decent looking. I can’t argue with that, though I just consider the former basic social skills.
She had asked to catch up, as we hadn’t spoken in some time. We ended up at the Nexus Room cantina, and ran into a few people we both knew, most notably Agent Worms. She introduced us to another agent, Caspira, I believe. Obisen stopped by later, though we rarely talk. He seems to be a bit—odd around me, as if I somehow make him uncomfortable.
A few others came and went, though I can’t recall who.
After several hours of conversation, and my being rather oblivious to the silence and blushing (Honestly, how DO you tell if a red skinned alien is blushing if they also have red blood?) she mentioned that she was quite taken with me, couldn’t believe I was single, and found herself highly confused as she did not typically find herself attracted to men.
Let alone alien men.
Rather flattering, really, though she seems the sort that might be able to crush skulls with her thighs. If nothing else, she is decent conversation on a friendly level and doesn’t refer to me as ‘alien’.
Lord Setekh asked me if I knew my Master well.
He followed that up with, “I’m curious, should there be trouble between some under Darth Arannek…your Master strikes me as the type to stay out of it mostly, yes?”
This doesn’t bode well.
Time to fall back into the background and watch.
In the past week, via my Master, I have learned the following things:
I did remember to wish him a happy birthday, though his reply was along the lines of me only being pleased he was one year closer to the grave.
It’s not entirely incorrect, so I did not argue.
I quite like this planet.
There are so many archaeological dig sites that are, for whatever reason, avoided or ignored by the Voss but open to anyone who can get the Gormak (or the Republic) out of the way.
I have no issues with getting those things out of my way.
The history here is amazing, though some of it seems to be a bit damning to the Empire’s chances on this planet; I should destroy it or take it to someone, but they’d likely destroy it.
I can’t seem to bring myself to do that, so I leave it where it is.
Some idiot claiming to be an Agent with Imperial Intelligence tried to bark orders at me in Voss-Ka. He didn’t take it kindly when I reminded him that neither he nor the Empire were the authority here and that it was the Voss who were in charge of the city, including both enclaves.
He then threatened to arrest me, to which I laughed.
Then came the threat of being shot.
He backed down when I reminded him that acting so foolishly in Voss-Ka could, in effect, sway the Voss to side with the Republic and that he would likely be arrested and executed by the authority he claimed to represent if that were to happen—and even if it weren’t to happen, he has literally no authority either over a Sith or anyone in Voss-Ka.
I do not take orders from Imperial Intelligence (on Voss or otherwise) unless they come from one of my superiors or one of the Voss directly, and even then, I require proof beyond, “I said so.”
Eventually, he gave up and, seemingly upset that I wasn’t intimidated by him, stomped off complaining loudly about Sith ‘elitists’.
(( Cleaned up RP log between Taz’hezyst and sober!Dytelo. ))
Dytelo trudged into the Voss-ka cantina with a cold glare in his eye. As he entered, he spied is old friend Taz’hezyst. “I’m dry sober and you invite me to a CANTINA?!”
“Did I say we’d -stay- in the cantina?” Taz’hezyst smiled, shrugging idly “It was the only place, offhand, that I could remember by name. I’m still not used to anything on this planet, especially their naming conventions for buildings.”
The Twi’lek stretched a bit, and paused to wrap his lekku around his neck and shoulders, ”Perhaps we could take a walk, if it’s not too much effort, of course.”
“A walk would be -wonderful-.” Dytelo may have just mocked himself as he turned to leave the wine-filled room without giving Taz’hezyst any time to catch up.
Typical Sith behavior, at least, to Taz’hezyst. He was more than used to his own Master acting in a similar manner and knew well enough how to fall back in step. After all, falling behind would just be irritating, “I see you’re a bit more—Sith-like. I actually prefer it. Any place in particular you’d like to go?”
“Since this was your bright idea” Dytelo sneered, “and since I shouldn’t be near alcohol, away from the cantina is priority. I don’t even know this city, do you?!”
“I know how to get away from it, either by shuttle or by transport back to my ship—I also know that I get relatively dirty looks if I wander into areas that the Republic considers ‘theirs’.” He shrugged lightly, “It’s a decent enough looking place to simply wander aimlessly and, unlike Nar Shaddaa, it’s highly unlikely that anyone will attempt to harvest our organs.”
Taz’hezyst stopped speaking, at least for a moment, as they passed a group of Voss, “Would you prefer to walk in seething silence, or actually attempt conversation? Either way suits me, though I’m not in a terribly seeth-y mood.”
Dytelo stopped mid-stride to gaze leeringly at Taz. “I make nice a lot better with wine. But I’ll do my best.” He turned to walk forward, “When are you killing your master?”
The Twi’lek smiled politely in return, “I’m sure you do, however, I didn’t ask to meet you like this so you could ‘make nice’; it was to get to know you. As for my Master,” he made a somewhat dismissive noise, “When it happens, it happens. I’m not so stupid as to challenge him if I am not absolutely certain that I will win.”
“Good. As long as you plan to carry it out. So many of weaker blood refuse to kill their master because they -care-.” He turned his head to nodded at the Twi’lek firmly. “Come, join me, stand beside me. We are the same rank.”
“The only thing about which I care is seeing Tholgeth fall prior,” Taz’hezyst did not openly acknowledge the request to walk beside Dytelo beyond simply falling into step next to the smaller man, “I would love nothing more than to see my Master’s favored—and for no reason other than blood—apprentice be snuffed out. Preferably by me, but I’ll happily take a lucky accident as well.”
“That Tholgeth is a stain. I’d pay we to see his death.” Dytelo spat on the ground near him, giving an unintelligble grumble.
“I don’t know what my Master sees in him, aside from red skin. I suspect the only reason he’s still alive is that he’s brute-forced his way past Death.” The Twi’lek shook his head sharply, causing one of his lekku to fall free.
With a quick, almost silent curse in his native tongue, he shovedthe stray tendril back into place, “As far as I can tell, he was only taken on to spite me and remind me that I am not, in fact, ‘pureblooded’—no offense intended, of course.”
The Pureblood scoffed coldly, “I’d offer my services to help you, if I didn’t have a master of my own to kill.”
Tholgeth is excellent at reminding me as to why I dislike spending time around him.
He’s arrogant, stupid, and rude.
The only redeeming feature I see in him is that he makes an excellent—the term I heard used for his type on Nar Shaddaa—meat shield.
He can take a hit, and my own skill with the Force makes it effortless to keep him alive and generally not bleeding.
Jude has, evidently, re-defected back to the Republic.
I can’t say that it bothers me; it took every ounce of self control to even be civil to him. No idea what Dytelo ever saw in him aside from the fact that, perhaps, he was a ‘sure thing’, so to speak.
Speaking of which—Dytelo, not ‘sure things’—I haven’t spoken to Dytelo in some time. I should probably do that; it never hurts to stay on good terms with another Darth’s power base.
My own Master is aware of it and has passively approved.
I get the feeling that he enjoys being overlooked and ignored as a non-issue.
I’m not entirely sure what happened between my Master and Tholgeth, but my Master showed up to the ship in one hell of a state. I’ve never seen him limp before. Says that was just from kicking Tholgeth’s armor in a small fit of pique.
Seems like a stupid thing to do, considering the type of boots that he wears, but—
His voice was off. Harsher than it usually is. Didn’t have to ask about that; when he lowered his hood there were clearly marks left by Force. I’ve seen people choked with it before, I know what it leave behind. The way he was moving gave the distinct impression that he was quite injured in general.
Evidently, he thought me too weak to bother to take a strike against him.
He’s only half correct. I could have killed him easily in that state, but that would have been quite stupid of me.
It’s one thing to handle a half-crippled Darth, but it’s quite another to deal with Tholgeth. I know I can’t beat Tholgeth, and I know that my Master is likely the one thing keeping Tholgeth from turning me into a bloody stain on a remote pathway somewhere.
It’s in my best interests to become indispensable to Bi’ev.
So, I healed him.
Well, as best as I could. He wasn’t exactly willing, but not entirely in a place to fight back with any real effort either.
On that topic, Esk—that Mando Rattataki—not the brightest woman I’ve met. She was going on and on over a public comm channel about wanting Dytelo and Jude to leave her in peace; figured I’d offer a subtle hand as a ‘tip’ for the information she’d been giving me and told them both to back off and let her be.
…and she turned right around and told them where she was, then invited them to come and meet with her.
Despite how it may seem outwardly, I genuinely dislike being made to look stupid and, when it’s not a Sith who outranks me, I’m not inclined to take it quietly.
(( This is a cleaned up RP log that has been reposted with permission from Dytelo’s player. It may be further edited as I notice things that need editing. ))
“Don’t look at me, apprentice.” Taz’hezyst could feel Bi’ev’s smirk more than see it, “You’re the one who gave the casual mention of feeling sorry for Greaves’ toy, not me, and you somehow got a hold of his private frequency. Go on, play nice—as nice as Sith play, at any rate.”
The Twi’lek rubbed his forehead, “You are, of course, correct, Master—and it wasn’t a ‘somehow’, he gave it to me directly. Could I at least use the ship’s main holo? I’ve got work to do and can keep it nearby and out of the picture if I’m out here.”
“Of course, of course.” The older Sith waved a gloved hand dismissively, and turned to leave, “Oh, and before I forget, what is that frequency? I doubt I’ll have cause to use it, but it never hurts to have such things on hand.”
“D23.6Y7.80T.E15.5L3.00O.” Taz’hezyst’s reply was mumbled; a combination of both answering his Master and entering the frequency into the main holo. Pausing, he waited for the nod of acknowledgment and for Bi’ev to get out of line of sight before attempting to open a connection to Dytelo’s private holofrequency.
He stepped back from the console, straightened, and, at the very least, made more than a cursory attempt to appear proper. One never knew if it would be the apprentice or his Master that would be present, after all.
An aged Twi’lek entered Dytelo’s chamber. He gave a deep bow, “My master—”
Dytelo clicked his tongued with a smile as he smiled playfully at the slave. “No, no, no, Pyrah, what have I said? My name is Dytelo. I call you by -your- name, don’t I?”
The slave gave a groan, and replied, “Yes, Dytelo, you do.” Dytelo nodded and took a sip of his wine, “Now, try it again— with my name, this time.”
Pyrah left the room, and Dytelo settled back as he waited. His brow perked as his holocommunicator flashed. “Hmn? Pyrah, don’t come back, we’ll practice this later.” Dytelo reached over to accept the transmission, taking his wine as he waited for the the caller to appear.
“Ah, good morning—or afternoon, it’s close enough to be either I suppose,” Taz’hezyst dipped into a shallow, half-hearted bow, “Dytelo, wasn’t it? It’s Taz’hezyst. We met last evening Kaas City, if you don’t recall.”
“I realized,” he turned, not waiting for a response, and walked back to the ship’s couch, “that I’d forgotten to give you my holofrequency before you left. My apologies,” the Twi’lek settled back, kicking his feet up onto the table, “It was not an intentional oversight, and I did not have the chance to get in contact with you yesterday. Ended up speaking with that group of Twi’lek for some time, actually.”
“I cannot and, of course, would not presume to, apologize for their behavior,” he idly examined the back of one of his hands, “however, it is unfortunate that you felt uncomfortable enough to leave.”
Dytelo blinked as the fuzzy blue image of yesterday’s Twi’lek flashed alive. He smiled brightly and clapped his hands together. “T!! How wonderful it is to see you again! I’m so happy you contacted me! How have you been?! What have you been up to since we last spoke?!”
“I would prefer,” Taz’hezyst forced a somewhat convincing smile. Though he made an effort to keep the irritation out of his voice, it would have been evident to anyone listening, “if you’d call me by my name. I believe I’ve asked you to do at least three times, including just now. It’s a bit dehumanizing that you refuse, and gives the impression that you don’t consider my wishes on the matter to be valid or worth considering.”