Public Areas - Wet Deck and Hangar Scramble

Cuyan chuckled grimly as Sentriss entered and spoke to him, rising heavily from his seat. He was old now, and the exertion had taken a toll on his body, but he was steady as he pulled a silk cloth off the shield.
"This is the first of it's kind, likely the only one there ever will be. My skill is not as great as that of my father, but I can say without arrogance that I am the best that remains. Pick it up, move with it, you will see it is light for it's size. Careful at the rim, and the trigger for the vibrocell is on the forward strap, easy to reach. It will protect you from any small arms with which I am familiar, as well as blades and blunt force of all kinds. I trust you shall find it worthy."

After another spirited outburst of verging on navy blue language in both binary and mando'a, a tall and massively muscled figure covered in mandalorian style power armor emerged from the cockpit of Donnybrook. Like many mandalorians, he was heavily armed, carrying guns, blades, and armor mounted weaponry. The visor of his helmet hissed and came apart, retracting into the back half, revealing a young and mirthful face. A panel on his armor opened and he pulled a thick cigarra from within, putting it to his lips and lighting it with a small flame from his vambrace. He saw a service droid and called over to it in mando'a
"Vaii olyay bejapr e'tad- z?"

The droid directed him, and he followed, making his way to meet this Sentriss, as his brother had asked. He would have to visit with ori'vod another time, there was work that needed doing. A few minutes later he found the ship and approached the Devaronian at the ramp, smiling as he smoked his cigarra.
"Ni cuyi tarja Sentriss"

She was just passing through this outfit, on her way to meet her soon-to-be business partner for the adventure of a lifetime. They’d just devised their plan, she and her Pantoran friend; and soon, they would be together to bring that plan to fruition. In the meantime, though, the petty pirates she found herself among had been excellent hosts for what they were. And they were an interesting bunch, to be sure. But their perspectives were predictably, depressingly limited.

She had no time for limits.

So, there she was, mind already a galaxy ahead, loitering with the rest of the crew in close proximity to their ship, the Sweet Slice, when she caught sight of their pick up, the alleged ‘muscle’ of the op. He was a somber looking man with a datapad. He looked nothing at all like the beefy meat shield she’d been expecting him to be. Shame.

As he stepped aboard, she was close enough to hear that there would be a second following on his heels. Then, sure enough, a rowdy giant turned up a few short minutes later. Surprisingly young in the face, and quarreling with his astromech, she was happy to see that this guy, at least, looked every inch like a proper bruiser. And it made her wonder why the leader of this outfit had even bothered with the first one. But then, maybe somber man had hidden depths, or whatever.

Either way, she was only there temporarily, as a final, parting favor for a friend before she moved on to the aforementioned bigger, better things that awaited her. Survival aside, unlike the rest of the crew, she was not entirely dependent on the success of the operation. She would play her part to the best of her ability, of course, but that’s where her path forward diverged from the crew’s.

And that knowledge was as liberating to her as it was exhilarating.

Spurred by it despite herself, she found herself approaching the two newest arrivals as the ship took off. Waving at them with a flourish, she offered a rakish grin as she introduced herself, “Greetings, mystery men. I am Yoko Ohnaka, and I find myself charmed by your outlandishness.”

Kohnyn took his helmet off all the way, letting his thick black braids fall free. He looked not unlike his older brother Cuyan, but greyer in skin tone and sharper in features, with eyes of sea green instead of emerald. Kohnyn had his mother's eyes, and was clearly far younger than Cuyan. He pulled his cigarra out of his mouth and chuckled. His accent like a modified version of his brother's.
"So you've met ori'vod eh? Don't worry burc'ya, Mirta and her sisters here guarantee my safety."
His whole body seemed to sort of shrug, as if gesturing to his entire armament at once.
"I'm good to go."

Final necessaries were exchanged, and they all went their separate ways while the Sweet Slice lifted off and blasted into space, heading for Raxus

He was heard, before he was seen. But not in the way that most would remember.

Usually heralded by the sound of heavy footfalls, the Dark Lord's mere presence used to announce itself in an ominous rhythm. This time was different, however. Rather than the solid 1-2 of heavy boots meeting the floor, it was an arrhythmic tapping.

Clack...Clack...Clack Clack...Then a steady pause, then Clack...Clack...Clack.

The passenger listed as 'The Broken Chalice' appeared in the threshold of the hangar bay entrance. The name was appropriate - while not wholly obvious, a decade of torture and isolation had taken a toll on Dolmin's passenger. Clad in thick black robes which covered most of his skin, little and less could be made of the identity of the man. Even so, the hulking Herglic would see why the man earned this moniker. He was quite large for a human, that much could be seen even through the blanketing robes - and while Dolmin was far larger (by almost 3 feet), he could still see that this humanoid was larger than most in his species- yet while the passenger was large, he appeared hunched and was walking with a cane, giving him the appearance of an elderly hermit.

The figure took slow, steady steps, he closed the distance between them. As he approached, the Herglic would see him sweep his eyes across the entire hangar - though this could only be indicated in the subtle way of his hood, as he swept left, to right. Veterans were known to do this - looking for potential exits, cover and anything that gave them an advantage in an ambush.

Clack...Clack...Clack...

The man had finally closed the gap between them. He did not remove his hood, though his head tilted upwards, as he looked at his hulking escort. The hangar lights managed to illuminate a part of his chin and neck, revealing a light stubble of stark silver, contrasting against the bold black of his Sith Tattoos which lined his chin and neck. The tattoos seemed abnormal in contrast to the stubble and the pale tone of the mans skin. The man was silent for a few seconds, and in those seconds, Dolmin could see a light tremor in the hand which gripped the wooden staff. It was only present for a second before subsiding. He spoke out in a deep voice, one which reverberated in his chest, and seemed to not belong to him.

"I hear you are the one to take me to Manaan. Am I correct?"

The figure leaned into his staff, bringing himself to an upright posture. He reached up, grabbing the hood by its hem, then pulled it down to his shoulders. He was far from handsome - his features were square and rugged. The silver hair atop his head seemed rather thin, and the scars and wrinkles across his face were evidence of him living a hard life. The tattoos that could be seen beneath the hood stretched from his neck to his lower lip, ending in jagged points akin to the maw of some beast. His nose was slightly crooked - as though it was broken one-too-many times. However, what stood out the most were his eyes. They were pale blue, akin to floating ice in a sea. Yet they were bold, and intense, and seemed out of place for one who appeared so broken. His eyes locked with those of his transporter - such a stare would make most uneasy.

His eyes were unforgiving, unbending and unwavering. Where the rest of him appeared frail, his eyes were the only things that seemed alive and well.