|
|
Post by Whill Shaman Zauriel on Apr 30, 2013 9:50:45 GMT -8
Mainly used by - Ladies of the night - for certain services. Louie also rents out the few converted rooms he has on the second floor to those brave enough or stupid enough to pay to stay in such squallier.
|
|
Faust Skirata
Member
I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203 
Affiliation: The Priesthood
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Faust Skirata on Jun 16, 2014 9:32:16 GMT -8
The air took on an unpleasant musky smell as Faust climbed to the cantina's second floor. The steps creaked and groaned pitifully beneath his armored footfalls, and as the sounds of the bar faded away, that was the only noise left. The priest had assumed there would be business of another sort taking place on this level, but perhaps those sort of transactions only took place after dark. For now, at least, it seemed he was the only one on the second story.
The room he'd been given was near the stairs. A single flickering light panel illuminated the cramped quarters. Large enough for the cot, table, and few chairs that were its only furnishings, it boasted a floor of splintered plasteel construction material and walls of pitted ferrocrete. All in all, it almost reminded Faust of his cell back home, though it lacked his tools of worship, and the bloodstains.
Dragging one of the chairs over to the far corner and placing it so it faced the door, the priest seated himself. Laying his beskad across his knees, he brought his whetstone from within the pouch at his waist and began to sharpen the cruel blade. The scrape of metal on metal sent a forlorn ring echoing through the air. Gazing through the only window at the street below, Faust studied those passing by the cantina and absentmindedly continued his ministrations.
|
|
Trull Ordo
Member
Posts: 94
Affiliation: The Mandalorian Empire
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Trull Ordo on Jun 19, 2014 18:09:17 GMT -8
For a moment, Trull stared at the blank door. No doubt Faust had heard his boots on the steps, in the corridor. The Reaver within would be waiting for Trull, the priest who was technically his superior. Not only higher in the hierarchy, but a more seasoned warrior, and an elder. Faust had every reason to look for Trull's arrival with eager anticipation, seeking support and guidance from the old priest. Trull's fist was poised to knock, frozen in motion inches from the door. The thought of opening that door and seeing a welcoming smile on the Reaver's face was more painful the deepest wound. That smile would confirm the sense of betrayal that grew in Trull's stomach like a cancerous tumor.
Trull stood outside the door, looking like any old spacer. Not one of the vode. Wearing a minimum of weapons, a minimum of armor, Trull would never have stood out as anything more than an average dirt-under-your-shoes human. He knew no Mandalorian was required to constantly wear his armor - he himself had never considered that a hard rule, and would never require anybody else to abide by it. Yet now, standing out here without his iron skin, the priest had never felt more naked. The same phrase kept playing through his mind, resounding in his head like a hammer on an anvil: 'Resol'nare. Wear the armor. Resol'nare. Wear the armor. Resol'nare. Wear the armor.'
Trull clenched his teeth and his fist and beat against the door, rapping thrice. He had no choice; he was carrying his shame, and he would have to bear it without shirking.
|
|
Faust Skirata
Member
I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Faust Skirata on Jun 20, 2014 10:13:14 GMT -8
Faust opened the door just before the second knock fell, Ripper in hand. His sulfuric eyes scanned the arrival's features intensely, searching, and then a smile split his ruined features into a hideous grimace. The priest was hardly recognizable outside of his gam, but the Reaver knew every stern line that duty and suffering had etched into the older man's face. His gaze flickered over Trull's shoulder for the barest of instances, but he saw no sign of Darian. Had the war separated them, as well? Holstering the Ripper, Faust stepped back to allow the General admittance.
"Su cuy'gar, ori'vod," There was a hint of warmth in his rasping voice as he slapped a hand against the control panel, causing the door to slide shut again.
He had been waiting for this reunion for over a year, and especially in the months after news of the Mandalore's defeat at Yavin reached his ears. Yet now that it had finally come, the Reaver found himself speechless. He had never been a man of words; the loss of their fallen comrades and the fire in him that demanded skira, vengeance, were difficult to communicate. Still, Trull had to feel that loss too, and perhaps more profoundly due to his proximity. For the moment it was enough just to see his old mentor again.
"I thought you would come with the High Priest." Faust growled in Basic. Halting though it was, he had improved significantly since the last time the two men met face to face. "Unless he didn't survive."
The Destroyer God's avatar, slain? Perhaps. Kad had given him an order, not instructions. If it were true that Darian had fallen, then perhaps that would explain why he had chosen to gift a mere novice with his Voice. Who could say for sure? To guess at the motives of a God was useless, and to disobey was unthinkable. Whether the High Priest had survived or not was irrelevant; his path was set.
|
|
Darian Beviin
Member
Posts: 206
Affiliation: Kad Ha'rangir
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Darian Beviin on Jun 20, 2014 11:21:16 GMT -8
This was the meeting place chosen by the devout?
Darian strode up creaking stairs in abject disdain. He blinked slowly behind the visor of his buy'ce, flicking on the HoloNet and draping it across his HUD. The message was plain enough: this nondescript, desolate tavern on the backwater world of Tatooine. This unconsecreated, not-Mandalorian place, filled with the unclean and those who would willingly waste away. The High Priest was less than amused that their order had been reduced to this.
Nothing could be done of it by expressing distaste, though. Darian elected to brush off his desire to lash out and simply shook his head. Once he reached the top of the stairwell, Darian flipped the HUD off and removed his helmet. Sweat dripped from his disheveled hair and the tanned skin of his face. He snorted loudly.
"It reeks in here," he muttered. "I smell whore and sex."
He glanced toward the door closest to him, fingers flexing toward Gorehound. He could hear the groans and sighs of pleasure beyond the threshold. Darian yearned to make sacrifice to Kad Ha'rangir. "Just as soon would I send all of them to hell," he seethed through gritted teeth, "than remain in this place."
Clearing his throat, the High Priest of Kad called loudly out in his commanding voice, "Faust'ika," it boomed with authority, "tell me where to find you, that I might gouge out your eyes."
Gorehound spun on the palm of his hand, and it bit deeply into the door. He heard the muffled screams of the pair fucking beyond, but his face remained devoid of satisfaction. "He brings us to a house of sins and slights in the name of the Destroyer God," Darian clicked his tongue. The rage was quickly coming upon him. He ripped the axe downward and the door split from his effort. The Priest thought he could see hurried movement beyond, but he paid it no heed.
"Where did I go wrong," Darian mused as he turned down the hall and headed toward where he heard Faust call back from. He felt like a father who's son had erred, and he was now forced to chide the poor boy. It reminded him of his son, and Darian winced. Uneasy was the life of a shepherd when the flock went astray.
|
|
Trull Ordo
Member
Posts: 94
Affiliation: The Mandalorian Empire
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Trull Ordo on Jun 20, 2014 16:42:30 GMT -8
"Su cuy'gar, vod'ika," Trull replied, startled at how easily the reply came back to his lips. Of course he had no reason to be surprised at his own fluency in his mother tongue, or at his reflex in replying to one of his favorite disciples and closest friends - yet at the same time, the familiarity of the words was unfamiliar to him. It had been months since he had greeted any man, or even greeted a man as a brother. Trull reflexively clasped his brother's hand and smiled warmly, and for an instant his shame melted away in the fire of rekindled brotherhood.
Then the moment passed, the door slid closed again, and Trull was alone with Faust in the dirty room. Neither spoke. Trull had nothing to say - what was he supposed to say? Ask how the Reaver's life was faring? Such trite drivel had no place between two men with history like theirs. The priest stared emptily at a blank wall, listening to muffled squeals of carnal pleasure. The sounds brought a mirthless smile to his lips. The air smelled of sweat and dust and mold and stale sex: the smells of dirty life.
Trull turned and stared blankly at the Reaver for a moment, as if he hadn't heard him. He blinked slowly and looked away. He didn't know what had happened to Darian, in all truth. The idea of the High Priest being killed was surprisingly possible, yet absurd. The galaxy could no more consume itself than Darian Beviin could fall under the Destroyer's blade. Trull couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen his superior or spoken to him. All the same, Trull was convinced that the High Priest was still alive, for no other reason than that he was certain the Beviin warrior was almost unkillable.
"No," Trull replied in Basic, indulging the Reaver's efforts to learn the tongue. "He and I parted ways some time past, but as far as I know he's still alive." Trull snorted. "I don't know how anything could kill him, anyway." The priest was sweating. Faust hadn't batted an eye at Trull's casual appearance, but Darian, if he arrived, would miss nothing. Part of him wanted to run, to leave then and there and return to the cold void. It would be easier, simply drifting among the stars until Time, that greatest of murderers, dispatched his soul into the ether. Trull refused to succumb to that blatant cowardice, however.
Just then, like the Destroyer's blade ringing in the scabbard, came Darian's shout, and Trull's scalp tingled. A mirthless grin fermented on his mouth, and he turned to the Reaver.
"That answer your question?"
|
|
Faust Skirata
Member
I'm the Juggernaut, bitch.
Posts: 203
Affiliation: The Priesthood
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Faust Skirata on Jun 21, 2014 12:40:36 GMT -8
The warrior's smile slowly shrank as the silence stretched on. It was obvious that something was weighing heavily upon the older priest, but what? He was a solemn man, it was true, and chose to face his duty with grim resolve rather than gleeful indulgence like Faust, but something was different about him. Had the war really changed him so much? What horrors could it have possibly held, to bleed the peace from a man literally raised on the battlefield?
Such contemplations brought a shine of anticipation to the Reaver's gaze, but he doused it quickly as Trull broke the silence, his voice as empty as his eyes. He was right, though. The idea of Darian falling was unthinkable. The man was death incarnate, Kad's will made manifest. Yet Ashrah's holy crusade failing was unthinkable as well, and it had come to pass.
He had to ask.
"The Mandalore...is he-"
He would've recognized that voice had it been twenty years instead of just one, but that did nothing to alleviate the shock of hearing it again. It was Trull's grin that broke the hold of his surprise.
"Ha!" Faust's flayed lips curved into a smile as genuine as Trull's was false. "He sounds...upset."
Turning away from him, the Reaver slapped the control panel and the door slid open once more, revealing the armored figure's approach. If there had been any doubt, the sight of Darian's armor erased it for good. It was the same set he'd worn while they had worked as beroya together. His grin widened and then suddenly faltered as he caught sight of Darian's expression. Upset indeed, he mused. Adopting a more reserved expression the initiate stepped back, clearing the doorway for the newly arrived priest to enter.
"Aliit'alor," Faust bowed his head in solemn deference despite the wicked gleam in his yellow eyes. "You're late."
|
|
