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Savage Opress personals do not follow →NAVIGATION←

[nightbrcther]

↳ SAVAGE OPRESS of TCW with secondary Nightsister muse

zaff // she/they // 25+ // blog remade 12.22.2020 (first iteration 2016) very low activity // semi-selective // personals do not interact

↳  rules & info

[nightbrcther]

Just business. Bolgan and Sukh in a scene from my longform rp with @prvtocol (A Pyke from their faction was stealing product from Gorak's faction so they travel to Toshara to get rid of the Pyke.)

[prvtocol]

Let Me Freshen Up

[soranatus]

NIGHTBROTHER TRAGEDIES THE CLONE WARS (2008-2020) MAUL - SHADOW LORD (2026-)

[prvtocol]

     The Zabrak’s confidence in Sahana’s strength eases one stretch of Brienne’s worries, only for others to tug harder. Are they really not safe? How long are they going to be here? Unease is magnified by the red aura permeating the atmosphere around them. She’d think it's toxic if not for breathing just fine.

     A polite smile coaxed by receiving his name (which she doesn't connect to its meaning in Basic) falters at the assumed profession; her response likewise stunted by the obstacle at her feet. Did she mishear, or did he say, sorceress? “Oh uh, no,” she tries to recover, lifting the hem of her green skirt and debating the angle at which to step. ”I’m a banker. I work at a bank on Coruscant.” Oh stars. She just repeated herself. 

     With an ungraceful step and delicate fabric nearly snagging, both heels reconnect with the uneven terrain on the other side of the trunk. “How about you, Mister Wrath? What do you do here?”

[nightbrcther]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ A 'banker'? Wrath doesn't know what that is. His thoughts go to the rivers that flow through Dathomir. The only logical connection that his mind can make is that perhaps her work has to do with riverbanks. Is she a water collector? He's heard of Coruscant before. Does Coruscant have riverbanks? Why would a water collector wear such hindering clothing? He watches the way she seems to struggle to even get over the challenging terrain. Maybe he could do her 'banker' job better than her.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I am a hunter and a fighter," though, really, most Nightbrothers are fighters. He supposes being an excellent tracker is what sets him apart from his brothers. "How are you a banker if you have very little muscle? Are all Coruscant bankers as skinny as you?"

[spaceprincessleia]

@swgifmakers event 1: Fight like ... a nightsister

[spcre-sith]

‎ ‎ Its crammed, loud, and the different kinds of street food make for a disorienting blast of scent and heat. Sunlight doesn't reach these levels on a good day, so the clash of neon light and lamps from the vendors make hoods and face coverings a little less necessary. It's easy cover.

‎ Feral dons a hood anyway. As a child, he'd been wistful of how the contrast between his skin and tattoos wasn't as strong nor distinctive as some of his kin's, now, he's grateful. The fresh fruit is usually a safe bet to buy; less tampering and grimy hands. He stops to grab one and weighs it in his hand, noticing the vendor perk up instantly. He's gotten better at haggling, lately. When he lifts the fruit, his sleeve slips, revealing traces of his tattoos in the stall light.

‎ Luam's horns are growing in. He's scratching at his simple cap, irritable as he waits by his hip, but with no markings at all, he blends completely into the crowd.

‎ Feral feels eyes on him after passing over the credits. Through elbows and past shoulders, he sees a Pyke sitting leisurely by himself, and his insides seize. His stare lingers, and he wonders. Wonders if he should slip away with his charge, or investigate.

[nightbrcther]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Though his caution over potential germs may keep him from buying takeout from this street vendor, the smoky aromas wafting from the cook's sizzling pan does remind Bolgan's stomach that it's been long enough since his last meal. The pyke's eyes draw toward the other stalls in the market area. Silks, vegetables, spices... fruit. Should he buy something from the fruit stall? What type of fruit even is it? From his seat, he tries to look past the cloaked person and their smaller companion standing in front of the stall.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He has to double-take when the one turns around. Golden eyes. Brown tattoos on strange skin. That is a zabrak -- the type he is looking for. Now what are you doing here? Bolgan's gaze is locked in.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He stands from his seat at the food stall and his gloved hand goes to feel the weight of the A-180 blaster pistol strapped to his thigh. His eyes momentarily flick away from the zabrak duo to find two droid cops rounding the corner into the market. Can't make a scene -- not here.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ So he doesn't. He cloaks himself in nonchalance when he joins the busy foot traffic, walking in the direction of his two marks without ever taking his thirsting gaze off of them. He's about to earn himself another promotion. Is it really going to be this easy?

[prvtocol]

     When the large, horned bloke starts to move, Brienne moves with him, trying to keep pace with his much longer stride. Right. Back to the ship, presumably to wait... Her chest feels tight with lingering anxiety, her breath is short, her eyes are in constant motion, trying to take in the strange environment. Small hands remain folded at her front, palms stacked and pressed against her uneasy stomach.

     The barrage of questions has her bemused, but conversation is always helpful to move her mind from present worry. “Oh uh, have you not seen a Nikto before?” Brienne replies, uncertain how to describe them outside of scaly skin and facial horns, and general pirate depravity. “But Miss Sahana did, but we had to depart quite quickly.” It happened so fast before being directed to run to the ship, no time to look back. ”I hope she’ll be alright,” she spares her concern in passing, her chin turning briefly to the path behind them. She's unsure of the extent of damage that vibroblade caused to her side. 

     “I wasn’t given your name, by the way,” she realizes then, looking over and up at him. Sahana called him servant.

[nightbrcther]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her question earns a nuh-uh from the zabrak, though he's not entirely certain if that's the truth. Wrath had walked through crowds of different types of people the few times he's been off-world -- maybe he has seen a nikto but just doesn't know it?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Yes… Sahana is strong," he nods to himself, knowing firsthand the strength, speed, and resilience of the one who defeated him in combat many full cycles ago. There isn't much ego-sting whenever he thinks about it anymore -- it had happened long ago and he has learned to appreciate his life the way that it is now (especially as she grants him the privilege of visiting his brothers in the village now and then.) "I am sure she will be okay."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I am Wrath," he steps over the decay of a long-fallen tree. His glowing golden eyes peek over at Brienne, "What do you do? Are you a sorceress too?"

[nightbrcther]

wrath can be so naive and honestly he's so real and kinda cute for that

[prvtocol]

The odd echoes outlining Sahana’s words remain in the dismissal of her helping hand, maintaining that tough-as-durasteel facade that Brienne should expect from hired protection. Lingering concern keeps the city worlder close, not only because she was advised for her safety, but in case a change happens on the walk to wherever they are headed.

     The planet’s red aura is as strange as the trees. Gaze anxiously flits from their gnarled roots back to her bodyguard, and down at the path beneath her feet before being consumed by the decorated entrance. Lifted sight takes in the whimsical red fabrics and wooden chimes hung above before a strong voice steals her attention.

     With eyes feeling deceived, her heart heightens a suddenly convinced pacing; another blink is needed to register that the large zabrak approaching is not that angry client, the dangerous one on the bounty board. But so akin in size, skin tone, and markings that the next step taken is hesitant. 

     A servant, as Sahana deems him, coaxes the Aargauun’s memory of their past conversation — the males of this planet are not allowed to leave without their Mistress’s consent. So this is her home and her servant? The pieces fall into place but perplexed expression only snaps when confusion is vocally mirrored in the one she’s left with.

     “Uhm.” She warbles as sight departs Sahana’s back to scale up to the tattooed face looking towards the ship. “We encountered some trouble, nikto pirates had us on the run. They somehow tracked the ship here. I’m Brienne, by the way. Miss Sahana’s client. I'm so sorry for the trouble this is causing your day.” An apologetic smile fights against the concern; surely this is all out of the ordinary. 

[nightbrcther]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Trouble? Well, this is hardly trouble -- not to him, at least. Wrath cannot remember the last time he has seen an outsider come to Dathomir (maybe when those two Jedi had visited the far village to ask questions about Savage?) To the contrary, he is pleasantly surprised and immensely curious with this alien's presence. He guides them out of the campsite and in the direction where he knows Sahana would have parked her starship.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Brienne," the zabrak tests her name on his lips, completely missing the social cue to return with his own name. "Nikto pirates? What did they look like? Did you fight them? Were they strong?," the Nightbrother's imagination begins running away from him. What is he to make of pirates tracking Brienne and his mistress here but men in search of a challenge? Part of him would like to see these nikto show their faces here -- they would be dealt with in combat!

[thatonesakudere]

"Mm. Perhaps you do. Perhaps you don't. It is irrelevant, Mr Nok." There's a certain tenseness about the pyke; not in his posture nor his face but somewhere less-- Tangible. She doesn't reach in; she needn't to. His aura, his emotions, they tell her enough. He's on edge... Ah! Her presence is a surprise.

"Whether this is your first, fiftieth, or fifteen hundredth time coming through the checkpoint, it has absolutely no bearing on the Imperial protocols." A pause, her lips stretching into a smile as sharp as the talons tapping against the datapad. "We do not play favourites — we do our duty. Properly." Mey's intuition nudges her to go inside the shuttle and it is rarely wrong. Worst-case scenario, nothing is out of the ordinary, and her time is wasted. Best-case? Those exotic spices turn out to be rather familiar.

Yes, the Pykes would be rather nice to dig her talons into.

"Help me? That remains to be seen. Shall we?" she doesn't wait for the answer, stepping onto the ramp and expecting him to follow. "I am rather curious about those exotic spices you're transporting. What system are they from?" She knows, of course, one of her eyes skimming through the officially submitted information, while the other three continue to eye him; the question is whether he does. He should.

[nightbrcther]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ah, so she's a stickler for the rules. Does she also measure out the guest drinks at parties? Have partygoers wipe their shoes before they enter? Bolgan imagines she must have an industrial impact pulverizer for a cunt, reduce any man who dare enter into a fine powder of regret. The corners of his mouth upturn slightly as he watches her talk.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Upon her prompting, the Pyke begins up the loading ramp with her.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "The spice is from the Y'Toub System. Nar Shaddaa, to be specific. I am carrying cinna-leaves and pure capsaicin," Bolgan's sense of discomfort intensifies under the scrutiny of three out of four of her beady red eyes. He should be used to meeting all strange sort in this galaxy, but this is just unsettling. How does her brain parse reading her holopad and inspecting him at the same time?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I will remind you that pure capsaicin is dangerous when exposed to air, especially when you are without proper protective eyewear. Those crates will have to remain closed."

[thatonesakudere]

@nightbrcther

The vertebrae under her fingers shift as she slowly moves her head to one side, then another, yet the crick in her neck persists, a pesky little thing. Mey can barely feel it, the stiffness, the dull pain; it's not much, not really, but it vexes her all the same. Her promotion — as real as this whole charade of a job — came with better quarters, and for what? Last night the sleep evaded her all the same.

The avis doesn't bother to exchange any pleasantries with the senior customs agent she comes to relieve of duty, merely offering a politely restrained nod as she grabs the holopad from him. A pair of crimson eyes glances toward her 'target' — a shuttle, docketed at checkpoint station number 5 — while the other two scan through the details. Documents and certificates? Pre-submitted and verified. Spacecraft? Registered in the Imperial system. Inspection? Already in progress. Declared goods? Exotic spices.

....Exotic spices? Pah. Eyeing the shoddy-looking ship, Mey'lethe approaches the lone figure standing right outside of it. Ah. A pyke.

"Senior customs agent Jerani," she introduces herself in lieu of a greeting, making sure to look at him with all four of her eyes. "Are you the current, legal owner of this vessel?"

[nightbrcther]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Shipment number eleven, or perhaps twelve. In the setting comfort of familiarity and routine, Bolgan is starting to lose count of how many times he's smuggled Pyke Syndicate spice through this Imperial checkpoint. He's even come to learn the names of these few dirty Imperials abetting his crimes. Dara, Kiff, Korgan. Bolgan waits just at the bottom of his freighter's boarding ramp as all three agents keep up appearances by "inspecting" the contents of his shipment. The illicit substances packed away in each crate will be intentionally misidentified as "exotic spices" in their records and soon he will be on his way.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When a senior customs agent he doesn't recognize begins to approach, Bolgan's shoulders tense. Jerani. He's never met a Jerani before. The Pyke maintains a poised frame, gloved hands folded behind his back, despite a vague feeling of unease creeping up on him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Yes, this is my ship. I come through here all of the time with my merchandise. The senior agent before you has already given me the OK to go; they are just finishing up now," he sends a glance towards the imperials aboard his freighter. Come on, come on... He looks at Jerani, "is there something I can help you with?"

[nightbrcther]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ There is always work to do. Whether it's a young initiate moving miniscule amounts of spice product on the streets of his neighborhood or an experienced gangster quashing territorial disputes at the end of his blaster, the Pyke Syndicate will have its foot soldiers working around the clock to maintain profits and ensure its throttlehold on the galaxy. Bolgan finds that as he ages into his twenties and climbs the ranks he is entrusted with responsibility at higher stakes. One day it was roughing people up and collecting their debts, and now his new marching orders give him the ability to kill at his discretion. Every Zabrak he crosses paths with is side-eyed and scrutinized. Their facial patterns, their skintones -- because in this case, distinction matters. An Iridonian Zabrak is not deemed a threat to the Pyke Syndicate the way a Dathomirian Zabrak is. Why that is, he's not so certain, but he suspects it leads back to a crime lord named Maul and a webbing of multi-layered gang politics that at his rank Bolgan can't say he's too privy to.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ His black eyes are on the crowd of foot traffic as he sits here at a food stall in Janix. His acute cleanliness sensibilities mean he won't be enjoying any of the street food prepared in front of him, but it's at least a place to sit while he awaits further instruction. These streets are reminiscent of Coruscant's lower levels; the locals are diverse enough to make people-watching interesting to him. // @spcre-sith

[roguesones]

Darth Maul and Savage Opress artwork by Johnny Morrow for Star Wars Unlimited

[xnarvaezjr]

w e a k.              I hate that feeling.

[valtsv]

damn dude you look like you'd be fun to chase

[valtsv]

(flirting)

[nightbrcther]

baby bolgan and his mama btw