Forged Anticipation [RUGS]

[♫ Drace ♫]

Synopsis: Drace arrives at a scene of an unpredicted and mysterious murder. However would someone approach unexpectedly, would the Sith be mistaken as the executioner?

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Taris, a once affluent world; that however was before the sinned Jedi Civil War. Though its surface was almost entirely constructed of synthetic structures, the face of the planet was perilously damaged quite some time ago. Nevertheless, construction was being applied to the perfunctory planet. On the ground level, an exciting silhouette arose from the horizon, and as it moved, its dark cloak swiveled in the air. The posture of such an individual was firm, not supple and gave off the aura of dark; its atmosphere was cold as the night’s sky.

With the hood of its cloak draped over its head, possible recognition was implausible, and that was the way that Drace wanted it. The seditious Jedi moved with a calming velocity not exerting too much energy. However not walking at a turtles pace; gradually dragging the hood down, the brunette stands of Drace’s hair chopped outwards, dropping down to just below his shoulders. The unreceptive feels brought by the arctic, emerald portrayal of his eyes were filled with vacant intentions.

Having no valid reason for being on such a planet, Drace forced himself to believe that he could obtain training. With the current time and exhibit of darkness in the sky, it was obvious that most wouldn’t be outside. Perfect for one who merely wanted to be alone? While walking, a malodorous stench flounced against Drace’s nose and with haste, the Wanderer quickly drug the end of his cloak across his nose. As revolting as the stench was, Drace pressed forward. However another precursor had halted his progression. The thud of his foot stepping in what could be a trivial puddle rippled and Drace took to his knee. Dragging his fingers threw the strange liquid, Drace brought the putrid fluid to his noise, and then to his eyes; immediately recognizing it as blood, fresh blood.

So someone was recently killed, interesting, a matter that would catch the attention of the impassive Sith. Before tracking the cause of the experienced, methodical murders; Drace disrobed himself of the cloak, revealing a full body suit. Lightly armored, the suit possibly resembled a leather assembly. Attached to his lower waist, a steel scabbard that had a Lightsaber handle attached to both ends. Reaching behind his head, Drace pulled a dark mask that was attached to his suit, over his face; followed by placing a metal visor over his eyes.

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Outfit located here.

[Rugs]

{Foreword- I've been in a bit of a writing slump lately, so this might not really be up to my usual standard. But it should do for having things move, at least}

Ah, so there he is.

Nieraan watched from above, presence in the Force held close to him as he crouched in the shadowed shelter of a decaying balcony two floors above the figure on the street. He'd found the first of a pair of corpses, the partner for which was lying just out of site around the corner. They were Nieraan's handiwork, and he was rather pleased with the way the kill had gone.

One--the one the masked figure had found--was a woman. She was Sith intelligence, or had been before she defected. Nieraan had been dispatched to see that she got her severance package, and in the process of his pursuit he'd learned that she was talking with an agent for the Republic.

That had just been a lovely discovery.

Killing them would have been easy; he had the Force at his command, and they might as well have been ants beneath his boot. But the woman had some information, and it needed to be recovered.

So he watched, waited and planned. For a few days, he kept careful tabs on them from the shadows, learned their respective living spaces, and where they met. They were a clever couple, always meeting in different places, until they decided to go back to the male's apartment. Nieraan hadn't discounted the possibility that they'd grown attached, and that attachment was making them sloppy.

Still, a chance was a chance, so he trailed them to the man's apartment in one of the parts of the sprawling city that was still hurting from the bombardment in the war centuries ago. Once they arrived, the rest was simple.

The door had been locked, but it buckled and had been torn free with a motion of his hand. They'd been shocked to see him there, interrupting their quiet time and tearing them from the expensive wine set out on the table. They got dealt with and disabled, left with broken limbs on the floor to be sure they didn't move anywhere while Nieraan collected data sticks holding the stolen records that'd been left out for an exchange and tucked them away safely into his jacket.

And then they died, dropped from a window nine stories above the grimy street.

With a little encouragement from the Force to speed them on their way, of course.

That wasn't the end, though. In a way, it'd just been a beginning. Someone had been--by happenstance or intent--following Nieraan. Whoever the being was, they had the Force in them. Nieraan suspected a Jedi at first, but the tint of the presence wasn't right. There was a taint to the edge of it, and though he knew Jedi fell, he wasn't certain that was what followed him.

But his theatre of killing served a purpose. A corpse on the street called more attention than one hidden away in an apartment.

The figure came, as Nieraan had hoped, and now he was standing down below. Now that he was close, Nieraan recognized the presence, well enough to put a face to the shadowed man. They'd met once, long ago. Drace? Jace? Was that his name? Whatever it was, he was another Sith, though what he was doing on Taris, Nieraan didn't know.

So, true to form, he'd find out.

"You're a long way from home, boy," Nieraan called from the shadows above. "And look at you, murdering people." He smiled darkly, toying with one of the lightsabers hanging at his side. "You oughtta be ashamed of yourself."