Ask Blood and Irony

[Nakoa Singh]

A deal had been struck, however strange, in whatever way it'd come to be. Magic and blood were the ink for this contract. Knowledge was the game, as it so often was in Nakoa's work. The whole thing was dangerous for the Wrean in particular. Arla hadn't seemed pleased by it all, but also seemed concerned which was somehow worse. As frustrating as the situation was, however, Nakoa had gone right to work.

And decided to double down on not bending personal policy in the future.

With the new copies of literature, the Wrean Shaman was able to find what they were looking for- or more specifically, what Tempest was looking for. He'd been good at finding things the more he knew about them. A nondescript freighter had landed on a far-away world covered in snow, ice, and blue-black trees sprinkled with frosty glitter. The landing area had been secured by droids, although by all appearances the world likely hadn't been inhabited for millennia. Precautions.

Nakoa was well-covered though lightly layered, unbothered by the freezing cold up here in the mountains. Wary of Tempest's arrival and the potential for strangeness in this place they waited, they... well, they waited, and thought ahead to the future.

@Altaris

 

[Darth Tempest]

For the time being, Tempest had been persuaded of the deal offered by Nakoa. The Wrean had risked his very life by stepping foot on Thule, signing away his freedom the moment that his blood was spilled into that vial. It didn’t matter who the man worked for or who he was loyal to.

He was bound by the contract between them, until the moment the Dark Lord collected upon her prize. And artifact that would provide a new level of security to her holdings and territories that spanned the Galaxy.

Nakoa wouldn’t be left waiting for very long - not before the felt the presence of the Dark Lord fall upon him. It was a weight against his chest that had nothing to do with the chilled air, a sense of dread that would creep its way up the back of his spine. It was a presence that preceded the cloaked figure that ascended the narrow mountain path, typical armor covered in an additional layer of Zayd-cloth and fur. Expensive and ornamental as befitting her station.

“Singh,” She said with a mechanized hum, stepping into the clearing he occupied. The snow began to fall in gentle flurries, frost sticking to the sanguine surface of the mask she wore.

“I trust your information is well substantiated.” The shaman has led them to their destination based upon his own research and literature. Results, presumably, were imminent