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Her arrival was met by many within the hangars as minimal at best. Outer Haven was not known for their inviting atmosphere, nor did they really take a corporate head of a major crime syndicate as someone worth their time. It both pleased and annoyed her beyond belief. She half expected to have side comments or rude remarks, as such she normally receives when entering a more heavily freelance zone of crime and vice. She moved through the hallways, somewhat nonchalant as she cared not for the side business, which proceeded without any hesitation or delay, much like any other day. It was the epitome of the entire location- zero cares for the core or authority. Calmin Ayion made sure of that when he ran the place. He built up an empire of structures that clearly survived long after his death. Turning a corner, she saw the shop that she was supposed to drop off the 10,000 kilos of Yarrock she brought as a payment from Mamoi to Calmin. Zalis took a breath before she entered, wondering and dreading if she would indeed see the Miraluka or the Wookiee. When she saw neither, she finally let out a breath. Walking up to the main counter where a Rodian and a Sullustan stood. “I’m here to drop off goods for a dead man. Any idea why?” The Rodian looked at her, annoyed and returned to his work. The Sullustan flat out ignored her. She stood for a moment before speaking up again. “Calmin Ayion is dead. Who am I supposed to drop off a shipment for him if this is the location of said drop off?” The Sullustan finally walked away from the counter after she finished. She wondered if she should follow him, when the Rodian finally spoke. “Ma’dam Zalis. Many here will not speak or do business with you, because you are the head of Black Sun. You make it hard for us to maintain business, as much as we make it hard for you. You’ll have to change your tactics and style if you expect anything else to be accomplished.” Her annoyance began to rise, along with her own anger. She didn’t want to be here. Such places were a breeding ground that kept profits low and harder to come by. “Mamoi sends Yarrock to be delivered for a debt of hers. I only care about settling such debt due to the fact that I need access to what she can provide. Or maybe I should find a way to buy such a facility and run it in a way that forces slime out.” “There’s no need to get angry, Queen of Vice. I know where to drop such a load.” Zalis turned around to face the voice, while the Rodian quickly turned his own head downwards to focus on cleaning some blaster. Her eyes met something she was not expecting. A massive blueish purple looking Herglic. There was a slight pause before she spoke, letting for the first time surprise get the better of her. “You know who the Yarrock is for?” The Herglic only nodded his head and then began to move towards the doorway towards one of the many halls of the facility. Zalis took a step or two before she decided to follow him out. Upon entering the hallway, he spoke again. “Name’s Balchi. I’ve become the main muscle here since the death of Jathrrro. Poor Wookiee went insane after his master’s death. Most of what you see here are now fully independent hives of black market dealers, spice runners, and everything else that falls under illegal activity.” He turned and looked at Zalis and gave a slight chuckle. “You think too much for this place.” Zalis raised an eyebrow almost in a surender like fashion. “Well, my thinking is what keeps my own business booming. But allow me to entertain my thinking. upon you. How does Calmin collect debts if he’s dead?”

Feeling the hold that Lady Nyrys had placed down upon their forms loosen with the ending of her words, Oni felt the world beneath him loosen it's grip upon his feet and he rose above it once again like a leaf being lifted by the subtle gale. Her words, wrought with anger and disdain, had been heard loud and clear by all, himself included. For this Empire of her's, like those before, was his duty to oversee and watch as a Chronicler, as a Guardian, as a Testament. But such things were never without unwarranted confusion and boasted brashness of the youthful. And before Lord Mavanger made his approach, his bile and hatred for Oni and his truth filled words permeated across the stone floor. Despite the smile he graced the newly appointed Master before him with, and despite the uncontested lecture he received without interruption, Mavanger had failed to understand his truths. To Oni, he was but a child. A child to be scolded, not pampered. For Oni had lived through numerous Empires, numerous Dark Lords and Ladies. He was living proof of such truths. For the Sith, even one as Oni, immortality was a jest, attainable but fruitless. He may have shed his mortal bindings, but the one thing he could never escape was experience and the wisdom gained from it. And only if the corruption of their darker nature was kept at bay. Many of his brethren from the eras before were no more than ravaged beasts by now, lost in the madness of power and hunger. What separated he from them was his experience as a beast and his loss of lust. That was the curse of power, to one day be consumed by it. And even Mavanger, Nyrys, Inmortos, Akheron... All would succumb to it eventually. It was inevitable. Only tempering one's self could withstand it. That was the nature of the beast. As Mavanger departed, Oni was not without manners. He stooped his head in reverence as he watched the Sith Master turn his backside to him and walk away. And for a brief moment, the Oni that once existed imagined a quick blade through the ribs and into the heart with a simple stroke of ire. But those days, the days of the Assassin trained under Dominus and forged for the Alcazarins, were days long past. Rage, Lust, Envy, they were but constructs to one's demise at their own devices. Dominus, Haphaestus, Black, Cyrus... They were just examples. Blackened Examples forged from infighting and products of Gluttony. As would these Sith, in turn, become. Himself included. But there was subtle truths in Mavanger's words. And as Oni shifted his soulless eyes across the room, he realized his absence in the years past, he had ran far too long from his fate. All he knew had came to pass, and everything he was had perished in dust. From his duel with Exodus as an Apprentice to his loss to the Jedi Kyrie and now the bearer of DarkMetal, Mandalore. He had been gone for far too long. His search for immortality had bore fruit, but when he returned to the Court of Exodus, he found a Spider trapped in its own web. But now with the rise of Nyrys, there was potential. Where once stood a demon, now only a wraith bore it's brittle fangs against the youthful. He had fallen more than he cared to mention. His gaze shifted toward @Krath Inmortos and the Mandalorian @saberforcehe conversed with. He knew it was time to remind both the Galaxy and the Sith he knew as brethren why he carried the name Darth Oni, even if his fate became sealed. Shifting across the untouched stone, he made his gliding approach toward the two, catching the near end of their conversation as the Mandalorian stepped to depart. "What my burc'ya means to jorhaar'ir, is that we wish to be the ciryc buurenaar of your gaan." Oni spoke in a near perfect combination of Basic and Concordia dialect. "Mando'ad draar digu, ner vod" Burc'ya = "Friend" Jorhaar'ir = "Speak/Talk" Ciryc Buurenaar = "Cold Storm" Gaan = "Hand" Mando'ad draar digu, ner vod = "Mandalorians never forget, my brother"

Noto’s face turned into confusion at first. Each face plate tried to move together in the center of his face, taking each millimeter as far as it could go. “So, you are telling me to treat my force sense as that...a sense...but…” Noto reached up and stroked his face plates again and looked around pointlessly, trying to piece things together outloud. “I do not use it as a sense. But with time it will become more sense like? I’m not sure how that makes sense. Not that I’m questioning you, sir, um, sorry, but uh, I am not eyeless, erm um, I mean…” Noto placed a tentacle on his face in embarrassment. In that moment of silence and embarrassment, Noto felt a little bit of his suckers on his face. This momentary distraction led him down a new line of thought. “But, if I keep practicing it, like you said…aha! I get it!” Noto suddenly jumped slightly, and in an entirely uncivilized way according to his peoples, brought out 6 of his eight tentacles from his robes for showing. The black mass of chitin, tentacles, and water probably would’ve made a frightening sight for any onlooker. “You say that meditation helps with focus! Like muscle memory! Like my tentacles! See, my people, after our first full lunar year cycle, we do a ceremony where our elders tell us which of our tentacles are meant for grabbing and which for walking. But we don’t know how to use them like that yet! So we practice and practice till it becomes second-nature! Aha!” Noto’s face beamed with pleasure as he quickly put his tentacles back under his robes, aside from the two ‘hands’ he was used to having out. Still, he wiggled a bit in joy, which was very visible. “Thats why you had me do that meditation right after that hike! I see sir! I see!”

That was a rather profound emotional response. Had Zinthos been part of one of the Sith Empire’s many raiding parties against the Republic’s presence on Gala? The Jedi Grandmaster couldn’t place her face amongst any of the Sith--or Imperials--who had invaded the world. Of course, Zinthos might have been ten years old if they’d had an opportunity to meet there. For her part, Draygo had been far more preoccupied with the likes of Vladimir Faust, Kakuto Ryu, a pair of resourceful Sith sorcerers, and a wound that should have been fatal. Draygo just nodded. Her lips thinned as she thought on a similar incident involving a crashing Star Destroyer. “You speak of Admiral Slaughter’s actions above Coruscant.” She fell silent for a few seconds. “If you are absolutely determined to delay an invasion of this moon without significant loss of life, I can see one strategy to divert their attention. That is to make even approaching Nar Shaddaa so hazardous that the Sith will have no choice but to turn their attention towards your fleets. “As I understand it, this moon has a significant orbital debris field that complicates ingress from a number of attitudes. It is within our capabilities to exploit this terrain feature. Safer approaches to the atmosphere can be mined. Others can be rendered unnavigable by converting some of the larger pieces of debris into kinetic-kill weapons. All that would be required is a rudimentary guidance system and a sublight engine. No commander would conduct minesweeping operations with a hostile fleet at its back, and only a few near-collisions would be required before the Sith would be forced to regard an invasion as an untenable prospect."