You stand in a room, nearly dark but for the pulse of rhythmic flashes of bright colored lights. Besides your opponent and yourself, you note a large number of bystanders who are sure to take exception to the coming carnage. Then again, knowing this crowd, they could just as easily find entertainment in an old-fashioned brawl. Spanky's is, after all, one of the more fashionable drinking establishments of Karufr.

The patrons seem to be a mix between the scantily clad women hawking their charms and the well-dressed gentlemen eager to part with their hard-earned credits. The odors in the tavern assault your senses and threaten to muddle your reflexes. Among them, you recognize over a dozen various types of stimulants—both legal and illegal—and the heady scent of, what is quite possibly, the most varied collection of liquor this side of the Galaxy.

The tavern itself is fraught with tactical advantages and disadvantages. Designed in the familiar style of all amphitheaters, the floor is slightly slanted toward a central stage where a lithe, twi'lek female is currently dancing. Littered amongst the floor are drink tables, heavily laden with glassware and other potential missiles. Uncomfortable, heavy metal chairs surround each of the tables in a semi-circle, so that the occupant's view of the stage is never hindered. The only exit, aside from the doorway where you stand, is a vaulted staircase—guarded by two very well-dressed, and heavily muscled, gentlemen—leading into parts unknown.

Small bars bracket the tavern on either side, filled with a glittering rainbow of bottles. Whatever is about to go down, you realize it would go down better with a stiff drink.

Anima's nose curled in abject disgust at the scents assaulting it. Crowds were bad enough, but noisy ones were worse. If it wasn't at the behest of the Quaestor of Shar Dakhan, the Umbaran wouldn't have even considered stepping foot within Spanky's establishment, let alone Karufr. His eyes scanned the room, trying to spot the source of his discontent. His eyes would have to do for finding Sjl, the Rollmaster's senses overwhelmed by so many lives bustling about within the Living Force, unable to pinpoint the Quaestor's among them. The clearing of a throat from behind him caused Anima's head to snap about with a slight snarl, only to discover an entirely too innocent looking smuggler - and in places such as this, looking innocent meant you had something to hide.

Starting a fight would serve no purpose towards Anima's immediate goal, that being the need to be done with Galleros and get off world as quickly as possible. He took his cue and strode deeper into the crowd of the tavern, working his way past the tables and chairs, his mismatched gaze working from face to face as he approached the bar furthest from the door. Luck, it seemed, chose to side with Anima in a rare display of providence, a familiar aroma reaching his nostrils just as he worked his way clear of the main crowd. As often as he had to deal with the Zelosian while begrudgingly serving within his House as a Battleteam Leader, Anima never got used to the smell the race put off. Unlike so many organic species that just smelled of meat, Zelosians smelled like salad.

He hated salad.

"Rollmaster," Galleros called from his perch at the bar, "I see you didn't get lost."

Anima gave the man a quick once over with his gaze, noting the way his robes fell over the hidden shape of the Lanvarok on his left forearm. Other than that, the Zelosian looked as he always did. Bald, green, and entirely uninteresting to the Umbaran. He had better things to do - fun things in fact, like whipping the Black Guard into shape - but the Quaestor had insisted on the meeting. Galleros had, supposedly, just finished up some business Anima hadn't wasted time committing to memory. Having finished that, what better time was there to go over the performance of his House's Journeymen in the recent confrontation against the Red Fury pirates.

Oh, there were loads of better times though. Like, any time that would mean Anima didn't have to show up, really.

"Sjl," Anime stated flatly. He didn't intentionally mispronounce the Zelosian's last name, not really, it was more that he had never bothered actually learning how not to butcher it in the first place. Through the Force he felt a subtle bristling come from Galleros, in obvious response to what appeared to be a slight pet peeve.

Hey, it wasn't like people got to chose the name of their lineage, so you just have to deal sometimes.

"Care for a drink? The selection is quite extensive." Galleros made a quick motion towards the rows upon rows of selection as he took a sizeable gulp from his own glass.

"It would be better if I didn't," came Anima's foreboding reply.

Galleros turned his head to give the Rollmaster a sidelong gaze. "Oh, but how interesting it would be to find out what it would be like, no?"

Anima reacted without thinking, growling with his teeth bared as he slammed Galleros against the counter, his hand pressed into the back of the male's head. The nearby patrons quickly cleared a space, whispering amongst themselves as they dispersed to less hostile areas of the tavern while the barkeep offered up a wary glare. "I am not an experiment to be observed, Krath. We shall speak of the Journeymen and nothing more, got it?"

Galleros, commendably enough, didn't betray his emotional state and remained calm. "You will let me go, now," the Zelosian's voice rang out with a commanding tone, and not without a hint of the Force backing it up. Anima growled in defiance, feeling the words reverberating in his mind. While he didn't obey, far too strong willed for that, his grip did lessen somewhat. Pushing back against the Umbaran's hold, Galleros rose upright again.

"See?" The Zelosian sneered. "The beast can be made to obey."

Oh well, Anima wasn't interested in discussing the Journeymen anyway.

The Force offered up no warning to the Quaestor, though considering their proximity it wouldn't have helped in any way. The Rollmaster's power, fueled by the darkness at his core, seethed through his muscles like a consuming fire the same instant he gripped the Zelosian violently and tossed him away from the bar. Sjl absorbed the impact of the fall, rolling with the momentum before rising to his feet. Still, he managed to unceremoniously crash into the heavy chairs of the nearest table, cracking his jaw violently in the process. The Zelosian spat green sap - what passed for blood among his species - in a splatter across the floor before almost absentmindedly allowing the Force to stitch the split in his lip closed. Taking a quick moment to glance around the room, Galleros made note of each of the possible escape routes. Survival, as always, was the primary goal in any encounter for the Quaestor.

Cries of surprise and fear filled the air, the patrons succumbing to their inherent fight or flight instincts. They were practically stepping over each other to make it out the exit first, securing their safety. The sounds were a symphony and Anima aimed to be the conductor. The Rollmaster lashed out with the Force, raising his left hand just as the stool at his side rose into the air. Throwing his palm forward, the stool mimicked the motion only so far as direction was concerned, launching forward like a missile. The Umbaran wasted no time, raising his right hand as well and mirroring the same motions, sending a variety of liquor bottles towards his opponent.

Galleros' lithe frame slid around the stool easily enough, the man's athletics on display, but was forced to bring his saber to bare against the bottles soaring towards him. Emerald light hissed to life as the curved handle sat comfortably in Sjl's palm, a series of slashes carving through the air and blazing through the bottles. He followed up with a quick thrust of power from his free hand, managing to divert the oncoming shrapnel. Still, the Quaestor had to snap his eyes shut and wipe at his face as the overpowering stench of alcohol washed over him alongside the contents of the bottles.

"How rude," Galleros stated with a remarkably cold tone, "we'll have to work on that, won't we?"

Through Galleros’ stone cold expression, he let a small grin creep through his uncaring demeanor. The Quaestor detected a hint of aggression from the Rollmaster as their eyes met from across the room. With his malachite blade firmly in his grip, Galleros chopped and deflected the glass and bottles away from himself. With the room emptying from the crowds of patrons and employees, Galleros could now apply his methods. The Zelosian deactivated his lightsaber, sheathed the hilt and sprinted at Anima, extending his hand out towards the Umbaran as the lights flickered and dimmed. Galleros whipped his hand forward as his palm exploded in a wave of light, surrounding the Sith’s body and eyesight.

“Should we have some fun now, hmm?” Galleros allowed his grin to slither once more.

As Anima rubbed and covered his eyes, he growled and stumbled about in detestment. The Quaestor crept behind the Sith. Galleros could feel the intense emotions and violence stuffed and packed into Anima’s head. The hatred of others, the anger towards his opposition and the fury built against the entirety of humanity. Then his prodding led him to root of all his evil, the Sith nature and the animalistic passion hidden in the darkest parts of the blinded Umbaran. The pure disgust for the weak and his opponents stained and clotted this area of his mind as Galleros tried to enforce his dominance. The struggle between man and beast was gravitational as sanity appeared to never have been a factor. Then he felt something, like an extreme change of resistance, as the mind of Anima fell calm and silent. Galleros found his loophole.

“Finally, your hold is mine. Your anger will be directed, and your mission will be mine.” Galleros finally left the subconscious of Anima and monitored him as he crouched awaiting.

He glanced around the room for victims left unaided from the trampling of the crowd and noticed that something was amiss. The tables and glass destroyed, the floor was littered in fragments and blood, and bodies scattered from being crushed. with one human already being the meal of the animalistic Anima, his teeth scissoring through the bloody flesh and bone. Then Galleros glanced into the corner where a vaulted stairway grew, and two buff men stood unchanged from their orders. It also seemed that the primal Rollmaster saw them too. Anima leapt from the half eaten body, slinged an arc of lightning at the far human and pounced the nearest. The human only had a split-second to react, his neck became locked in the jaws of the Sith menace. A scream of pure terror was the last breath of the hired guard before he faded away and Anima began to devour his friend.

“There’s gotta be better meals up here!” It was all the Rollmaster snarled out before he sprinted up into the luxury lounge area.

“Interesting, the subject displays recognition of the Optimal Foraging Theory.” The Quaestor muttered to himself, then followed his subject up the stairs where murder blossomed.

Rage and hunger, all-consuming in the most terrible of ways. It was a state of mind Anima had gained more than a passing familiarity with during his travels, much to the chagrin of those traveling alongside him. It was a high that the Umbaran had discovered was easier to ride out than to struggle against — such was the strength of his instincts. His consciousness was faintly aware of warm, wet and thick liquid coating his hands and… chin? As the fog cleared his senses came to life, one after another, beginning with a rusty iron aroma that caused his nostrils to flare. Then came taste, something wet and heavy filling his mouth with an almost metallic tang washing over his tongue. Blinking hard as he fought to bring the world into focus, Anima spat the foreign object towards the floor, cocking his head violently and causing a cascade of cracks up his neck.

Oh, that's what that is. Of course it's that.

Anima's tunnelled vision focused on the chunks of viscera that smeared across the floor from the ruined corpse pressed beneath his weight. The viciousness of the attack was such that he couldn't faithfully discern what, exactly, he had been in the process of devouring - or whom. At this point, he didn't really care to know. More so, and far more pressing, was the growing pressure within his gut.

Contrary to what the buffets proclaimed, there was such a thing as overeating.

In a simultaneous flurry of motion with the realization, the Umbaran clutched at his gut and felt his muscles heave. Stomach acid and contents better left unmentioned splattered to the floor, leaving him gasping for air between convulsions. Anima shoved himself back from his perch over what was once a living being, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against his lips to make an attempt at cleaning away the burning remnants of stomach acid. He stole another moment to envelop himself in the Force, focusing on his breathing, latching onto it and expanding his awareness ever further from his core with each exhale of air.

The first dawning realization, he sensed, was that he had managed to make his way to the VIP suite and was now situated on the upper level. The second, far more pressing realization was that he was being observed.

And he knew exactly who was fatally curious enough to be doing such, and it was no feline.

"Galleros Sjl," Anima's raspy voice squeezed out between pants, managing to pronounce the name of the Quaestor with utter precision in spite of his current state. He turned his head, stretching the tendons until the sensation passed beyond discomfort, and glared painfully towards the Zelosian climbing warily up the steps behind him. "Now is the… time you should be running."

Sjl almost visibly jumped as he retreated back a step in response. Anima's gaze was even, clear, and unhindered by his temporary insanity despite the blood - and worse - of his latest victims coating the better portion of his face, neck, and arms. Clearly, the Quaestor had expected the trigger to have a more lasting effect on the Rollmaster's psyche. Unfortunately for him, as quick as the Umbaran's persona could shift into the proverbial red, so too could it shift back.

Anima was already caught in the maelstrom of the Force, his anger and bloodlust flowing from his core to feed into his power. He grasped onto the heat of his emotions, placing them upon the anvil of his mind and hammering them into focused intent. All of it pointed towards Galleros. His weariness was an afterthought within the embrace of his power, the confines of his body little more than a conduit and he would be more than willing to sacrifice it for his goals. For the moment, however, only one goal was at hand.

Sjl was going to hurt… a lot.

The Zelosian was already doing what he did best, running, and with a fair amount of alacrity. Still, he was hindered by the combination of stairs and bodies. Anima lashed out, his arm a subconscious locomotion of purpose as he reached out and wrapped the Force around his opponent. Drawing his hand back, the Force pulled hard on Sjl, seeking to bring him closer but the young man was surprisingly resilient, rolling with the kinetic force and managing to prop himself against the edge of the stairs.

Good, Anima thought. That meant he was going to have quite the punching bag.

Galleros spun about, glaring at his fellow Sadowan approaching and allowing the Force to manifest within his palm as a furious glow once more, aiming to blind Anima's sensitive eyes. Unlike his opponent, the Umbaran had attuned himself to the finer warnings the Force had to offer those who could listen, and had felt the tremor of warning. The Rollmaster snapped his eyes shut just before the onset of pain, focusing on the mental image of where his opponent had just been standing and drawing ever closer. Once more he felt the prying tendrils of the Force clawing at his thoughts, seeking to push him into submission. Galleros was fast, and could probably outrun his opponent given an unobstructed track to sprint on, but that wasn't the case. They both knew that the Zelosian would have to inhibit Anima's ability to track him. Still, the Quaestor had devoted his studies to the more civilized powers, perhaps expecting he would find more opponents of the mind to face than those who were more inclined to a more hands on approach. The Rollmaster reaffirmed his resolve, more expectant of Galleros' tactics than he was during the last attempt. He focused on his rage, thinking of how the Krath clearly thought of him as little more than a science experiment. The anger helped keep his mind clear, and a resurgence of will allowed him to push the Quaestor out of his thoughts.

Anima clenched his taloned hand, allowing the Force swirling about and within him to consolidate into a concussive short-range blast, one that he more than a little gleefully unleashed ahead of himself with a lunging strike towards Galleros.

Anima opened his eyes to watch just as he made contact, watching Sjl slam hard into the wall of the stairwell and feeling the faintest of shockwaves backwash against him, the familiar weight of his medallion swinging in response against his chest. Galleros was on his feet again in short order, a resulting combination of his obscure tenacity for the healing arts and a more or less infuriating level of durability.

Most curious traits for a living plant.

Still, he was far from unscathed, glistening streams of his chlorophyll-filled blood painting a tableau over his bruised, visible features. The Zelosian's will had become dead set on survival, eyes desperately searching for a way to impede his attacker's progress and put space between them. Knowing it was only a matter of time before the authorities arrived and he had his opportunity, Sjl raised his left arm, the Lanvarok sliding out from under the shroud of his robe. Again, the Force saw fit to warn Anima of the coming threat, his cerulean blade snapping to life and carving through the air with precision — at least with all the precision necessary to sever an arm, which is what he did.

Anima's nostrils flared as he took in the smell, not too distant from that of a wildfire scorching through the wilderness. It was an altogether pleasing aroma given the circumstances. The high pitched cry - a mixture of shock and pain - reverberating through the stairwell and leaving a painful ringing in his ears was something else entirely. That, in particular, he could do without. So, Anima gave over to the fury consuming him, letting his power carry his body past its limits and stave off fatigue for just a bit longer, long enough to be done with this.

The Rollmaster reached out and grasped the side of Sjl's face in his large right palm, pressing his thumb into the man's eye until it gave way with a satisfying, wet pop. "You are not the one who will kill me, Galleros Sjl… I have no further use for you." Anima's tone was a foil to the rage fueling him, utterly cold and still. His other, cybernetic hand mirrored the actions of the first, having much less difficulty ducking through the Zelosian's remaining eye socket, the sharpened talons cutting through flesh. Anima's muscles flexed as his hands tightened, veins popping from stress. He bit down hard on his lip, bringing his own blood to the surface to mingle with the remnants of his victim’s, before letting out a beastial roar as he loosed the last of his might. The Quaestor's skull crumpled into a gory mess, viscera splattering out over the Rollmaster's hands and the wall behind Sjl.

Panting hard, Anima released his grip on what remained of his opponent's head and fell hard against the wall of the stairwell. He blinked hard, the sensation of empowerment and his connection to the Force seeping from his body. Vertigo and fatigue clawed to embrace him and drop his form to the ground like so many bricks. That would be fatal, if he were to succumb. Swallowing hard, the Rollmaster half-fell, half-walked down the remaining steps and took in the carnage that had resolved within their wake. "Locke isn't gonna be happy with this report," Anima muttered before turning his mismatched gaze to the bar closest to the stairs. "Think I'll take that drink now… To go."

A collection of blood-curdling screams, unintelligent phrases and alien words echoed from the double doors as Galleros crept up the stairs and towards the mayhem inside. Once he peeked inside, the Zelosian noticed streams of blood, various body parts dangling from glass tables and broken glass mixed in the alcohol and blood. The fumes of bile, blood and alcohol stenched the entire room and invaded the Quaestor’s nose in disgust. As he stepped inside and across the rivers of blood, Galleros saw Anima kneeling on top of the mini bar, where his meal was the Twi’lek barmaid who twitched and dripped blood onto the floor.

“Hmm, subject appears to savour Twi’lek. Possibly related to his adoration of my Aedile.” Galleros whispered to himself in awe, however the Rollmaster heard.

Anima shot from his meal and charged towards the Quaestor in a fury of rage, his buff arms acting as a battering ram. The Galleros had a second to run towards the wall, hang onto a wall-light and flip over his opponent. Anima clawed at the Zelosian and slammed his body directly into a glass table, as the Zelosian grunted in agony. Galleros in his panic, forced his foot into the chest of the Rollmaster but the attempt was useless. Gripping the Zelosian’s neck with a vice strength, Anima slowly raised him from his feet and snarled his blood soaked mouth. The Quaestor started to become lightheaded, his vision and breathing weakening as he continued to kick at the beastly Sith. His lime hands scuffled against his robes in effort to reach his lightsaber, his hand tightening and crushing his neck. Ligaments crunched and muscles tore from each other, as Galleros finally gripped his hilt. However the Quaestor was too slow and was tossed across the room, sent flying into the minibar and across the Twi’lek corpse.

“Now, Galleros, I give you permission to die!” Anima roared out, as the beast asserted his own dominance.

Panting and croaking in agony, Galleros rubbed his neck and concentrated in an effort to heal, but his time was truly ending. Anima leapt over the minibar, ignited his lightsaber and slammed the blade directly into the neck of the Zelosian. Green sap and saliva splattered across the Rollmaster’s uniform as he continued to cut and yank the neck muscles until the head was cleaved off. Imbued with a revolutionary ardor, Anima took a taste of the Zelosian’s muscle then spat it back out again.

“I hate salad.” The Rollmaster said, then sprinted from the scene with great elan.