The velvet darkness of the night sky embraced the Umbaran’s eyes as he gazed upward, the lights of Jan-gwa bathing his backside as he faced the swamps that surrounded it. The Sith tapped his fingers on his knee, the sound of some melody playing in his head as he observed the stars in the sky. Behind him, carvings covered the wall, a strange curiosity to some but a bore to the Tarenti. They were not made with blood, carved with bone, or spoke of anguish, and so he deemed the boring.
The comfortable silence that the Umbaran sat in, drinking in the scenic beauty that Naboo had to offer, was broken by the approach of a creature that Samael found equally as boring as the carvings. Ranarr, the Rollmaster of Tarentum, stood behind the Sith and joined him in gazing at the swamps. Samael didn’t turn his head, didn’t acknowledge the cat, but tried to remain as still as possible in hopes of remaining unnoticed.
“Samael, what have you been up to?” asked the Rollmaster, his tone sounding accusatory.
The Umbaran’s shoulders dropped, a sigh of air leaving his lungs as he lurched forward. The Tarenti was drenched from head to toe in fresh blood, the red liquid glistening in the lights from the city. The Sith twirled slowly, allowing the Cathar to drink in the image. In his hand, fingers clenched tightly around a tuft of hair, was the head of a Gungan with a smile carved into his features. Samael brought it up to his head and smiled as best he could with no lips.
“Been hangin’ with the locals. Iddn’t that right, Tic?” he said as he shook the head, “Not much of a talker, this one.”
Ranarr’s eyes widened as he looked at Samael, the shock on his face making the Umbaran cackle with glee. The pale skinned humanoid took out a handkerchief and started dabbing his body with it, still holding the head of the Gungan. After a moment or two, the Umbaran brought it to his nose and blew out a large amount of mucus and snot, promptly tucking it back in his pocket after.
“Is that...is that who we came here to talk to?” demanded Ranarr.
“Maaaaaybe.” giggled Samael.
Ranarr lunged forward and grabbed Samael, shaking him back and forth as he did so. They were supposed to talk to the Gungan, set up a meeting with his leader, and acquire a deal for Tarentum to get cheap access to high quality medical supplies and other goods they would need. The Umbaran could not help but laugh at the Cathar.
“Such a pretty kitty when you’re mad!” laughed Samael, “Don’t worry, I let him call his boss before killing him. His purpose was served. All good.”
“Did he say where the meeting was?” asked Ranarr, a low growl rumbling after as Samael suddenly realized they had not specified a place before he had slowly cut the Gungan’s head off.
“Oops.” said Samael without a care, “That’s life, huh? I went months without having the itch to kill, and when I indulge my fancies, look what happens. Stupid Samael! Stupid!”
Ranarr pushed the Umbaran down and immediately got on his comms unit. Samael, still feeling a rush from killing Tic matched with his distaste for Ranarr, glared at the Cathar and focused on the Rollmaster’s mind, scratching at his mental walls. A small chink in the armor was found, and Ranarr could not help but tremble.
The wind whipped as the sound of a voice could be heard sailing on it, the voice of his mother. Samael smiled as the Cathar’s lips quivered and eyes brimmed with tears, only to quickly change into a mask of hatred and rage. The Rollmaster glared at Samael, getting his blaster ready and pointing it at the Umbaran.
“Too...far…” said Ranarr as he looked for a reason to not do it.
