<div class="floatleft">(http://pre04.deviantart.net/02fe/th/pre/i/2012/244/a/b/darth_revan_by_momogoyo-d5d5cq9.jpg)</div>Name: Revan<br/>Location: Skyrim Road, Execution Cages -> Execution Circle<br/>Tagging: Sylvanas, Pretty much everyone else (M)<br/>Doing: Arming himself, observing the other Prisoners.<br/>Warnings?:<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Revan could not hide a light chuckle as the Banshee Queen referred to him as a mouse. As far as descriptions went, it was equal parts foolish and fantastic. Few in his 'scape would call Revan anything so meager as a mouse. A rat? Maybe, but a mouse? Never. Truth be told, Revan liked the description in this circumstance. It suited him somewhat; quiet and reserved, yet sly and quick at the right time. She thought herself a lioness in this situation, the first hint of her hubris. Not only did she underestimate him, but she seemingly overestimated herself. If she were a lioness, as she thought, she was an already broken one. Cowed by holy magic, and declawed by the shackles on her wrist. She did not have the appearance of a melee fighter. She lacked the over-defined muscles of a warrior. No, this one was more lithe, more agile, more flexible, more supple. Her step was more that of a huntress than a queen. He smirked underneath his mask. What secrets did this woman truly hide?<br/><br/>Revan's body language was notably relaxed as Sylvanas sat herself closer to him; ignoring her suggestive motions and watching her face for signs of...anything. He watched as she leaned in closer, exposing herself somewhat in order to reach out for his mask. There was a slight shift as Revan prepared to rebut her from removing his mask, but soon enough it was the carriage stopping that had her upended. Watching her fall backwards onto her plump backside was an unexpected delight, and he had to work hard to stifle the giggle that would no doubt throw the Banshee queen into a fit of rage. In an attempt to spare her dignity, he rose silently and offered her a hand up. "<strong>My mask is not so lightly removed. Not unless you wish to see something scarier than a mouse.</strong>"<br/><br/>As the group made their way through the forest, towards whatever killing ground the Stormlords had set up, Revan found himself wondering just what kind of schemes his fellows were concocting. He had focused much of his attention on Sylvanas; mostly because of her engaging him, but she didn't exactly make it hard to pay attention to her. No, it was the other members of the little band that garnered his attention now.  There was a woman in a strange, blue suit that caught the eye. Her platinum blonde hair had him slowly placing her as Samus Aran, A bounty hunter that made many from his galaxy weep with envy. To see her captured was surprising. If she was half as good as the rumours stated, that means she must have been tricked, or pissed the wrong people off. Then there was the other more technologically advanced member of the party that he slowly managed to place a finger on. It was the whispers of others that finally broke the silence, and Revan found himself watching Commander Shepherd from a distance. He could have sworn Shepherd was on the Dynasty’s side? The final person that Revan recognised was less a specific person, but a member of an organisation. Mariel Corbeck, although he knew not her name, was obviously of the ‘God-Emperor’s’ army.  He didn’t know enough about her world to place her rank, or regiment, but it made sense that such a fanatical worshiper of someone else would clash with the Dynasty.<br/><br/>As for the more fantastic elements of the party, Revan was uncultured as to who they were, or why they were there. Some of them looked in between the more fantasy and the more advanced cultures, such as the gagged man, and the blue boy, or the two venom-filled women. Then there were the truly fantastic ones, such as the large, boisterous ogre-like being, or the white-haired one. He had no idea who they were, or what they could do; but that was hardly a bad thing.<br/><br/>After he’d taken in his fellows, Revan found that the walk provided him further time to manipulate the air so that the force was thick and ready. It took little effort to mimic his meditative state, and within minutes the woods were replete with the force once again. To non-force sensitive, it was an unrecognisable change, but to Revan; it was like reloading a firearm. He felt empowered by it, even if the shackles inhibited his ability to function as a manipulator of the force.<br/><br/>Slowly, with the group trudging ahead, Revan thought that perhaps his plan would work best if sprinkled with a dash of opportunity. Looking on the ground, he spotted a small pebble, about the size of a man’s fist. Rather rapidly, Revan collapsed onto one knee above the pebble. His hand and cloak covered it, as he quickly hid the rock inside his robe. A sharp kick from a Stormlord, followed by being dragged up by his scruff, soon had Revan back on his feet, now armed with a sizable bludgeoning weapon. He would have to wait for his opportunity to use it. Now was not the time.<br/><br/>Slowly, Revan and the others approached a strange stone-circle, with a number of the Royal Hunt in readiness. Seeing the Queen’s elite was a blow to his plans of escape. He listened helplessly as two members of the party were called to a chopping block. Standing at the scene of the killings were two Samurai; one of which had his Lightsabres, worn like prized trophies. For the first time, Revan felt a cloying anger in his gut. To think that an honourless hack like this samurai would lay claim to<em>his</em>weapons was infuriating! He longed to break the man in half for his crimes.<br/><br/>As quickly as the rage came, it passed. Revan calmed himself as he focused less on the black, and more on the grey. His eyes lingered on the women, who were trying to distract of get a raise out of the guards. He edged closer to Sylvanas, the one who most aggressively taunted the Stormlord: If he made a move on her, that was when he would strike. He’d club him over the head with the pebble, steal his weapon and cut open his shackles. From there? He would do his best to muster his fellows; perhaps.<br/><br/>It was hardly a good plan, but it was the best he had.<br/><br/>Hopefully, he would act before anyone else lost their head; figuratively or literally.<br/>