Jump to content

Kyrie Eleison

Members
  • Content Count

    170
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

0 Neutral

About Kyrie Eleison

  • Rank
    Padawan

Converted

  • Are you a real person?
    2

Recent Profile Visitors

The recent visitors block is disabled and is not being shown to other users.

  1. Misericordia. Emerald eyes fluttered open and a spinning nausea overtook the Exorcist. The body was not her own. Younger, less broken. No rampaging pain from shattered flesh and bone. She blinked and the world focused to a ceiling of cracked and molded plaster. Why did the Force call me here…? Kyrie’s eyes closed and she focused on her own mind, expanding the locus of control throughout her body. She could feel the rhythmic song of the Force, the sounds of the light as she had not heard since her work with Xae-Lin-Ardel. A gasping, shuddering breath brought warmth into her chest. With its release came silver fire that curled to that cracked and broken ceiling. Rebirth in Holy Fire. Why had there only been darkness? Where was the light? She slowly began to move. Her joints felt as though they were filled with lead and lubricated with sand. Another breath, a churning hiss of pained effort. The body was unnatural, a foreign form that her spirit struggled to control. The Exorcist rolled to a sitting position, closing her eyes to stop the world from its nauseating spinning. “Awenydd what the hell did you do?” It was a small girl’s voice, filled with a fusion of wonder and confusion. Kyrie could feel small hands gripping her tattered tunic and it was then that her nervous system began to take in the rush of proprioceptive information of her surroundings. She was wearing clothing, which gave her some small bit of relief. She was sitting on a lumpy bed that bore no bedclothes. The air smelled of sweat and panic. “What devilry did you spin?” Kyrie opened her eyes to stare into the young girl’s face. She had tousled, brown hair and a thin, kind face that was filled with shock. Around them both were candles and an old holopad that was displaying the history of the Revanchists. “You did it…” The girl jumped back from Kyrie’s silver-fired eyes with a yelp, stumbling over a pile of flimsiplast “You made yourself into a weapon to fight the Mandalorians…” The Force flooded her with sensation. There were familiar presences nearby. To those, she sent a greeting of Silver Flame. The Master of the Exorcists had returned. Misericordia.
  2. Her scream continued, driven from her smoking lips as much from the rush battle as it was forced from a body wracked by pain. It was a cry to the Force, her only friend left in the galaxy. As she screamed she could feel her heartbeat pounding an unknown rhythm in her ears. It was a death rattle, the shattered screeching of a ghost from beyond its cairn. All that was left was war. Her universe was all but gone, and all that remained was the battle in a breaking hanger. Kyrie’s arm was still caressed by fire, the heat of the blade still burning away at her nerve endings. The pain burned its way through her as she charged the Sith, delving deep into her chest. Concentration failed. The Flames died. All that remained were the screams of a broken girl. The dead came as the force fractured into a wound. A hundred grasping hands reached through the fractured metal, through the molten steel. She had opened herself to Hell. The Sin she had eaten was now being vomited forth. Her heaven, her gods, were all shattered. Words replaced her screams as the Sith took her mind. Come not to the stars. Come not with a shining sword. Come not crying over the dead. Come not with a disturbed mind. The dead shuddered around them. Kyrie’s lips moved and only a whisper emerged that only the Beast could hear. Do you hear the suffering? Do you feel their blood warm on your skin? Do you hear the endless torment? Do you smell the putrid wounds? The blackened boots lost their footing and the Exorcist fell. What she saw in the Sith’s ravaging of her mind was a mirror. A mirror of her own brokenness, of her own darkness. Her own Hell. As she saw the Beast’s journey, so he would see hers. The years of abuse as a child, always second to a much grander sister. A father as evil as a demon. Everyone thought I was cursed. I believed them, and so it came to be. Pain drove itself to her heart as a voice ripped through her vision. The Exorcist’s eyes opened, and she found herself on her knees before the forces of the Sith. Her face seemed to change every few seconds, fluttering between personalities with only one commonality: Death. If she had been a weaker person, she would have begged for her life, but she was not. Every part of her called upon the Force, but it did not answer. Her chest heaved with muted sobs of pain. There was no holy flames now, only sparks of pain and suffering. A deep sadness. Her breathing came in irregular, sharp, rasping gasps. Her lungs would not hold her breath, each exhalation brought with it curling, ashen smoke. Kyrie’s voice cracked. “You will have to kill me, because I have nothing left. No fear, no hate, no righteousness. No family.” Her face settled and a peace came then, but one born of confusion. She looked upon the Sith but did not see them. She smiled softly as duel lines of smoking blood crested across her cracked, thin lips. “Hayley, you’ve grown…” It was a conversation that did not exist anywhere but in her mind. She reached out with the smoking stump of her arm and sat back against a fallen durasteel beam. The beam was red-hot and although her skin smoked she did not feel it. Her eyes were from her childhood, of painful memories and bittersweet happiness. “When I lost you I learned the hard way to not be afraid of death…” A song began in the Force, a lament that was filled with grief. It made the burning floor about her sparkle as if she was in a dew-kissed field on a spring morning. “A life without loss is one without love.” Her eyes fluttered, silver flames sparking within them. If we turn ourselves from death, all we can see is the darkness of its shadow... The song fell away. The silver flame was replaced by emerald sheen. Tears of joy replaced the sobs of pain. Her eyes were open for but a moment longer as she looked death in the eye. At last she embraced it as a friend and left her darkness behind.
  3. All she saw was the enemy before her. He was the embodiment of all the evil that had been inflicted upon her. His cursed nurgle-flesh a reflection of her own scars. The dualism of her own soul was represented by the calm demeanor of the Sith, a cruel mask for unstoppable corruption. He was the stain on her soul. He was her brokenness. Her lethal evil. The pommel of her longbladed lightsaber bit into her palm, the repercussions of grinding the grip into her hands as her soul split apart. The curse of her youth was tearing her apart. Her brokenness was making her useless. Every attack she had made on the Sith had been ineffective, while he had wounded her. That wound still smoked and reeked of seared flesh, filling her nostrils with the noxious fumes of her own charred body. Why do you still fight this darkness? Pain reared its head again, driving the Exorcist to her knees. It was white-hot in her chest, it felt as though her very flesh was melting away. Black corruption flowed across the girl’s arm, boiling on her alabaster skin. It was like tar, sticky and seething with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The souls of every Sith she had slain was crawling from her boiling flesh. The lightsaber pulsed in her hand. Fear raced through her as the voices laughed in their mocking pity The Darkness does not bargain. It does not reason. It is rot. IT HURTS. IT BURNS. It has taken hold It is spreading To the seat of your soul Kyrie gasped as the forces that battled within her wrenched her from her knees, sending her slamming into the closed blast door. The force of the blow made her ears ring but did not deafen the voices. There will be nothing of you left All your suffering will have been for nothing It’s just a matter of time. The lightsaber pulsed again and the Sith advanced. Kyrie did not care that the beast advanced. She stared at the humming blade as it pulsed. It was her heart. It wasn’t a black heart, but a human heart. A heart that had suffered greatly. It held her soul, as broken as it was. The Imperial Knight turned the blade towards the Sith, and stepped forward. Hayley's voice hissed in surprise and fear What are you doing? The Exorcist smiled through her pain I do not care anymore. We all die someday and once everyone has died darkness will no longer exist. One of the Sith’s lightsabers sped towards her and the fear bubbled up. The voices screamed at her. The Hanger seemed to melt around her as she advanced. Her fire was an extension of her soul and it had begun its work. No, I don’t want to die. We don’t want to die Turn back! Kyrie danced to the side and brought her blackened arm into the path of the Sith’s blade. The crimson blade tore into her flesh with a burning that was all too familiar. She had felt it when the Sith that had raped her had carved his name into her back. She had felt it on the fields of battle on Gala. She had felt it and embraced it. This was no different Stop Stop Stop Stop When the blade hit bone, Kyrie let it pass through. She could feel the heat of it pulse through her bloodstream. The nerves screeched and died as the lightsaber severed them. Their horror shook her, but did not stop her. I’m sorry. I didn’t ask you to be apart of me. I never begged you to help me. More flesh burned, and as it did she turned the world to fire. From the blade she devoured power. She sacrificed for it. For a moment she was united with the blade of the Sith and as it took away her flesh, she took away its very power. Its crystal was foreign, unmade by nature, unclaimed by its will and she shattered it. As her arm fell away the blade died. She became something truly different. She was a Sin Eater. If you won't die with me, then leave me alone. Please stop, if you go on you’ll never come back There is nothing to come back to Kyrie Eleison breathed out flame of pure white as she advanced on the Sith, her one arm holding her glowing blade. She had shattered her world, and she would shatter the Sith’s. The durasteel touched by her flame bubbled and melted away as if it had been nothing but flimsiplast. The Hanger lurched as she advanced. No please don’t leave me! Behind her, the arm melted into corruption, a stinking, boiling mess of black. True torment lay within her, in the memories she could not escape or defeat. She was freed from the voices, but she had walked into her own personal Hell, and she would bring the Sith with her. Kyrie drove through the hail of lightsabers as they had come. She had shattered their brother, and they would not harm her now. The Hanger was falling apart and the liquid, white-hot metal followed her in a rainstorm. With the screams of the exorcist, The Force obeyed and thousands of droplets of liquified durasteel rushed to destroy the Beast.
  4. All Kyrie could hear was the song, the chorus of voices in her head from which she drew her power. The blackened and polished wood of the bowstave trembled in her hand, her arm shaking with energy and the will to fight. She could feel the power of the bow, the soft heartwood of Tython Yew, layered with the hardwood of a single Wroshyr branch from Kashyyyk. It was an ancient weapon, a holdover from the more primitive days of the galaxy, and a holy relic of the Exorcists. Her fingers played over the woven hemp soaked in nerf-fat that made up the bowstring. She could feel the nock, a small bead of firehardened clay she had made in the ruins of the old Gala Praxium. The Imperial Knight had collected the pieces of this weapon from all the significant places she had been. Kyrie slid another arrow onto the string, running her fingertip over the hammered steel that made the arrowhead. She taken the metal from dead Sith warriors, forging their accursed protection into a weapon to be used against them. The temporary high of Il-Andon’s blessing faded as the realization of the uselessness of her attack had been. Control ebbed away. Such a puny weapon Ineffective Your best effort didn’t even do anything The Exorcist gritted her teeth and let the feeling of the bow sooth her mind. Touch had such an effect on her mind, almost inexplicably so. The rough grain of the bow calmed her, but the voices of her darkness continued. She was with the force now, but she had lost the careful control she had maintained for so long. It would take a very long time to recover herself. Splitting pain washed through her from her injury, causing her to suck in air. The Sith thinks you’re weak He doesn’t want to bother himself with a nerfling Hayley’s voice now, mocking, cruel I wouldn’t even notice you, such a broken and twisted thing. Why would a Sith bother with the weak? Kyrie shrieked out through her broken mouth, sending a spew of smoking blood from her lips. SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Nothing happened, no change but a chorus of laughter from inside her mind. Do you think you can command us? You barely have a command left! The wounded Exorcist began to feel. She could feel the death and the destruction that was taking place in the hanger. Her two squads were taking casualties, and so were the rest of the Imperial troops in the hanger. So much wasted life. The deaths were under her command, and she was failing her men and women. The sound of engines whining drew her attention to a landing Sith assault ship. Her troops were rallying for a counterattack, but she could feel the danger brewing and it drove a bite of panic into her. Onboard the ship she could feel true Sith, Masters, Lords, Darths, all powerful and deadly. They’ll all die. All your people will be butchered You should flee Kyrie’s heart raced at the proposition of escape. To run. To leave all the worries and evil behind. Her eyes widened You fought for duty, you grasped at the light! Spoiled by your darkness within You fought for your dreams She drew in a breath as her eyes darted across her rallying men. They were all going to die Now there is no way to win. Kyrie slammed the tip of her bowstaff onto the permacrete with a sickening crack. It drew all attention to her. To the voices she whispered her denials. You can break me… But not my promise. Her darkness was a deep stain upon her soul. It stank worse then the seared flesh on her face. It would not allow her to retreat, not even in her doubts. It wanted her fully, to give herself over to it, to the hands of the sith. Turning to run was but an instinct of madness, but fear was not as powerful as loathing. She would fight. She whispered to the Sith with many voices. I will go into the lair of the beast. I will look it in the eye And I will go to war. The longhandled lightsaber skittered across the ground, drawn to her hand. She was panicking, but she would not let them break her. She would not let her men and women die. She projected an order through the force, slamming it into the minds of the Imperials with the force of a scream. ...Andromeda, take your men and mine. Leave this place. There is more evil nearby. I will take these evils upon myself. Live to fight another day She stared into the eyes of the beastial Sith. They were onyx, like the colour of her many braids that were now matted with blood, both hers and her enemies. Her own eyes were clouded. The stormy seas of a lost soul. The Sith’s eyes were invitingly evil and she reached out a hand. There is nothing left for me. But the hand was not pointed to him, but the landing Sith assault shuttle, filled with his reinforcements. Sith Masters and their apprentices, she could feel them humming with energy. They were filled with the rage of war, and it made her smile. They were ready for the slaughter, to claim scalps and ravage the populace. Hell was reaching deep inside of her. You are weak Pathetic The Beastial Sith would feel fingers digging in around his throat, and there was a small pause as the Imperial troops reacted to her message. The force wrenched, and the Sith Assault shuttle was crushed. She could feel the horror and terror from the Sith inside as they were ground into macerated chunks of flesh by the Force. The hulking metal abomination looked like a cheap child’s toy as it was mangled and crushed into gleaming and twisted chunks. Blood and coolant mixed into a smoking river before it was ignited into silver flame. She would need no help holding the hanger. She would die as she had lived, alone and isolated. When her time came, she would look death in the eye, as an old friend. I will not let the battle go.
  5. Kyrie felt it then, something distractingly familier. A glimpse of her home, but a home engulfed by flames. She gasped through gritted teeth at the sudden feeling, and felt heated blood splash over her tongue. It tasted of copper and burnt meat. Her face hurt. Adrenaline had been a temporary relief, but now her nerves screamed with pain and her body felt weak. The hangerbay swam before her eyes as the Imperial Knight touched her wound with a half-gloved hand. It came away with blackened, steaming blood which coursed down her pale fingers. The droplets followed the tracks of the scars on her pale flesh to drip in rivulets down her rosary. What was that? The Exorcist moved forward as the Sith retreated behind his men, and challenged the Sith troopers that stood before her. Look out. She pirouetted around the crimson beam of light out of instinct alone. The voice was not her own, but it was female and drove an edge of panic into her. In that panic she lost her grace and slipped on a pool of coolant on the hanger floor. As her blackened leather boot slid from beneath her, she grabbed onto the disrupter rifle that had fired the shot and dragged the Sith trooper with her into the fall. Kyrie landed in a sprawl, no dignity or grace, entangled with the much larger Sith Trooper. Her lightsaber clattered on the decking and went out. The man was a giant, and his large hands were about her throat before she could react. The pressure of his grip made her choke and squirm, her hands trying to find purchase on the Sith’s face. She spat through her broken teeth Off. The Master of the Exorcists had expected the man to fly off of her into the ceiling, but the Force did not move to her command. Her silver eyes widened as they turned back to emerald. She couldn’t feel anything. No righteous fury, no judgement. Not even Il-Andon Rorik’s rosary gave her the comfort it had moments before Why... “Kriffing Imperial Scum!” Kyrie could smell the ale on the man’s breath, the rage that was in him. His eyes were piggish and wild. She had seen them before as a girl. His grip slackened for a moment as he picked her up by her neck, and she gasped in air. She had never thought she would be thankful for the acrid, recycled air of combat. He slammed her head into the decking and her vision became clouded by stars. Pain throbbed through her whole body as she wriggled and spasmed. The voices came to her again, like they had before Tython You touched the darkness, we could all see its scar in your hollow eyes. You ran from it. You ran and brought it home. Kyrie gargled an apology. The Sith trooper only squeezed harder, enjoying the feeling of her larynx beneath his fingers. The apology was not to him, but to the swarming voices in her head. The voices had been the cause of the isolation of her youth, locked away as an embarrassment by her Mandalorian father. Her mother had seen the voices and personalities that had passed over her daughter as a sign that Kyrie had been touched by the gods. It had taken her voice, and left her only song. Your gaze averted from life. You looked only on the dead. She tried to scream but she did not have the air. The voice that warned her came back You ran and brought the darkness to me. You cursed me with an endless suffering worse than death. You let it crawl into me, and now it rots me. The Imperial Knight knew the voice now, knew its pain. She gasped out a name ...Hayley… Do you still hear my screams? In this waking nightmare, my horrors came true. Your quest for justice, for righteousness, what good did it do me? Kyrie’s spasming fingers gripped onto her own leg as her other hand pried at the Sith’s armour. They’ve taken my soul. No. No. NO! Horror overcame her. Over her swollen tongue Kyrie cried the word no. She cried it again and again. She still cried it as she drove her stiletto knife under the stomach armor of the Trooper, and cried no as she drove her hand through his guts and fascia. Her tears of rage were uncontrollable as she drove the blade deeper into the man. He made a high pitched squealing sound and thrashed, but now she was in control. She twisted the knife and ripped it free, feeling his warmth spray onto her. She coughed as the man’s guts flooded over her in a wave of awful. The voices flooded her mind and they were terrifying. Accusatory. Derisive. But above all was the voice of her sister, Hayley Fieldgrey. It was mocking and it drove beastial fear into her. The last time Kyrie had seen her sister was when the girl had fled their home when it had been ravaged by the Sith. She could still see those hazel eyes looking on in fear as Kyrie had been raped and tortured. She could still see the young girl slip out into the night in her small white nightgown, stepping over the beheaded corpses of their mother and brother. It had been a betrayal that defined them both. The perfect daughter had abandoned her broken sister to die. What are you doing? You are showing weakness. Pick up your blade and fight! She’s weak. You’ve always been weak. Hayley’s mocking voice overwhelmed the others You’re not a warrior, you’re a disgrace to the gods. Kyrie screamed again, but it came out as a spray of blood without sound. Her trembling hands found the handle of a vibroax on the Sith’s belt. Its handle was worn and made from hardened wood. Pick it up. Fight it. Fight them. Kill them. Pick it up. She is scared Blasterfire ricocheted about her, spanging off the permacrete to fill her vision with sparkling light. She hugged the ax to her chest. What a poor little girl She’s scared Fight them With emerald eyes she stared at the line of the Sith Troopers. They fired relentlessly. They were the enemy. They were what kept her from saving Hayley. Only suffering brings salvation. It is the way of the gods. Do you not believe in our gods? Kyrie charged the Sith line like a beast. She hadn’t touched this ferocity since she had killed the Sith that had kept her as a slave. He had enjoyed scarring her, and for every scar he had etched into her, she had tortured him back. She had taken her time killing the sadistic man. She spat blood at the Sith as she sprinted. No. It is not the gods that cause suffering, it is those close to us. The Force came back to her in a rush of power as she left the influence of the ysalimiri. The power was unfocused, but it fueled her. She was the Sword of the Empire, and she was ferocious. She was fed by the desire to save the galaxy, but it was bitter feast. As she used the force, she fed the darkness in her soul. It was the fate of the uncontrolled and uncautious. Instead of flames, there was an lawless wildfire of silver. The voice of Il-Andon Rorik came then to her mind Hell will not give you the answers you want. But you must not look away from the horror it does offer, for you cannot overcome suffering if you refuse to look. The vibroaxe bit into the helmet of one of the Sith as she drove it down, dragging the gleaming metal through skull until it lodged in his ribcage. The Imperial Knight’s fire drove them back. Sent them sprawling. She ensnared a young lieutenant with her flames and sent his burning, screaming corpse flying at the Eweb. And then she saw him, the horned beast back again. He was marked by his twin blades and she brought the axe up to block the first attack. The rapier-blade of the lightsaber glanced off the crimson-stained Axehead and sliced through the wooden handle, making her weapon useless. Kyrie jumped backwards to safety, but her mind was solely focused on the destruction of the wicked, so she did not abandon the fight. To her hand came the wooden stave of her longbow, twisting it off her back as she flew. The fletching of woodgrouse was soft upon her bloody fingertips as she notched an arrow in the handwoven string. As she landed amongst her troops, she drew back the longbow. Kyrie blessed the arrow with her flame and let it fly towards the beastial Sith. It was propelled with a line of holy fire that lit up the hanger like a flare as it flew towards the Sith’s black heart. She would end the fight here and now.
  6. The Inquisitor of the Empire could smell the rot of the Sith from paces away. Maggots and bonemeal, the air tasted like a grave. It was a choking foulness that crested over her senses like the waves that crashed upon the abandoned beaches of Tython. The seaworn glass on those beaches had sparkled in the soft light as she had danced among the moonbeams. She had been wild once. Free. Now she was in another prison of suffocating, recycled air and riveted metal. She twisted her face to meet the horned face that approached at the speed of a striking serpent. Vileness Incarnate. Kyrie stepped back as the creature passed through the seals etched in silver fire. The souls of the damned leapt forth from the flame like sparks. The souls she had banished, the Sith she had claimed reached with clawing hands to drag the beast into their domain. They were as ghostly as they were ghastly, as decayed as the beast they sought to drag into Hades. Their sins had cast them forever from the light, and they were her burden. Her own soul tore as the damned were birthed from the seeds of her own corruption. A Sin Eater was never pure, they took upon themselves the vileness and the spoil, the putrid and the corrupt. It was how they cleansed the galaxy of corruption, taking it upon themselves and devouring it. That corruption would be cast upon the fire of her soul and most of it would be burned away into nothingness, but a stain remained. From that stain Kyrie drove her flame, to encompass and destroy. The Imperial Knight stepped backwards and pain began to roar through her senses. Her mouth was numb and suddenly dry. She could feel the recycled air upon her teeth and flow across her tongue, but her mouth was not open. The Sith’s blade had caressed her cheek, driving through the flesh to expose her jaw. Flesh and muscle remained around her face in strands, her jaw clenching with its remaining muscles. Sithspit Kyrie muttered a curse and flipped herself into a backwards tumble across the studded metal and permacrete. She welcomed the closeness to the beast, but on her own timing. The tall girl, and she was a girl, still too young to gain entrance to the officer’s bar, tossed the ebony braids of her hair from her vision. The song of war was pounding in her mind, carrying with it the thrill of battle. She invited the beast to come to her with the flash of her silvered blade. Her fire gathered around her, bound to her song, stoked by every breath. The holy flames leapt tall about her, illuminating her horrendous smile, all blood and exposed teeth. Her cauterized flesh stank and gave off whisps of steam with every breath. She was ready to rip the strength from the corrupted soul before her and banish it to flame. Her song continued in the force, her mouth no longer able to move. Your soul grows soft in the fire of my furnace. It hungers to be hit upon the anvil and to have a hundred sisters in its death. May you dance the maddest in the morass of our red rain
  7. An extension of the darkness loomed before her, a chasm of doom in the form of a horn-masked man. It was terrifying and Kyrie could feel the cool chill of fear begin to creep up her spine as she traced her symbols onto the decking in silver flame. She turned her fearsome eyes upon the chasm of darkness and smiled with unnatural strength. The scar tissue deformed to give the smile an almost maniacal visage, and as she did so tears of fire began to run down her face. Across her squads of troopers a cheer echoed as they were tuned into the song of their leader, the song of war, the fury of righteous fire. The whole world seemed to change, and Kyrie could feel the pull of the spirits, just as she had on Tython. The docking bay before her shimmered into an open field of greying grass, interspersed with the yellows of nerfslips, twisting and swaying in a breeze. She could almost smell the seasalt upon that wind. It stayed for only a moment before the vision caught with the wildfire that flowed from her hands. The Grenadiers of Foy and the Imperial Commandos of Kildare were under the heavy fire of the Sith, but these troops were no weakling Jedi or GA troops. They had been hunting Sith beside their master for years. The enemies were armed with only the Disrupter Rifles that required a cooldown of five or six seconds after each shot. While the Disrupters were powerful weapons, their slow firing rate could not stand before the whithering fire of Repeating Heavy Slugthrowers, Concussion Rifles, Blasters, and the anti-Sith flechettes. Hadran Narraghmore winced as he watched his second in command, Hywyl Llandderfyl disintegrate before his eyes. He had known the man since childhood, and to hear the man's screams as he turned to ash made him angry. He whistled out a command, the sound similar to a Coruscanti hawkbat and the Imperial troops began to concentrate their fire on the Sith warriors, letting their masters fight. He would enjoy the fight and afterwards he would get drunk in the memory of his ruddy-faced friend and all their adventures. As for Kyrie, she only understood the language of the sword. The dark haired girl raised her unlit lightsaber, with its long and simple handle, in one scarred hand while she gathered some of her firey tears upon the other. With those tears she marked her forehead with the sign of the cross, leaving behind a burn on her pale flesh. She finished her designed pacing and stood in the center of the patterns and sang to the Sith. It was not a lovely song, not one of peoms or of lost lovers, it was of the man’s doom. ...I will sing to you the lullaby of obliteration, and I will awake with a smile and with joy in my heart. I let my blade do the talking, So my tongue shall become iron and my words the mighty roar of war.... And her blade sang in its ignition, casting the world bright with new fire.
  8. The Master of the Imperial Knights ran, her ebony braids bouncing with each long stride of her armoured legs. The Force propelled her faster, and she wove through the throngs of civilians with expert precision. She concentrated on the song of the spirits about her, listening to their warnings, to the words the Force desired her to hear. Kyrie ducked under a fleeing Ithorian’s extended neck, reaching out to her squadmates, her brothers and sisters in arms. They were battle hardened together, soldiers and scouts of the Empire. She could feel the vibrant joy that Hadran Narraghmore pumped into the force, long before she could see the maroon plastoid armour of the Grenadiers of Foy forming up to meet her. He was ready for battle, and his men and women knelt as Kyrie approached. The harsh sterility of concentrated tactics rushed over her as IC-426 and the rest of the Imperial Commandos of Kildare marched to join them. Their deathtrooper variant armour gleamed in its dark colours of the Imperial Knights, highlighted with a forest green. The two squad commanders embraced, unitiing themselves beneath Kyrie’s lead. Kyrie glanced up at the hanger doors looming above the kneeling men and women, and then to her apprentice that stood beside her. She could feel a darkness rushing towards them like an arrow, black and hardened in evil, propelled by the Force to meet them. She held up a hand and the fire of the Exorcists rushed across her fingertips, blazing in silver flame. It gave off no physical heat, but had an ethereal warmth that emboldened the soul. “Rise.” The two squads of troops stood as one, their plastoid armour making a unified clicking as they all saluted. Kyrie held out her long-handled lightsaber, pointing it towards the blast door that began to open, revealing a hanger in panic. “This will be our bulkhead against the Sith. We hold them here.” She motioned to derelict and partially constructed ships that lay scattered about the hanger bay like children's toys tossed about a playroom. “Environmental suits locked in. Prepare for war.” The Imperial Knight gave her men and women a broad smile, her teeth sparkling in the reflected light of her flames. Her emerald eyes began to grow milky and then hardened to shining silver. “Neca ne neceris. Dismissed.” The two squads scattered into the hanger, taking up firing positions that would compliment their weaponry. Concussion Rifles, Flechette Launchers, Slugthrowers, Sonic Rifles. They were her revered Sith Hunters, the Inquisition forces, and they were effective at their game. Kyrie herself stood in the center, watching the Sith approach. A shuttle cloaked in the darkness. She stepped in patterns, leaving footprints of silver flame in intricate designs. As it entered the hanger, she held out her extinguished lightsaber as a challenge. The Sith were used to the softness of the Jedi, and would be expecting a slaughter. The Master of the Exorcists was a beacon for the Sith, and like the insects they were, the Sith would be drawn to her flame.
  9. Kyrie blinked as her words trailed off into a snarl of righteous anger. She could feel them, the oppressive energy of the Sith as they arrived. Her eyes widened a fraction, the emerald reflection of the glowlamps sparkling in their depths. She had never felt such a whirlwind of terror and horror within the Force. Dying and tortured souls caught upon an event horizon, screeching in their panicked madness as they were consumed by pure evil. The ashes of the evil she had consumed echoed in the horror, driving the air from her lungs. She had no choice but to shrink her mind before the storm. It was too much all at once. The leader of the Imperial Knights had felt the echoing torture of Jedi prisoners. Their persecuted souls were familiar, and cried out for her to save them. She knew she could do nothing but listen to their deaths as they were consumed. Emerald eyes flashed silver as the Master of the Imperial Knights dragged air into her lungs. It hurt her to breath this recycled air. She wished for the damp wind of Tython, the healing caress of the jungles. “Aidan, follow close. We are in a fight for our lives now.” Panic swirled about her as the civilians of Kuat’s rings began to rush to places of safety. Kyrie opened her scarred mouth and began to sing, weaving the power of the Force into her words. It was a song of strength and carried the purging fire of the Exorcists. The panicked winds calmed to match the breezes of Tython. The Sith had come, but they would face the Master of the Exorcists. She smiled, a grin that carried a challenge into the Force.
  10. The Imperial Knight watched her apprentice steadily as the medical droid peeled some of the burned flesh from her face and applied silver nitrate paste to debris the wound before it could fester. Holy fire was painful to bear, even for the pure. Sin Eaters were always scorched by its flame, as they bore the Dark Side within their souls, bound by their holiness. Kyrie watched Aidan’s face flicker for a moment with a myriad of microexpressions that indicated his troubled mind. Whatever was on his text-com was bothering him. She could feel his mind shift emotions, and at its heart all she felt was the forlorn longing of an abandoned child. Such a deepset weakness would never allow him to stand against the Darkside for long, but she had a duty to make him as strong as she could. ...I will not abandon him like so many others have. She reached out one of her scarred hands to the man and nodded in her agreement. Her words carried their usual bluntness. She had never been one for diplomacy. “Controlling emotions is not blunting them or binding them into yourself where they will fester.” Kyrie stood, brushing the medical droid off her with a push of her hand that sent it spinning. It beeped in irritation. “I am not the mindless Jedi whose teachings direct us away from our humanity.” A slight sneer came across her pale features “When there is no emotion, there is peace.” A shake of her head at the aged mantra. So much destruction over idiotic words. “My father would call that philosophy Osik. Our emotions give us a connection to the galaxy, a desire to save it. To deny emotions is to deny life itself.” She leaned close to her apprentice. “Let’s find some control with what bothers you the most, and temper it into a weapon for the Light.”
  11. Means to an end… Kyrie pondered his words, letting them flow through her mind and painting her own decisions with the palette of that philosophy. She had been in many situations that the means had been to deal death… But was it worth it? Absentmindedly, her course fingertips traced the scars on her face. She was ugly now by galactic standards, but was that ugliness mirrored in her heart? Did the scars of her deeds and the ashes of the dead cast a shadow on her soul? She whispered to herself a small verse from the Illtides of Revan We believe in the one Force, its binding of light and dark. We are those that champion the light, we judge the quick and the dead. Her emerald eyes looked into Aidan’s, and the Exorcist placed her palms upwards “We are the only ones left that can hold the Sith at bay.” She indicated the battle reports of Onderon that were playing on a loop on the recessed holoscreen that played multicoloured light throughout their darkened room. “...But we cannot become as they are to do it. We are the light, and the light saves the innocent. We do not damn the innocent to death for the greater good.” Kyrie stood slowly, pain running its course through her nerves. Her body was growing weary of war, and she was barely into adulthood. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her ebony braids obscuring her face “Do not give in to the seduction of power. The whispers that fill your mind… That tell you if you just let go of your morals that you can save everything. That seduction is the dark side, and it will consume you in small, unnoticeable pieces until nothing of yourself remains.”
  12. Our path is to Paradise, and likewise the road to ruin. The Commander of the Imperial Knights breathed in a mouthful of the stale, recycled air of the medical center. Her peripheral nerves were on fire, and she twitched slightly as the 21-B placed a bacta syringe against her bare hip. Its electronic drawal was slightly irritating to her as it spoke “Mistress, I am applying bacta to your major muscle groups, it should allow for more constant application to your nerves.” Everything was more irritating to her since Kashyyyk. She blew a mouthful of air from her lips, a feeble attempt to unobscure her vision from her unkempt hair. She was simultaneously annoyed by the bangs, and a bit embarrassed about her breath. She hadn’t had a sonic brushing since before the battle. She was thankful the droid couldn’t smell. “Your breath indicates dental decay at a minor level. Might I bring you a sonic brush Mistress?” Her emerald eyes closed in a wince and she glanced over to where her apprentice was being patched up. His eyes were downcast, looking at battle readouts and casualty reports. Kyrie was thankful her own squads had survived relatively unbloodied. Any deaths to her men were personal ones. They were her friends and family. She reached out with the force, but spoke the words aloud. “Aidan, how is your mind, now that we are far from the war?”
  13. The Exorcist’s fingers, pale and nails chewed from her nervous tic, began to pulse as she channeled the Force through her. She could feel the leather wrappings of the man’s shoulder upon which her hand rested, but she wanted to go deeper. His words did not penetrate her mind, they were held in stasis as she pursued his heart. What drove you? Strength, anger? Was it Bitterness? Kyrie felt as though she was running a marathon, pursuing the emotions in her apprentice before he tamped them down, bottling them up. To bottle emotions up was a trait they both shared, and she knew the havoc it wraught on the soul. A dawn of horror rushed through her as it did her apprentice. It came swift as lightning, and the thunderclap of fear followed. She breathed the fear in like the smoke from a deathstick, it was frigidly cold against her flames. She let it fill her soul as she joined his mind. What have I done, bringing you so badly prepared into the heart of chaos that is war? The Imperial Knight’s eyes blazed silver, but her face was calm and full of a kindness that outmatched the scars on her face. The burning tears continued as pain coursed through her heart, the heartache of a sin eater. It hurt to consume sin, burning it away left a painful corruption behind. She let out a small gasp, and exposed her apprentice to the hurt inside, as an echo, the lives she had taken, the monstrous Sith she had brought to ruin. Each life taken was a burden, a life that would never be redeemed. Feel the cost of our journey. Think on it before you continue our path. Her scars turned raw with fresh blood, the fire beginning to burn too hot within her soul. She grabbed the young man and pressed her own lightsaber into his trembling hands. She was giving him no option but to press forward at her side. It was a strong leash, and the long-handled blade hummed with a foreign power. You felt strong, and now you are weaker than before. That is the curse of darkness. Weakness, and you and I are no weaklings. The Commander of the Imperial Knights lifted her palms upwards and fire danced across them. You are retreating into your mind in your shame. The fire began to spread to cloak her in silver light. We have all fallen to anger at times. To fall is to be human. Anger tempts up all. Her ebony braids singed to silvered fire, and the darkness of the world about them began to burn to ash. As Trandoshans poured over the lip of the crater in a counterattack, they began to be consumed by the raging inferno. Sorrow for the lost, fear for her apprentice, the death of a world, all caused the lump in her throat. There was no speaking now. At the heart of the fire, was the crying Imperial Knight and her apprentice. To pull yourself up from the shackles of humanity, that is the light.
  14. The bright light beside Kyrie erupted into white hot flames, driven to fury by justice. It confused her, justice was supposed to be dispassionate. Passion obscured the impartiality of the Force, taking righteous justice to a darker vigilantism. The Imperial Knight brought her saber up to block a scattergun round and watched in horror as her apprentice hacked his way through their opponents. He was driven by passion, not righteousness. She screamed his name, but he was lost into the smoke and ruin of the war. ...What have I done… Her lightsaber flashed, spitting fire from raindrops as she batted rounds away from herself. Her own flames began to run short as doubt crept in through the justifications. Slavers were to be sentenced to death. Had she brought a child with no control over himself to a war without realizing it? Did I only look to the prowess of battle, and not to the strength of spirit? Kyrie could feel him before her like a tempest, blowing the winds of battle into a bloodfury. Onwards she ran, skipping over bodies and the outpouring of the Darkfire’s wrath. Crumpled bodies of slavers bisected by the blade she had given him. She had equipped him with a weapon, but no strength of will to hold it in justice. Where are you? The older man was not hard to track, even in the confusion of a landbattle. Aidan had left a trail of destruction in his wake, and an even darker one in the Force. All around her she could feel the echoes in the Force, the dead and dying. The spirits of the Wookiees were crying for justice, and the dark side was strong. She was in the path of where the Force Storms had converged. Sin corrupted the sinner’s soul, and she needed to save them all. A pulsing wave rushed around her like the whitewaters of a river, torrents of feelings unbound. She was catching up. The Exorcist dropped to the scorched earth, feelings numbed as she began to feed herself to the Force. The darkness about her was oppressive, a foul odour invading her very soul. With trembling fingers she touched the broken ground, littered with blood and bone. The injustice was palpable, and she drove her fingertips into the soil. In the Force, the darkness began to rush into her as she breathed, the pollution filling her. She could taste the copper of blood, the gluttonous hunger that had drove the Force to consume so many souls. She couldn’t feel them, they had not been driven into the dust. Her eyes widened They trapped the souls… Tears began to pour from her glowing eyes, she could feel nothing of their spirits but the pain and terror of the storm. They were being tortured even now. Justice will come. Righteousness consumes sin. Light burns it all away. Into the torrential downpour of rain, she let out a breath. From her own traumas she brought forth the fires of purity, of righteousness. She was a crucible in which she would purify the deeds of the Sith. She was a sin eater. Stipendium peccati mors est… The cool caress of forest loam became the burning of her soul embodied in the consumption of evil. She gritted her teeth, taking in the whirlwind of passion, of gluttony, and burning it into ash. Kyrie’s tears began to burn her flesh as they coursed across her scars, dripping to the earth, burning the darkenss away. In a flash, the downpour reversed, rain turning to darts of pure silver, rushing away in all directions. ...These horrors too will grow mild, this darkness shall find its dawn. The Exorcist stood, her skin smoking and peeling, flames of pure light streaming behind her like wings as she ran. She had to find him, her broken apprentice, and find him she did. His beacon in the force was faltering. The passions of the moment had fled, leaving him with only pain. With an outstretched hand, the Imperial Knight fell to the man’s side. She was almost a wraith of pure light, cloaked in the armour of a Jedi general. Her face was etched in pain. Aidan… She did not speak, her throat was full of emotion and would not allow it. Two Trandoshans crested the hill before them, but they froze, shrieking, burning into ashes before them. Their sins had consumed them fully, and purification left nothing but the dust from which they had been made. That fire did not turn on the apprentice, but began to fade as the scarred warrior placed her hands on his broad shoulders Are you all right?
×
×
  • Create New...