Onderon

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Lambda Shuttle Karlsruhe emerged from hyperspace near the Duel Golan III’s. It immediately hailed the Sith Golan, and upon receiving docking clearance, landed in the expansive docking bay. Colonel Alexandre Muloch, of the Sith aligned Onderon Defense force, and commander of the Golan waited with an honour guard for the young Sith Apprentice. He was enough of a Sith ally that the sight of the small Sith descending the ramp with all the haughty anger of a Sith Lord did not fill him with laughter, but instead intense veiled dread. The Commander of the Black Sun Guard, Liam Kaisong stood beside him, silent, his heart also filling with dread. He had served beside Delta on Dathomir the first time, and to see this child as a Sith broke his heart. But he was smart enough to not express such a thing.

 

The both bowed low to the Sith Apprentice and Telperiën gestured them to rise. Her voice was taught and low, her eyes a mix of yellow and purple. He stretched out her sense to encompass the golan and the capital city of Iziz below it. Though she did not recognize the force presences below her, she made no effort to hide her own presence from them. If the two Jedi below were looking in the force, they would sense a strangely powerful presence above them. She cocked her head to the side and fixed them both with a look of mild concern.

 

“We must prepare a defense of this world, assemble the armies, order your ships to begin training and mine the approaches. Our spies in the remnant tell us that their fleets may soon be on their way…” She fixed Muloch with all of her attention. “And send a shuttle for Karys Narat iv-Adas to meet us here. I have need of him.”

 

Seveal minutes later, a messenger from the Sith Garrison approached the Massassi bidding him to make his way to the orbiting Golan as soon as possible.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

As the pair of Golan IIIs slowly orbited over the planet of Onderon, inside the Sith aligned station Telperiën paced slowly around the command bridge. She was watching the Canto Bight Fiasco and the Totenkopf, with their fighter escorts slowly dropping sensor buoys to map out the projected defensive minefield. Laid out in large circular orbits reaching out dozens of kilometers with a singular, winding path to the pair of golans. Should the Remnant try an attack on the planet, they would either have to slowly follow the path and face the withering guns of the Defense platforms, or should the minefields go unnoticed stray a little and enter destruction itself. Currently, the field was under construction and the path was laid out for the civilian traffic to use, lighted up like a landing strip with sensor buoys, which should an enemy fleet arrive, would turn off, blending into the background static of the minefield. Telperiën was no tactical genius, but she was learning, and closely following the sage advice left behind by her master.

 

Upon hearing of Karys Narat iv-Adas’ imminent arrival, Telperiën took the few moments left of respite to calm her nerves. She plopped herself down in the command chair of the station and pulling her legs underneath her, meditated. She reached out with her senses, feeling the life below her, the primal nature of the population tugged at her, though it was heavily disguised through societal pressures, the men and women of Onderon carried out their lives. Palace guards kept watch, mothers caressed babies, father’s went to work. Though the administration had changed, there was little different in their daily lives other than they all had ID cards issued by the Sith Or Black Sun governments. She let her consciousness play across the surface of the CIty of Iziz, seeking fear and despair, finding it in the slums or prisons and then drinking of it. It bolstered and sharpened her mind into a fine point, and it was there that the Guards escorted the great Massassi Warrior Karys Narat iv-Adas into.

 

She rose from her chair and bowed low, her diminutive frame completely dwarfed by the massive man. She stalked forward like a hunter and extended her hand to him. She followed the protocol that she had studied the night before. Though she was refreshed from using the force, it did not conceal the dark bags beneath her tattooed eyelids. She was still a child afterall.

 

“I am Telperiën Ar-Pharazon, apprentice of the Dark Lord, daughter of the Golden God and his Dathomiri Queen Qaela. I greet you Karys Narat iv-Adas. Tell me of your captivity among the Rebel Alliance.”

 

She used the old term for the pack of democratic imbeciles. It was only fitting to put them in their place, a rebellion to be crushed beneath the heel. Her heart stirred at the thought.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën hesitated a moment before responding. Gathering her thoughts into a clear pattern before she spoke. She smiled widely, showing a row of pearl white teeth in a smile that was very unnatural for someone her age.

 

“Sheog the Mad is a valuable Sith Master and many in the Sith academy would murder many to train under him.” She drew upon her knowledge of the ancient Sith before continuing. And deciding on a path that she had seen many Nightsister use. Friendly manipulation. SHe needed him, and he needed to redeem himself. “Do you worry Karys Narat iv-Adas, that he will be displeased about your performance on Nal Hutta? Though I commend you friend for returning safely, it cannot be seen as anything but a failure, especially in the eyes of a Mad Hutt.” Her purple-gold eyes narrowed slightly, “So as a friend I can suggest you a course of action, to save your Massassi hide, for I have heard that his lightsabre and staff are made from the spinal columns of past apprentices.”

 

Her voice carried a careful note of concern, though it was manipulating him to do something that would help her in tandem. “I suggest that you assist in the upcoming defense of this planet, pour yourself into its defense. Prove your worth beyond the failure against a Jedi Girl and you will not be stumbled in your path to greatness.”

 

She tossed him a datachip containing the current defense plan of Onderon, its needs and gaps. “Also compile an extensive report of your battle against the Jedi Knight Sarna. What powers she expressed, her weaknesses, her strengths, and anything that seemed unnatural about her abilities. What you did, and what you failed at and what your would do to counter her in the future. If we are to fight Jedi again, which we no doubt will over this planet, I need your experience. This will please to Dark Lord.”

 

She grinned at him. “Also there is a great amount of food and provisions here that can sate your thirst and replace the foul taste of rebel prisons. Come eat with me.”

 

She jumped down from the command chair and stood. Together they walked out of the command centre to where a large table was set up with food in the briefing room. She looked up to the hulking beast of a man and smiled. She pulled a glass shaped parang from her belt and held it up to him.

 

“An offering of friendship Karys Narat iv-Adas, if you will take it.”

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Not death you fool for that is easily conquered by medical sciences and a willing spirit. I am speaking of indissoluble, resolute, eternal death. The type where your spirit is dissolved into the force and your being is left for the galaxy and historians to brush over in dry old textbooks. There was nothing she feared more than that. If she couldn’t leave a legacy why was she even here? Why was she alone saved from the ruins of the Darksongs. She had to make an impact.

 

She scoffed at his rebuttal of her simple manipulation but shrugged. “You can always try to harm me Karys, you might even win you know.” She laughed softly through her teeth. “Then let us be friends Karys Narat iv-Adas. For the Jedi are desperate I am sure. It seems their greatest and most effective warrior since the fall of Faust was a little girl like me.” She felt the force stir and she spun towards the holo console as a feeling of hunger rose in her stomach.

 

It was a horrifying thing to see, a grown man cower, to tremble like a leaf on a dessicant bough, counting the seconds until the fall. It was a delicious feeling, filling the force with a mix of fear and anger. Wroth came next, the wroth that only a slave could hold for its master. Cowering in fear while secret hate ate at his heart, turning his insides to water and his heart to cold hothian steel. She strode to her friend’s side and stood next to him, shielding him slightly from the gaze of the great hutt. Though fear bloomed in her heart, she stared into those horrible eyes of the Mad Hutt and placed her small hand on the shoulder of Karys Narat iv-Adas, son of Glory. Last of his people. Like her mother would have had she not abandoned her on a backwater world filled with vile witches. Anger blossomed madly and she focused her strength and fed Karys’ Wrath with her energy, gifting him her will.

 

Her voice filtered through the Wrath to whisper behind his ears the words her tribe had given her many times.

 

Show not your weakness, rise and show that you are bold.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën licked her lips as she watched the Hellespont begin its first mine laying run, dropping little packages of death along all approach vectors save one of the gem of the Sith and Black Sun Alliance. The only approach possible for capitals was through the interlacing fire of the Golans. Withering, sweeping, and blistering fire of the Ion and Turbolaser cannons. Then chuck missiles into the fray and there would be quite a few dead Imperials or Rebels should they attempt the pass without going single file.

 

Her purple/yellow eyes bored into the holographic image of the insane Hutt. She clapped her hands together once and looked to her Massassi friend.

 

“Yeah lets go see them, lead the way Karys Narat iv-Adas if you will. I still can’t get a speeder license yet, so you are going to have to drive.”

 

This whole thing was very draining for the girl, always being at the edge of her knowledge base, and relying on the force and lesser beings was very trying. She glanced at the comm on her wrist and smiled widely.

 

“Oh Ca’Aran sent one of his friends to help!” She activated her comm and sent it off to the Mandalorian Crusader. Her voice sickly sweet and sounding like it was dragged through a gravel yard.

 

“Borsk Zero-House, I bid you welcome to the capital of the Sith Empire. My father trusts you enough to send you, so please join us on the surface for the troop inspection. I look forward to hearing your advice.”

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën’s mouth did not move as she spoke through the force to the Massassi warrior. Her disapproval shone like a beacon through the force, glittering like the glass shiv he had affixed to his belt. If there was one thing the Sith had never learned in their history it was basic troop command. Hell she only knew it because of watching Ca’Aran. So she decided to bestow a morsel of higher learning on the Massassi that he may have not heard before. Her speech was laced in tired sarcasm, though it was meant more in love than disrespect.

 

Ah yes great idea, let's scare our men into submission. No wonder the Sith haven’t gotten far in conquest. Loyalty is more valuable than fear on a battlefield in my opinion, take your short term gains from scaring the enemy, inspire that loyalty, don’t demand it.

The last bit had been from a speech she had heard while on Dathomir. Of course the one that had given it had ended up a chunk of molten carbon at the hands of her parents, but such was life. Telperiën looked over the group of troopers and smiled, she beckoned to the hesitant commander, ‘Bolten Jarrix’ according to his name badge, and reluctantly he strode forward to salute before the massive Massassi. While the two of them talked, she looked back at Borosk, her canines showing sharp in her grin.

 

“Do you have experience fighting Jedi?”

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

She held out her hand towards the fearsome Lizard, curling her hand inwards like a claw until little jets of electrostatic discharge jumped between her stubbed, bitten nails. The jets turned into an eddy of blue flame as they traced her palm, circling and winding into a beautiful tattoo in the air above her small palm. Her yellow eyes concentrated as she chanted with each outburst of air. Her lips tearse and pale, her upper jaw lightly biting onto her lower lip but with every word the pressure increased.

 

Feldrom

 

Ishthum

 

Nandoom

 

Cananthradrüm

 

Blood dripped in a steady flow down her chin.

 

She reached out and grabbed his scaley wrist and planted the tattoo upon it as gentle as a kiss. It would only burn a little bit. It melded and flowed like molten iron around his wrist, a symbol of power and reward in a nightsister society.

 

“There’s your contract, kill a Jedi and earn my master’s favour.”

 

Her pink tongue flicked at the bloody mess that was her chin and she grinned.

 

“See? Isn’t that fun! I love the force, you can do so much cool stuff with it!”

 

But it was so tiring to use, especially like that. And when she turned back to the Sith commander, her shoulders slumped slightly.

 

“And to kill as many Jedi as possible you must immediately begin the construction of a planetary Turbolaser (complete: 4/23/2018) and boost our garrisons. Thank you. You are dismissed.”

 

Now she was really wiped out, she stumbled back to the shuttle and fell onto the crash webbing with a whuff. Then she was asleep almost instantly.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

The shuttle departed towards Korriban, carrying the last heir of Ar-Pharazon and the nightsister Qaela. The young girl sat, snuggled into her crash webbing, one finger absentmindedly twirling her locks of hair, while the other hand wrote up a short report to her master.

 

 

“My Lord, the troops have been left in the capable hands of both Sheog and the Sith Lord Karys, who have been busy in their training. I have left comprehensive defenses in my wake, and should the Rebel Alliance and their pack of rabid Jedi deem it fit to attack the non hostile world of Onderon, which we took through diplomatic treaty without force, we will crush them like the bugs they are. I look forward to seeing you after the battle, for now I treat for Korriban, where I will await you and your agents.

 

May the force be with you.”

 

With the message dispatched, the shuttle disappeared into hyperspace.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

The form of the last of the Ar-Pharazons walked through the vast hordes of the demons of the Sith Lords. Under the banner of the Spider she walked, batting aside the course blood stained fabrics of one of the low hanging banners with a white hand. Telperiën Ar-Pharazon was still not adjusted to the new body, one that she had seized from such a lonely spirit of an Acolyte named Tierih from the planet Anaxes. And though that girl’s memories flooded her with every new breath and every new smell, Telperiën continued to walk in it. The body was impressive, strong and beautiful with feelings and urges the young Ar-Pharazon had never thought to think or feel before. She was no longer a young girl, but was a beautiful emissary of the Sith, for whom the only blemish were the long red swirls of the blood tattoos that marked her as the Apprentice of the spider.

 

For now at least, Telperiën had cheated the death curse that had been placed upon her by her mother’s people, and the curse of the force that had been given to her by her father. Both still haunted her, but the latter was more defined in this form and she had to use less energy to put off the decay of death that still clung to her. This body was also dying, though at a dramatically less rate than her real body had been. But still the huge aura of the force that she carried with her would burn though this one in time.

 

Finally she knelt before the throne of the Spider, casting back her hood and revealing her new face to her master. Her voice carried the deep gravel tones of Telperiën though mixed with the lovely grace of a core worlds accent. The girl from which she had claimed this body had been of noble birth and had carried herself as such. She smiled with full lips and a full heart.

 

“My Lord, I am ready to serve.”

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Skinchanger…

 

An apt name, Telperiën believed, as that was literally what she had just done, though even this body was not likely long for the galaxy. It would be a blessing and a curse, forever trapped in the between, feet in the grave while holding onto life with all her strength and tearing it from everyone she met. But that was her heritage and that was her future. When the Spider asked his next question she could feel doubt crawling up her spine faster than the arachnid creature that the Spider himself had built. Was this a test? If it was, she saw little point to it and decided to answer truthfully.

 

“Master you are known as the Spider and were the Sith Assassin member of the great Galan Trinity, there you fought the Jedi and led the charge to their slaughter. Though your greatness proceeds you, I know not much other than what the spirits have whispered in my ears and what my adoptive father spoke in hushed tones before I met you on Korriban. I was raised with the Dathomiri and carry their curse of isolation from the galaxy.”

 

His eyes frightened her, but she kept control of the fear, ebbing it into the force to feed her strength.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Apathy is death and to exist in stagnation was to surrender to its degrading entropy.

 

Telperiën lowered her head, her silver eyes slipping to look to the feet of the dark lord. As was his will, so she would be. Her hand twitched and the blade Cocytus flipped to her hand from her belt. Its tarnished silver and gold plating felt warm to her hand as she drew it forth, yellow-red the blade blazed forth from the old emitter. Given to her by the spirits of Korriban in the depths of the valley of the Dark Lords, it hummed and tremoured in her hand as it sang its rueful song of lament. She was no child any longer, her spirit was fierce and her power even more so. It was unlikely that she would find any victory here, but there was no other option before her.

 

Her lips moved and the force stirred heavily in the throneroom, banners lofting in the air drawn taught by the beginnings of a storm of sabres. The spider would see the power of his apprentice, and she would get to know him in the way of her people. Fighting was the way of the Dathomiri, it was how they found mates, how they showed their skills, and how they survived against all the horrors of that desolate planet. Every moment of her existence had been war, first from her birth she had been pursued by the Jedi Council, hidden away by Ca’Aran, abused in the clans and forced to defend her brothers. Only to see them senselessly snatched away by the force. This Dark Lord knew nothing of war, what had he done since Gala but wait for the actions of others. If her father had been in charge they would have already taken Coruscant twice over. Anger blossomed and she embraced it without fear. Her new muscles, yet untested in battle tensed as she answered the Dark Lord. Her voice rumbling through the building wind.

 

“Then show me why I should know you.”

 

She struck, the sabre in its pale yellow red light striking for his heart as the force stirred around her in a mighty gale. For though she was young, she would answer him in turn.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

When Telperiën moved it felt like she did at a glacial speed. Though she commanded the force to move her beautiful new body in the dance of death it was slow and even resistant to her desires. As soon as she made the dash at the dark lord, she knew it would miss, having started a half second too late. The dark lord took her move in stride, uninterested in anything she could put forth and with nearly a flick of his fingers she could feel the force bow to his will and crush her chest in like a hammer. She cartwheeled through the air, twisting her slow body into a roll to absorb the kinetic strike. Though the blow had hurt, and had broken two sets of ribs, the words that followed were far more painful.

 

That bastard.

 

Her fingers and knuckles wrapped around the sabre hilt grew white with strain as she battled the rush of anger as it curled up her spine. The taunts had a familiar style to them, the same that her mother used to often hurt Ca’Aran when they had all been together. If only mom could see her now, fighting and losing to the dark lord.

 

Shiak

 

She picked herself up from the roll and began to slowly approach the Dark Lord, fighting her body to regain its control. Anger rolled her presence like magma.

 

Then what is my purpose? To Learn?

 

She guessed that for now it would be, to learn and grow powerful, powerful enough to leave a legacy. She charged in again with a feint then a counterstroke. While pulling a slaveboy with the force like a human missile at the back of Exodus

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën could feel her body’s revulsion to the site of the Dark Lord cleaving the child in two. Her stomach heaved as she fought her body's natural tendency to throw up at the site. But Telperiën could not feel more alive. Through her connection with the force and her kinetic hold on the boy she could feel every bit of his pain. The sealing pain the ripped through his stomach and belly, followed by the ice cold dread that clung to the back of his mind as he struggled to live. She planted a polished boot and fell back into a defensive stance as the Dark Lord began to play his tune in the force. There was so much to learn from this child’s mind and as it flooded her she was nearly overwhelmed by it. She could feel his anger, his fear, his memories all washing over her in waves that crashed as life fled his body. Snuffed out like a candle in a winter gale.

 

Ataru was something that she had never seen used before and she rejoiced in its bare aggression. It was impulsive, and it sunk into her with every second that ticked by. Her hands moved close together on the pommel as she concentrated on the fleeting memories of the dead apprentice. There had been a sabre kata that the poor boy had memorized, hours a day practising, she could feel his frustration and his sweat from those days of practise. She pulled the frustration and the memory into herself, absorbing it and solidifying it into herself.

 

I can feel it master.

 

She did not have the spare thought to speak the words out loud, but since the dark lord was already fully in her mind, she figured he would get the message.

 

The orcish thug crashed through her revelry with angry abandon, and Telperiën met it with her own growing rage. She fell fully into the force, throwing herself into the lightsaber form and its recklessness. She jumped forward to meet the onslaught, spinning through the air in a blazing pirouette of yellow-red light.

 

Don’t use the sabre as a weapon, use your body you oaf. Came the scowling form of the child she had seen butchered before her only moments prior. That’s what Lord Kailfni says

Telperiën spun the pirouette in another angle, whipping out her leg as well as the sabre as she crossed paths with the mighty beast. The crack and instant pain that shot up her thigh told her that there was at least one lesson to be learned from that move. She landed limping and brought the sabre up again.

 

Kriff

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën winced as she came down hard on both legs. She could feel muscle and sinew tear as she put weight on the leg. The warm trickle that she felt filling her boot along with the white hot pain of tearing skin that shot up her leg to almost immobilize her in its furor brought a shy smile to her lips. The pain was joyous to her, it fed her spirit and brought her power that sizzled at her fingertips. She sat back on her haunches as she built the power around her, it crackled in the air with static discharge as her beautiful eyes sought a source for healing. She smiled and reached out with the force to grasp the orcish thug with the force. This did not stop him from swinging his axe with force into the ground, but she kept out of reach.

 

Stay beast

 

Her voice echoed in the silent hall as she began a chant. Fixing her eyes upon the beast as her lips moved in the guttural tongue of the Nightsisters of Dathomir.

 

Voghormut’yan astvatsy tvek’ dzer buzhich’ hzorut’yuny

 

With a pale white hand she grabbed the jutting chunk of bone that formed the compound fracture on her leg. With great force of strength and with the force itself she shoved the tibia back into position. The pain fueled her move and fueled her anger. She used that to begin the work of patchwork healing, drawing on the life of the Lord’s bodyguard and feeding it piecemeal into the wound itself. Stitching the jagged scar in the bone with the force. When several seconds later she could at least put some weight on the leg she sprung again at the creature. Holding him still with the grip of the force as she carved an intricate pattern of light into his flesh. Her grin beaming in the great hall. She sprang onto the backswing of his axe and propelled herslef lightsabre first into his maw.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën drew the red-gold blade from the dying behemoth ensuring to hook the tip upwards and guiding a new path that burst from his face in an eruption of magma hot blood and viscera. Thus ended the lowest guard of a high master. Hearing her master’s orders,Telperiën stepped off the hunk of dead flesh she reversed the grip of the lightsabre, spinning it in a short arc to cut loose the head of the axe the monster had wielded and letting it clatter to the floor, white hot from its dissection.

 

uz augšu

 

She whispered, reaching out with the force to grasp the shattered axehead and lifted it behind her as she stalked towards the Cathar acolyte. Her voice was a deep rasp that contradicted the beautiful exterior that she currently wore. She would take the advice from her master and use the Ataru that she had so recently learned from the grasps of death. She would show this apprentice the meaning of fragmentation, that his master boasted so heartily of.

 

So little kitty you serve Nurgle? Did the galaxy not remind you that the old gods are dead?

 

Then she struck, springing forward with a lunging strike with the tip of the gold-red blade, and hurling the burning axhead like an arrow towards the Cathar’s chest.

 

((1))

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

The first strike died with little exertion from her fellow apprentice and she watched as the axehead embedded itself in an ancient stone pillar behind him. Telperiën hissed and moved her body to the side, switching the lightsabre to a normal grip as the apprentice whipped forward with his polearm, aiming for her wrist. With little concentration, the young Ar-Pharazon lifted her arm and allowed the pole to pass underneath it, continuing its arc to end behind her. She continued her original momentum and slashed a halo of light towards the other apprentice’s midsection.

 

Then could feel a sting on her lower legs and the force stirred around her. Little bits of debris were now coming her way with the force of a gale. With no large chunks to avoid or slash to pieces she was instead peppered with little slashes of rock, which opened up trailing lines of blood on her bare skin. The pain it caused was delicious. She could feel the force pulling at her beckoning her to fall further into its grasp, pulled by her pain and her lust for power. She looked through the force and found the incoming debris, now larger chunks, and ducked below them letting them collide with one another, while letting the tiny debris impact and scrape her.

 

She reached out a hand to the pillar that had been shattered by the impacting axehead and brought the sharp, knife like chunks flying in controlled patterns towards him. She had learned the lesson from before, she did not let go of the shards to let them be easily intercepted, instead the four razor sharp hand sized stones she guided to her target’s back.

 

iznīcini viņu

 

((2))

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Two force users tossing an endless stream of ineffective stones at each other was well played out at this point in Telperiën’s mind. There had been a point in her maneuvering at that was to get within blade distance of this apprentice, so far he had eluded her but now it was her chance. She could feel the force move and knew the axehead was speeding towards her so she rushed forward, launching off her back foot in a rush of force accented speed. Her eyes tracked his extending spear and she let it graze her torso, splitting the skin and muscle along her right flank as she rushed forward. Pain shot up her side but she knew that victory was within grasp. Spears were deadly weapons, but ineffective while at close range. Telperiën had learned that in many scraps on Dathomir. To beat a spear you just had to get under their guard. So that is what she did. The Cathar had taken a step out of range of her sabre but that still was far too close to use a 6 foot spear. But it still hurt, and the blade cut deep along her side.

 

Yet she was still moving forward, utilizing the force and the strength of her body's legs. With one hand she grabbed the shaft midway up its length and with the other attempted to plunge the sabre through his all too close chest. Pulling with the hand attached to the shaft and thrusting the other down its length. Using the force of her movement and the assistance of pulling on the blood soaked spear to drive the point home as the axehead sailed harmlessly past to smack into the wall several feet behind. This would be the crescendo, and she placed the man within her grasp in the force, attempting to pin him in place and stay under his guard. If the tip missed the man's chest she would follow it with a flurry of blows.

tagad mirst

 

((3 Great duel man, good luck ))

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën gasped as the wind was taken from her lungs by the strength of her master’s will.His grip tightened on her neck and a strange sensation stirred in her new body. What could that mean? Did this girl like that sensation? How strange. Telperiën thought as she dropped to the floor in a kneeling position. She listened to her and the other master’s critique and wrote their words on her soul. She would learn from this fight, and for now she would extend her friendship to the catlike Cathar apprentice.

 

She extended a black gloved hand to the man and pulled him to his feet.

 

“Thank you for the fight friend, I am sure we will meet blade to blade again in time.”

 

She turned to her master and bowed low,

 

“What now is your will?”

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Violence wept from the planet below as the Sith and Black Sun began their slaughter. It was hedonistic in nature, sinful in its pleasure, and it rolled off the planet in thick waves through the force. Pilots, soldiers, Sith, and the beloved Onderonian Defense Force all delighting in the afterglow of the mindmeld, rebuilding their husks with unspeakable acts of terror and violence. Purging from themselves forever the illusion of good. The cup of wroth was offered to the people of Onderon and they took it with both hands and drank deep, the blood of the once valiant Galactic Alliance combined forces spilling across the pages of Onderonian history to soak to the bindings. Important captives were led through the streets of Iziz before being sacrificed on the steps of the palace in a crimson fountain that bubbled through the streets, down sewer pipes, to stain the very depths of the planet with the blood of the Galactic Alliance. The planet was now wholly sith and this ritual would open a wound in the force like had not been seen since malachor.

 

The Jedi too were cruelly treated before death, tortured and executed, apprentices before their masters, and knights before the few Jedi masters captured alive. All screaming and tearing at their slow wounds, hooped up on forcefed amphetamines to keep them from passing out too soon. They then too were put to death on the steps of the Royal Palace their souls torn from their bodies by the Sith Executioners. Lightsabres beside blasters forming great cairns of plastoid, duraloid, durasteels, and Kyber in the central market. It was an orgy of violence that would last weeks and all recorded by the holonet cameras of the Black Sun. Some recording to make quick credits from darkholo websites where they would sell the especially dark executions or murders. Some Galactic Alliance officers were forced into confessions of warcrimes before executions, all which would be stored for later use.

 

Telperiën felt it all, let it slip past her defenses to feed her growing lust for final victory as she stared down at the helpless Jedi Council Member. She wanted to assist in whatever sacrifice would occur for this lady but for now she waited, watching. Sitting on her haunches and letting the fury of the planet below fill her with strength.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën stood in silence, watching the exchange between the Jedi Council Member and the Dark Lord of the Sith. Listening and feeling the exchange of words in the force, feeling how it ebbed and flowed between them, basking in the darkness of the planet, the fight between them was an ancient one. Light versus the dark, prey and the predator. And Jaina Jade and the rest of the Allied fleet had walked straight into it, eyes held aloft into the heart of darkness. And here in the thickest of the webs of shadow, the Spider would bite them, wrap them, and devour them. Their intentions, their loves, their light. None would er escape him, no matter how hard the beautiful jedi tried to squirm away, she was held fast in the web.

 

Below on the surface of the planet, terror waxed to its fullness as thousands were sacrificed on the steps of the stone halls of Iziz. The Sith would rend the force with their violence, turn it to their will and break it. The Dathomiri inside Telperiën was terrified of messing with such natural tides of the force, but the fruit of this venture would be worth it. No matter the cost.

 

The force echoed from the woman to parts unknown and Telperiën stood in silence beside her Lord her face downcast while she listened, her large eyes half lidded as she listened to the will of the force. Her fingers of her left hand drumming on the hilt of her sabre in soft military cadence as to mark the executions of this woman's compatriots.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën stood beside her master as he carried out his will, as they entered the Dragon's Gate she walked behind him, trailing in the vapours of his presence. Her hand on her hilt of the lightsabre she wore on her hip. The body she now wore was beautiful in its own right, with full hips and porcelain skin that reflected the lights of the planet. But as with every body she wore, it was a burning fuse to destruction. Already the corruption that plagued her last form was beginning to eat away at her, the beds of her nails and her gums bleeding black blood as the force that stirred so heavily within the daughter of Ar-Pharazon ate away its mortal cage. Life itself was a curse to her and she knew that she would need to bounce from entity to entity until she finally left the mortal plane. But she was yet alive and would need a new and stronger vessel within the next few days. Perhaps such a vessel would be here, on Onderon.

 

Her steel grey eyes caught a Galactic Alliance officer’s, an ex jedi according to his sentencing and his presence was very strong. His aura alluring. She licked her lips in anticipation, spreading a bit of black blood like lipstick over her full and beautiful lips. Her master had plans for the Jedi master and her body, but this one....perhaps.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën Ar-Pharazon, daughter of the Golden King and the last heir of the Nightsongs accepted her master’s demand with little more than a nod of her beautiful head. It was not her own head, that had been lost months before when Telperiën had taken this far more fair and far more talented body as her own. And as she looked at the prisoner before her she could feel the jealousy of such a beautiful creature creep up her ridged spine. She reached out a hand and grabbed with fingers too roughly to guide the Lady Of the Jedi through the long winding streets of Iziz. No matter where one stepped in the city, there was only the thick smell of blood and pain and a dark shadow walked with them. The corpses of hundreds of prisoners hung like banners along the fairway, their feet dangling above the heads of passers by. Their necks stretched by hempen ropes and the blood from their executions still dripping, congealed, from toes of black Galactic Alliance issued boots. The slaughter of the Grey Jedi and his accompaniment of high level Jedi and GA was nearing its completion and the crowds did not notice as Telperiën led the Jedi through the streets.

 

The path through the throngs of Iziz citizens was cleared by the Royal Guard, pushing and shoving with the butts of their blasters to give clearance for the prisoner and the Spider’s apprentice. She dragged the Lady of the Jedi through the streets, pausing for a moment to let a spew of blood from a drawing and quartering of a screaming man in tattered tan robes pass in front of them to mist the crowd of onlookers. His death was bright in the force, as was his blood. She shoved Jaina forwards again and Telperiën was tempted to use the wip she had taken from the Jedi on her, but kept the ruthlessness contained, for that would serve no purpose but for her own desires to inflict pain and there would be plenty enough time for that.

 

When the Jedi stumbled on the slick cobblestone Telperiën caught hold of her elbow and straightened her. Her voice was hoarse and gravel like as she spoke into the ear of the Jedi woman. And it echoed in both her eardrums and in her mind itself.

 

“Watch yourself, wouldn’t want to die of a cracked skull after being released by the Spider. Now Drink for he demands it.”

 

She pressed the flask to the woman’s mouth and tilted it up, for she would have her fill.

 

She wanted to ask why the Jedi had come here to their doom, or why they had stayed to die in such a manner but that would come next.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

The force stirred around the beaten Jedi, echoing from distant past and the present they walked the uneven flagstones that wound their way to the great gates of Iziz. The woman was fierce in the force and Telperiën could see why her adopted father was so fond of her. But her weakness was profound, and her insistence on sticking to such a rotten and weak philosophy wrinkled Telperië’s nose in disgust. She could not abide such weakness and the desire to simply slit the woman’s throat with the dagger she had on her belt was alluring. But Telperiën had to allow the weakness on the desires of her master, so she simply kept quiet as they stumbled to the gates, which swung noisily open in front of them. Telperiën pressed the meat of her thumb against a sharp tooth in her mouth and tasted the relaxing copper of blood.

 

The woman outstretched her hand and brusquely demanded her weapons which Telperiën initially sneered at. But she knew Exodus would not be opposed to such a thing, a worthy adversary didn’t deserve to die to a beast in the wilds. No she deserved to be struck down in a battle years from now at the final stand of the Jedi Order. So she would give them back.

 

She pulled the the Jedi’s sabre from her belt and placed it into her outstretched palm. Then followed with the whip which she coiled and placed into her hand, it had a spirit about it, but it was long dead and uninteresting. Then Telperiën reached her hand out to the jedi, tracing a rune of blood on the back of her neck.

 

“Be safe Jedi.”

 

Then she watched as the Jedi made her way into the forest. Dampening her presence to nothing and relying on the ways of her people, Telperiën followed. Keeping out of sight of the delirious Jedi and tracking her through the thick underbrush, ever just out of sight. But spying for her Lord the Spider. She would follow until the ends of the earth, for she had been raised to silently track prey through the underbrush of the Dathomiri lowlands.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Kath hounds, those terrible beasts bred long ago for war and mayhem pounced upon the Jedi Master, the fear of a lightsabre or whip long bred out of them over thousands of generations. Telperiën watched, her amethyst eyes taking in the scene and her lower lip slightly clenched between her teeth in concern. THough she had cared little for the older female, there were other destinies awaiting her than to be eaten by stupid insentient beasts. With precise and long practised hands, Telperiën unslung her bow from her back. She removed the long yew stave from its leather sheathing and removed a hempen cord from the leather pouch at her belt with quick, nail bitten fingers. The leather kept the bowcord safe from the clinging damp of both Dathomiri and Onderonian forests, which would cause the cord to lose its spring and thus the bow its power. With one hand she looped the cord around the lowest Ryrr horn tipped end and then set the tip against a bole of a tree at her foot. Stepping across the long wooden stave, she placed her hip in the midsection of the long yew bow and grabbed both the cord and the furthest end of the bow. She took a single breath and the muscles on her arms rippled under the black leather and scale maille. With application of force from her hip acting as a lever she looped the other end of the cord around the bow then stepped back.

 

Her master’s poison was having due effect and the Jedi was a terrified mess of sobbing tears. The corner of Telperiën’s pretty mouth twitched down in a frown that amplified the tiny scar that etched her lower lip. It was the only blemish that showed on this beautiful stolen flesh. And it now showed white against her full lips as they were pulled further into a grimace. Panic and terror boiled into the force with krakatoan power from this Jedi Master and that scared her. For if there was something a person did not want to do in the untamed wilds of Onderon, it was broadcast fear and hurt on all frequencies. There was a reason that the only settlement on this cursed world was the high walled fortress of Iziz. For those creatures that stirred in the dusks of the demon moon ventured oft through the perimeters of the atmospheric passage of Onderon and Dxun. And Telperiën could feel them beginning their hunt.

 

The Kath Hounds had been vanquished by the Sword of the Jedi when next the daughter of Ar-Pharazon turned to the clearing, and it appeared whatever inner demons the woman had been fighting had fled as well. But Jaina had been horribly slashed by the hounds and her lifeblood spread into the grass and dirt around her in an enveloping pool of muddy crimson. Telperiën cursed under her breath and gave up the last pretense of hiding. This was not her mission, she was not supposed to protect or help her. She had been bidden to take her to the gates and cast her out. But here she was, with an enemy, and Telperiën knew that Jaina’s death would not serve. It would not serve the Sith to lose such an opponent to such a death, nor would such a death serve the force. For though its tides often did not speak to the daughter of the Golden God the force spoke now in such urgent clarity. Rescue would come soon for this Jedi, but she did not have the strength to last.

 

Telperiën stood over the woman and forced the bunch of razor sharp arrows in her bag down into the dirt beside her for easy drawing. Purple eyes calmly observed the bleeding woman, the dead Kath hounds, and finally settled on a little pup that was groveling next to its fallen mother. She strode forward and scooped up the young beast who mewed in terror as it was brought back to the woman that had killed its mother. Nightsister healing was always a bloody affair and perhaps the Kath pup could sense its coming fate as it struggled valiantly against its captor as Telperiën began the ritual. Seeping her spare hand in the blood of the fallen jedi master she pulled back the robes of the Jedi and drew a bloody circle around the wound and the ground on which she lay. Telperiën’s soft and gravel-like voice began to chant as she finished the intricate pattern of crooked lines and sweeping runes.

 

Eru völur allar frá Dathomi….

 

The Kath pup had ceased its struggle and now just attempted to nuzzle into the crook of Telperiën’s arm. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps for the warmth that came from her bare skin. Distant specks of black showed through the clouds and Telperiën knew they had very little time left. She continued her chant as she took the pup into both hands, letting the bow fall into the grass at her side.

 

….Vaki, Ar-Phara! Vekr þik Telperi, eingadóttir ykkr Qaelai….

 

The force moved for the Dathomiri girl, and she seized the pup harshly, stooping down over the jedi and the runes of her people. She bit through the neck of the Kath hound with a rending of her jaw. It yelped and Telperiën let its warm blood course down her chin to splatter the dying jedi. She let the Kath pup kick out the last of its strength as Telperiën basked in its death. She pulled the energy from the blood, from the grass, and from the dying pup and channeled it through the bloody runes.

 

….Eru völur….

It was not what the Jedi would be used to, it was no peaceful trance of the room of a thousand fountains. This was the healing of the nightsisters, the dark children of Dathomir, and every fluid ounce of blood and platelet was drawn from the marrow by force. The collagen and platelets pulled like threads on a tapestry to stitch the initial patch to stop the blood from pumping inexorably into the mud. It was not a permanent solution to stop the death of the jedi, but merely a kickstart to keep her from death, The ritual was messy and painful, and it sapped the strength from Telperiën, and she blinked tired eyes as she watched the skies. Then she saw the first speck turn into a Drexl, a flying beast from Dxun, and a demon larger than five men. She picked up the discarded bow then and flexed her back muscles. Knowing that they would soon ache from the exertion of using the longbow.

 

Telperiën let the ritual end, withdrawing herself from the force enough to begin to recover her own strength as she pulled a bodkin tipped shaft from where she had stuck it and stringing it to her bow. She pulled and loosed without thinking to aim, her arms long trained to aim where her sight wanted the arrow to be, and willed on by the force. The ash shaft sped from the bow with a snap and accelerated into the diving drexl’s armoured breast. A second and third shaft joined their brother, in the space of several seconds as they hammered into vital organs. The drexl faltered in its dive and plowed into the forest ten meters in front of the Sith apprentice and her Jedi charge. And Telperiën turned her bow to the next diving beast.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Bodkins, those horribly sharp, long bladed arrows whipped out of the Dathomiri’s bow at speeds that made the air crack with the discharge of kinetic energy. Telperiën’s back ached with every draw and and the callous along the inside of her left forearm was weeping bright red blood that sprayed a crimson mist every time the arrows flew. The long, thin, thin bladed arrows’ bodkin tip was about three inches in length and the shaft behind it was of heavy ash. They were made for piercing armour and devastating the internal cavities behind. The next drexl died directly after the first, a long, black feathered arrow sticking out of its breast. Its growl of rage never finished as it plowed into the dirt several meters in front of the daughter of Ar-Pharazon, kicking up a huge plume of brown loam, twisted roots, and shattered scales.

 

Then, late as they ever were, the cavalry arrived. This time in the form of a force storm from the lady jedi and a small ship that both began to pick the Drexl from the sky. The lightning crackled from behind Telperiën and the girl had to duck to avoid a lance of the sithborne lightning. Strange to see from a Jedi, but perhaps that was why Telperiën’s master had let her go. This Jedi woman was only a few degrees away from the embrace of the darkside and her flesh was...beautiful.

 

Telperiën hissed as she dodged the wing spike of the last Drexl before Jaina finished it off with her lightsabre. Only then did Telperiën let the muscles in her back relax. Her scale maille was torn and bloodied from the fight, and her arm dripped blood onto the ground which was kicked back up at her by the repulsorlift engines of the Ravenhammer. She closed her eyes against the spray of blood and dirt that spattered across her in the engine wash and she turned away from the landing ship to see the Jedi butchering herself like the older nightsisters used to butcher imported nerfs. Telperiën watched the jedi’s deepening madness with a mixture of concern, delight, and avid curiosity as she tore apart all the work that had been done by nightsister ritual. Telperiën could feel her rage peak at the sight of the mad jedi tearing herself apart. She was suffering and bleeding into the dirt.

 

Telperiën stepped backwards away from the Ravenhammer as the mighty ship descended into the clearing, she intended to cover the Jedi until the owner of the ship decided what he would do. She did not draw her bow but kept a black feathered bodkin notched in the bowstring as the rain began to quicken its fall around her. The ship was Quietus’s, she knew that from Korriban and Kashyyyk, and if he was here to hunt the Jedi there was little she could do to stop it. The woman was dying and there was no honour in killing a dying opponent. She would die soon despite her hopes and Telperiën’s amethyst eyes searched the skies for more Drexls that would disturb the woman’s last moments. There were other carrion of course, a white breasted dartwing which bounded around the wooden boughs of the trees, its razor sharp tongue looking to taste fresh blood.

 

Telperiën reached out in the force to the bird, stilling its lust for the Jedi’s blood and bidding it to find a closer and more delicious meal. For though the woman had torn herself heavily, upon inspection, the pentagram drawn in blood still masked her lithe stomach and would serve its purpose. Stepping the last few steps to Jaina’s side, Telperiën continued her chant from before. Willing the bleeding to at least slow as she waited for the landing ramp to descend. But as the ship settled into its joints and the hissing of compression seals began to fill the clearing, her chanting stopped and she straitened up to her full hieght, setting the bow before her with the arrow held lightly against its string.The dartwing joined her and perched upon the horn tip of her long bow, its bright red eyes staring down at the daughter of Ar-Pharazon with eager eyes. But it did not eat yet, it had not been invited.

 

When the ramp last descended, the last heir of the Golden God stared unflinching at the White Wolf of the Sith. The only sounds that filled the meadow, the wheezing breath of the Jedi and patter of blood falling from Telperiën’s left arm. But the question persisted in the mind of the Sith apprentice. What was the Wolf doing here? She stepped to the side so that the man could clearly see the woman and her soon to be fate, but kept her bow in hand. She would not intervene in the Wolf's kill, nor did she wish to be defenseless should the Wolf turn its fangs upon her.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Keeping her amethyst eyes on the Ravenhammer, Telperient stooped to snatch a bodkin from on of the fallen beasts, the dartwing ever staring at her with crimson eyes as she moved. She continued her chant of healing as the Jedi woman lay in the pool of lacquered blood that mixed with the brown loam to form a mass of congealed and dark blood. Punctuated by bright jets of yellow crimson blood from the arteries that the Jedi had so foolishly severed. Every beat of Jaina’s heart pushing more blood into the dirt around her. Yet the dartwing did not dive to the dying Jedi, its eyes glittering in the light of bright Dxun overhead. Where merely days before the Jedi and Galactic Alliance had bombarded long deserted tombs of ancient Sith in a childish attempt to draw the fighting to the rings. And still the bird stared, willing Telperiën to invite it. And so the daughter of the Golden God did, and invited the bird to feast upon her stolen flesh.

 

She let her breathing still to nearly nothing, letting her chant change its tone as she parted her will to focus upon two endeavours. Healing and the ill practised art of beast mastery. She touched the birds mind, and invited it to drink from the mess of blood upon her arm. Where the bowstring had so cruelly torn the flesh after scraping away callus. The bird obeyed its command and the sharp claws of the bird bit into her upper arm as it perched there, dipping its silver head to drink. The first insertion of its tongue was agony as the sharp tongue scraped against nerves and burrowed into soft meat and flesh to sup upon the fresh blood of vien. Then as fast as the force would allow, her other hand caught around the birds neck and held it still as its razorsharp tongue darted in and out of her left arm. She let it feed as she concentrated, using the pain to amplify her desires in the force, and with every tongue stroke, she implanted more directions in it head.

 

Iziz, Darkness, Spiders, Void, Spire

 

fjölð veit ek fræða, fram sé ek lengra

 

All images that she burned into the mind of the small carrion, until she knew when she let it go it would fly with all haste to her master and his current residence. As she burned the images into its small brain, she let go of the bird and snatched up another bodkin from the ground. She held the ash shaft close to the head and with the micron sharp point began to carve upon the feasting bird. Quickly her hand moved, slicing into the flesh of its breast a single long word. The bodkin point only plunged skin deep and did no permanent damage to the bird but to perhaps make it fly faster out of fear. Once she had finished her work, she let her control of its mind drop away and with a whispered word of encouragement she let the bird depart, where it dove towards the distant walls of Iziz and to her awaiting master.

 

Only then did she hiss at the large amount of blood coursing down her arm in little streams and rivulets. But for now she embraced the pain and resumed her healing of the Jedi woman whome her adopted father cared for so deeply. It didn’t make sense for her to do this, Telperiën was no sentimental Jedi, but she had debts to repay to that clone. So she bet about the task and knelt over the Jedi.

 

In Iziz, some several minutes later, the white bird dove to perch upon her master’s waiting hand. Upon its breast, written in blood was the single word.

 

R A V E N H A M M E R

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

At the Jedi’s request the Spider’s apprentice withdrew her mind from the task of healing, ceasing her chant and allowing for a moment of respite save for the approaching figure of the Wolf, whose footfalls sounded overloud even over the howling wind. The force however was not silent. It stirred and edded like the calm before a tidal wave and she knew that her master was here. Her purple eyes did not have to look for him for she could sense the oppressive darkness fall upon the clearing like a thick blanket of icy snow. Both freezing and insulating her in its presence. It was ice cold electricity to be in his gaze and Telperiën could feel the hairs on the back of her neck as the Wolf began to move towards her to retrieve its prey. Or was it its love? Was that the motivation here? He was even applying applying pressure to her wound and he had not bowed to strike her with a lightsabre.

 

Was this some test? Everything in the Sith was a test, her mother had warned her of that back on Korriban.

 

She was about to look skyward to her waiting master when his eyes glowed red and stared into her own amethyst eyes with the intent that spelled only one thing to the daughter of the Golden God as she brought the force to build in her. Letting its tendrils snake up her, to coat her arms and steady her.

 

A threat

 

A threat to not interfere in business not her own.

 

A decision had to be made, and a decision that Telperiën had not thought herself ready to make before when she had first seen the Ravenhammer settle onto its haunches like a mechanical beast, whose wings were whining engine clusters.

 

For it was her business, as he was merely the Wolf.

 

Pain seeped into her consciousness from her arm as she made her decision and she used that small pain to bolster her hold on the force. For the force was her weapon, and it was her guide. Her lips began to move again, muttering the words of a chant that stirred the force with its precision.

 

She was the envoy of the Dark Lord, his ward, and she would not be intimidated by a threat. And thus a decision was made and a smile stretched itself across her beautiful face as she struck. A twofold strike, one letting a tendril of the force wrap itself around the head of Lord Quietus to hold it fast in place as it looked skyward. Two came at the same time in the presence of a dark fletched arrow. The Heir of Ar-Pharazon, Nightsister of Dathomir, drew the bow full, feeling the yew bend and compress beneath her hand as the dark feathers of the the arrow that had etched the dartwing brushed the cheek beneath her right eye. The draw was full and fast, and her aim adjusted for the wind. With the movement of two tendons in her hand the arrow sped out of its shot guided and willed even faster by force gathered from pain and the flash of anger. The hemp cord raking across the bleeding arm as it snapped to straight, and Telperien used that pain to bolster the force already moving and guiding the arrow. Its point was Bodkin, made of long and sharp durasteel ground to a microns edge.

 

A point that would find itself in the uplifted head, at such power that could puncture most armours and skulls with ease. Drawing the shaft through skull, brain, and viscerae with ease, to wet the dark feathered fletching with a splash of crimson. A killing blow that would pass the five meters of separation in a split of a second and end the Wolf with little more than a whimper.

 

And so the Ward of the Spider struck at the Wolf as he looked towards her Master. Whose presence signaled death.

 

((Killshot upon Raynuk Montar))

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

The arrow flew true but found a skull that was not bone and flesh covering a grey brain of spongy meat, but instead found a head that was made of metal and molded circuitry. The bodkin still found purchase and damaged much of the functionality that was stored in the droid’s central computer before grinding to a halt with its black feathered fletching sticking out of both head and cloak. It was not a Sith Lord, but he retribution was still intended to be swift as Telperiën stood her ground, the blood dripping from her arm in rivulets of crimson.

 

She simply plucked another arrow from the ground where she had planted them earlier and prepared to fire again when the droid spoke. It warned of its master’s retribution to which the daughter of the Golden God merely laughed. The laugh was drowned by the sound of blaster fire that droned out from the ship as her master made his own attack upon both the ship and the droid controlling it. The droid was mercilessly destroyed by the assault, cut down from where the damage from Telperiën had left it. The blaster fire choked in the canons of the Ravenhammer and died, a few bolts whizzing by the head of Telperiën herself, hot enough that she could feel the burn of plasma against her fair cheeks.

 

Telperiën’s harsh laughter pierced the silence that came after the attacks had ceased and the grin that etched across her face was all teeth and carried no joy. The Spider had come and she inclined her head in his direction as she drew her bow again reaching into the force for its strength.

 

For if Montar was not here, then where was he?

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën smiled warmly at her master as he beckoned the two females to light upon the dragonlike creature. It was a passing thought, perhaps from her own past, or the past of the woman she now inhabited but dragon riding had always been a dream. A dream of a young girl on Kesh, looking at papier-mâché kites as the wheeled through the amber coloured sunset, imagining herself flying, gliding on those gusts of wind. Away from cities made of glass, and masters harsh as obsidian. The mâché kile with its wide sails bent in the shape of carrion wings, only tied to the earth by a thin cord of waxed twine. The mâché itself made from kesslrig root, stripped and laid bare to the sun, then torn again and boiled, before being pressed into its form on a lightweight skeleton of wood. The smell of those boiling vats of papier was earthy, and to take a lungful of it was to dive into a culture that had lasted a thousand generations.

 

A culture not her own. A past belonging to the stolen flesh of a woman she had never known. This sudden dive into memory gave the Daughter of Ar-Pharazon pause, and she hesitated a moment before she set herself to the task of boarding the beast.

 

With practise that stretched back to Dathomir, not Kesh, she placed the bow of yew against the a rock that jutted from the wet earth. The bone covered tip pressing against the stone, and with a heaving of her arms the Dathomiri bent the bow until she could unstring it. It would not do for the bow to follow its cord and be bent from long hours being strung. And so the girl wound the cord, drying it against her tunic before placing it back into the leather pouch at her hip. The bow she placed into its six foot long leather sheath that she slung over her back with a leather thong. Next came the scattered arrows, which with some effort from the force she gathered into a durasteel rain which she collected and placed into another leather bag the was slung over her other shoulder. There was no quiver, she was not some vain woman who used the bow because she had seen it in holos, she was an archer.

 

But the memories still beckoned at her as she hauled herself up behind her master where she gripped its scaly back with her knees. She stooped forward to look at her cuticles and saw at their base the hint of corruption. A small black line that traced the beginning of her nail, and she knew it would likely soon appear as ulcerations in her mouth next. The memories then were the last attempts of a dying body to return itself to the normal. But it would not, for she was living it now. And she had things to do.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

The night air was brisk as it bled past the dragon’s wings and buffeted the three passengers on its back. Though Onderon was a humid planet, the night air was beginning to whip a brutal winter across the treetops of the endless forests that stretched out for kilometers around Iziz. Telperiën took a deep breath of that frigid air as they took off and pain erupted in her sinuses, the thick taste of blood filled the back of her throat as she struggled to breath against the harsh cold wind. A flash of embarrassment flushed her cream coloured skin for a moment before she suppressed it. It was just yet another symptom of a body’s decay, the mucus layer in her sinuses was breaking down to spill blackened blood in drips down her throat. The ruptured blood cells tasted brackish in her throat but she did not deign to show the weakness of a cough in the presence of her master. So she simply swallowed the brackish blood and looked back at her hands in disgust.

 

Another symptom of the curse that had been placed on her by her sisters back on Dathomir. A killing curse that separated her forever from the joy of a single life. She was curse to become a devourer, a consumer of stolen flesh. Every time she touched the force that death crept back into her life. And so she would continue to consume and burn through bodies until she was either eradicated by some other curse or simply stopped using the force all together. And she would not be damned into the existence of a commonplace woman for she was the daughter of Kings. And so when they would reach Iziz, a young pretty thing would go missing out of a lover’s arms, or out of a house deemed safe by its father. And apprentice would return to master in the flesh of another.

 

That was the curse of the remaining Ar-Pharazon. And Telperiën let the sorrow of never bearing her own daughters roil past her and instead plucked a black feathered arrow from the bag on her hip. She glanced over the shaft as they flew, and upon seeing the bend in the ashen shaft she snapped the head off the arrow and dropped in into the leather bag and released the shaf to fall hundreds of meters into the misted treetops. She inspected every arrow as they flew, keeping her attention on the task instead of eavesdropping on her master's flirtation with the Jedi master. Then they were over the eastern wall and the drexl was settling before the mined of Magrin. Telperiën wet her lips with a black stained tongue and was the first to slide from the back of the monster.

 

She was the Apprentice of the Spider and she had a duty to do, She extended her hand to the Jedi Master and helped her descend the large beast. For now that there was no fight within the lady, she would be a guest of the spider.

 

It was then that the daughter of Ar-Pharazon spoke to the hastily assembled bodyguard which had formed on the hill and received news that brought a glint to her eye.

 

“My lord!” She called when he was on the ground beside his beautiful captive. Her voice was low and gravel like. “I have news from my father Ca’Aran the Blood Prince at Kuat. The Remnant has been destroyed there nearly to a man, and their empress is bound in iron awaiting your judgement.” She inclined her head in servitude to the Spider as her mouth again filled with brackish blood which she swallowed again. It was time to hunt again.