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Kashyyyk


RaveN

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Faust's eyes close for a moment, his face an impassive mask, shutting off the blue glow that permeated them, washing out the pupils. He measures his words carefully, not having expected his follower to approach so closely, and to be on the alert. It was enough to scuttle the "negotiations" in place with the so-called former Jedi should she take fright. Still the situation could be turned to his benefit, even if it cost the Baron in manpower and support. He felt certain it was a price that would be paid gladly. He observed the mask that the Baron wore, eyes narrowed in thought, realizing that Kern wished to hide his identity. A sensible precaution.

 

My Lord Sith, your presence is welcome, as is your aid. The former Jedi and I had reached a deal. She will be aiding our... endeavors.

 

There is a calculated, measured quality in Faust's voice and his gaze, though eye contact was still hard to tell because of the change in his eyes.

 

We will repeat the Ritual conducted, here and now. The wounds in the Force are wider because of the previous one. With our combined power, the aids used previously can be foregone. Your aid will be helpful, and well rewarded.

 

The Hunter considers his offer. He would of course, take the lead. The knowledge he compiled on the combined Ritual, and had others like the scholarly Van Isel research and fine tune was too valuable to share with two who could be potential rivals and challengers. They would never know how he did it, nor would this knowledge escape into the Galaxy, though they would be rejuvenated, and would benefit from it with the stolen life force. For a moment, he considers treachery, leaving them both to perish, absorbing their life force at a critical moment. That would be great power, sweet power, but they were too useful... at least for now.

 

As for the supposedly fallen Jedi, Faust knew the offers he made to Kern would ensure that if he came this close despite his instructions, precautions would be made against treachery. He sensed the others Kern brought, knowing they were loyal and prepared to die for the cause, but not in the way that Faust just proposed, his mind touching his last apprentice and one of his greatest rivals. They would be among the first victims- loyalty to test Kern, and an easy, not so innocent mark to lead Armiena down that dark path.

 

Lend me your powers... Join wills with mine and beckon the Force to our command. This power will be black and cold as the void of space, so be prepared.

 

There is a moment of vulnerability as Faust summons the energies needed, his eyes closed, sword upraised, tongue held in a low, ceremonial chant, inaudible to his companions. It was always will and training that did the work, but a chant, a mantra could focus it as needed. Around the three, a vortex of Dark side energies grew, invisible tendrils reaching out from Faust to the inner most walls. More tendrils grew, waiting for Kern and Armiena to join in.

 

Beyond the Vortex, the howl of the living Force could be sensed by all three as Faust's vortex tore the already widened wounds open further...

In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed - but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love, 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.

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Kern bristled at his masters word's for a moment. Armenia was a Jedi, whatever else she was did not wipe the suspicion from Kern's mind. These were the same people that had denied him the ultimate power that Faust now promised. The thought of her past treachery made him furious with rage. The lies she spoke, the ludicrous rules he had to follow, all of these things came to his mind with the very sight of her. Now he had to swallow all of that? He glared at her with a gaze that could've ripped the beating heart from her chest, if it were attached to the emotions that boiled beneath his skin. He restrained himself, not for some balanced peace, but only because He knew that Faust would not abide disobedience. For this reason and this alone, he refrained from any aggressive moves towards the supposed traitor.

 

Faust began the ritual anew and suddenly the power of the dark side surged forward. Then a storm like wale arouse in his ears, as life itself was ripped from the very air around them. Only by relying on his connection with Faust, and his new found affinity with dark side energies, did He remain standing. He willed himself to receive all that Faust was bestowing him with.

 

It was power....

 

Raw, unmitigated life force. Pure, and sweet, and seductive beyond all measure. Kern could feel his soul was as if a reservoir drinking in the surroundings, filling his lungs... his mind... his very essence with energy. Instinctively he raised left arm to steady himself, anchoring his body in the soil beneath his feet. He embraced the power, and following his master, focused his mind on pulling the vortex ever wider.

 

This was one of the reasons that he had freed Lallu and followed her to Coruscant...

Why he forsook the foolish vows of the Jedi and knelt beneath Furion's dark gaze...

Why he had gone to Kesh, enslaved the inhabitants, and reigned as emissary to the dark side...

Why he had raised an army of brutal assassins to march at Faust's beckon call...

 

Power!

 

The ebb was stronger now, he could feel the breach opening ever wider, pulling more and more power from the wound. Soon the small squad that Kern had as escorts began to be drained as well, some attempted to retreat, fleeing to the nearest transport. Others whose reverential fear of Kern and his master kept them at faithfully at their positions, dropping where they stood, succumbing to the unstoppable drain. Kern felt them, the instant that their life force surrendered to the tremendous power of Faust. M'ruka was wisest, at the first twinge of threat, she jammed the throttle on the transport and took it skyward. Her quick thinking spared her, but left abandoned the other Keshiri to slow or to unwitting to flee. They mattered little, Kern knew that the strong devoured the weak, and that was all the permission Faust needed to end the lives of his well trained soldiers. Besides, he could always recruit more. They drank in the energy... lapping it up in a feast that seemed infinite. The vision came, more vivid then ever before...

 

He sat upon a icy chair, with a force crystal in one hand, and light saber glowing in the other. The inky blackness around him grew darker until he could see nothing but the red of the saber, and hear the crackle of the force through the crystal. Perhaps he was truly mad... but the vision of himself on a seat of tremendous power refocused him on the present. The visions abated, and still the ritual went on...

"Some things... are worse then death, being forgotten for example..."

Member Since '05 - The Old Ones | Character Sheet

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Faust drew in the funnel of Dark Side energy, keeping both Kern and Armiena at the center, taking their wills with his. That vortex once more exploded outwards, invisible, but still dark and foul tendrils reaching out for sentient life, then any life, drawing it in. A wound, then void in the Force presented itself, a now familiar cycle for the Hunter.

 

The power concentrated in the tear from Faust, the former Jedi, and the Sith Lord was incredible, and for a moment, even Faust had his fill, feeling the dark hunger he ripped in himself abated by the Force and life energy he summoned in. He drew heavily on the two, and as he did, he dolled out small amounts of it back to Kern, giving him a sweet and intoxicating onrush of power. He knew that the Baron felt the trickle of life force from his own men, loyal to the end. In his concentration, spared a thought to wonder what lessons the Sith would draw from it.

 

What the former Jedi thought, he did not know, but that line was crossed. Whether a trick where she was in over her head, or a true falling out, he felt he had broken her, driven her to despair and cross those lines that most Jedi would not cross. She was no longer an enemy, but a rival for power.

 

And now, Armenia my dear enemy, my dear friend, your reward.

 

In an instant, the vortex turns its icy tendrils on her, enveloping her. Taking her soul would be too easy, too permanent. He once broke a Jedi Padawan with instructions to generate a Thought-Bomb, a Dark Side event horizon not unlike what he used to intake the very lifeforce of the planet around him, but more permanent, destroying both the body to fine ash, and the soul forever more trapped in a black crystal. The Sith who dared it perished as well.

 

Faust, however, refined the technique into something less deadly, but no bit less hellish. Taking Armiena in that cocoon of the Dark Side, he enclosed her in a black space while she was powerless and linked to him. He carelessly, threw Kern aside as he acted, ensuring he was out of the blast range of his technique. Like a spider wrapping up his prey, the Hunter used strands of the Dark Side, binding body and soul, all the while leeching life as a spider drank fluids.

 

When done, Faust stood in an empty clearing. The great trees around him all withered away into ashes, leaving a radius of lifeless destruction, void save himself, Kern, and now, Armenia Draygo. Trapped in a translucent black crystal embedded in the ground both body and soul, it would keep her in the abyss between time and space, life and death until she was freed or somehow freed herself. There was no motion, but a glittering of the eyes within.

 

Sheathing his Sith Sword, Faust strides forward, cautiously. After all these years, all the time, he had done it. One of his longest enemies was beaten. There was a moment of jubilation, excitement, and thrill, passing now with a wariness and even uncertainty. Part of his could not believe it, part would miss the hunt. Other parts still were focused on the remainder of the grand plan.

 

Removing his right gauntlet, he places his bare hand on the crystal, feeling it go numb from the cold shell. Colder than carbonite, it could not thaw naturally, taking efforts in the Light Side of the Force to undo. His cold blue eyes, glittering with an emotion he could not state, stare into the ones in the crystal, knowing they saw even now.

 

Our battle is ended. You were a worthy opponent, but you broke in the end, proving the point I have long since wished to make. You will remain here, asleep, but aware until the end, when all life, all light is devoured, and the Force itself has been bled dry.

 

I shed no tears for the Galaxy or the Force, Armiena, but I cannot deny you yours.

 

Placing the gauntlet back on, after removing the moisture of sweat, and surely it was sweat from his eyes, he turns to Kern, using his voice, and using a rough show of telekinesis to pull him to his feet. He knew the deeper mysteries of the Ritual were hidden from his Apprentice, but he suspected, the fundamentals of the Force Drain technique of which the Ritual was built and used by countless other Sith from Malak to Bane to Sidious was made apparent.

 

"Your compatriots are all dead, save one. I feel her in the distance. Your restraint and willingness to sacrifice have shown your character. You have tasted the power I can offer those willing to follow." His eyes close a moment, foreseeing lines of probability in the future, taking them once more in hand. "It is past time to head to the place where my forces gather. An example will be made there, and a show of power that will cause this Galaxy to tremble. Regroup with what forces you can muster."

 

Not wanting to wait any longer and sensing that though the battle only lasted hours, time was still passing at a great speed around him and that he needed to see to the Plan at once, Faust jumped as a shadow swooped in overhead. The Bhelliom, having arrived from Corellia, greeted its owner, and Faust felt complete again.

 

The ship takes off skyward and vanishes into hyperspace. Kuat's Drive Yards was its ultimate, but not direct destination...

In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed - but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love, 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.

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"Understood, my master." Kern said in a simple yet earnest reply. He savored the thought of a new conflict, where he could serve his masters will. The power he had experienced only renewed his desire for more. Watching Faust dispose of Armenia brought him mixed feelings, he felt her departure from the plain of existence was too quick, too easy. Alas, his desires for vengeance upon his former masters would have to be stifled, for now.

 

---

 

Kern watched as his master left the planet, he remained only long enough to savor the small fragments of power left from the residual darkside energies that had poured from the void. He became aware of the approach of M'ruka, and turned to face her. In her hands she had gathered the tribal necklaces of the fallen Keshiri that accompanied them.

 

"I did as instructed, fled at the first hint of... whatever this was." She said, her words dripping with a measure of grief.

 

"Mourn not for these warrior my steward. They have increased my power, and that of my master. There life energy will assist him in his future war."

 

"But... they died-"

 

"They died as warriors, in the cause of thier master. There is no greater honor. No higher priviledge then to die in such a way. One day... you too will have that chance."

 

M'ruka was silent. Kern could feel a small glimmer of regret in her mind. He wouldn't have it. He pounced. Drawing her body close to him with the aid of the force.

 

"You will have no regrets, not now, not ever. What are the words?" Kern said, his voice reverberating through the force and trembling her ear drums.

 

"I-" M'ruka paused, her mind still clouded. Kern gathered the darkside energies in his mind, and issued forth his words again, this time aimed her faculties of reason.

 

"What are the words!?"

 

"My life, my soul, my power... is yours. Peace is a lie." She repeated, her mind acquiescing to him at last.

 

" There is only passion." Kern continued.

 

"Through passion I gain-"

 

"Gain strength." Kern finished and placed his hand gently upon her forehead.

 

There in that barren place, they repeated the words. Using the darkside, Kern wiped the sentiment from M'ruka's mind. Enveloping what was left with his own dominating will.

 

----

 

They left the surface, and docked with the Agamemnon. Once aboard he gave the order to follow Faust to Kuat. The powerful Turbulent class destroyer was ready and waiting to follow it's masters orders.

 

"Signal the fleet at Kesh, have them send half their force to meet us at Kuat. Have them bring only the best pilots, the rest are to remain behind in reserve. We shall show my Master the strength we have gathered for him." He said as sat in the seat behind the captain's secondary chair. His thoughts turned to the future confrontation, his black gloved hands flexed twice, and then he held them in a pointed arch against his scarred nose. War was returning to the Galaxy, and Kern wanted to see it burn in the black sky. The ship turned and jumped, using a series of smaller jumps to throw off any who might follow.

"Some things... are worse then death, being forgotten for example..."

Member Since '05 - The Old Ones | Character Sheet

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  • 1 year later...

The night air on Kachirho was damp and cold. It was about early spring by Kashyyyk's planetary cycle, and still it seemed like everything was still within winter's grasp. The air carried with it a scent that seemed to bring forth memories in the Wookiees, whether good or bad memories that came into their minds, they were memories all the same. The scent was that of burning fur and blood. Death was always on the minds of the Wookiees, as they were always to butt end of death for the galaxy at large. No matter what happened, whoever was in charge, the galaxy always seemed to have it out for the people of Kashyyyk with no remorse. But this time, the death that had struck was different. It was critical. Hunters had been hunting the forest for years now, and over the past few months, killings seemed to pick up. Now, the killing had struck within the capitol of the Kashyyyk. The chief, Rwussuri had been killed, along with all of his staff, who were in a meeting late at night to discuss a very strong potential change for the planet. Whatever the change, it was not known to the galaxy or to the wookiees who inhabited the planet. But now, the royal guards were investigating that deaths, but needed help.

 

Kirlocca stood in the doorway, brown fur with bits of black and grey now starting to come in through patches, and his very typical black wraps around his forearms and shins, along with the black vest and ammo belt around his waist, stared into the room. He spoke no words, never blinked, and even to observers would guess that he may not be breathing. After a few minutes passed by, Kirlocca finally took a giant inhale of breath and crossed his forearms and looked at Geyyrao, who was now serving as captain of the royal guard. With a face that was creamy sad, yet it held something deep below, the Wookiee spoke in his own native tongue, Shriiwook.

 

<< How many? >>

 

Geyyrao responded quickly and sharp.

 

<< All of them. The entire council and guards who were present. None of the leadership remains. The will be voting by the end of this week for full replacements. >>

 

Kirlocca now turned away and looked down. He didn't say anything or show emotion. Kallynn his mate had left their own hut in Rwookrrorro only two days ago to come and start with the voting on the new plan for Kashyyyk. Now, she lay dead upon the floor mere feet from her husband, who was refusing to make any eye contact with her body. He now turned back to Geyyrao and let out a sigh.

 

<< I must travel. None on Kashyyyk can know of me. Kallynn's mate must remain hidden. This attack was more then a simple political killing. It's a ploy, to draw me out. I must seek to recontact the Jedi Order. Only once I figure things out, I will contact you. >>

 

Like he always did, Kirlocca turned and began to walk away and head towards his ship. He never did leave much room for anyone to respond to him, even while he was on the Jedi Council. But since his exile, he choose to leave even less room for others to speak to him. He had become private and reserved. But now, such a luxury was gone. He needed to find the Jedi. Yet within his own mind, he would not confirm even within his own mind that a return to the Jedi was something he wanted to do. But if ever there was a time for their aid, it was now. Even more so since Rorbev was also missing. Within mere minutes, Kirlocca was in his Owool fighter and taking off the planet to see out the Jedi...

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  • 1 year later...

It was night on the forest floor of Kashyyyk.

 

Truly, it was always night on the forest floor of Kashyyyk. The kilometers of arboreal canopy above effectively swallowed up any light that pierced the first few layers of the planet-spanning forest, rendering the planet's true surface a sort of primordial nightmare that was lit only by predators and insects that used their bioluminescence to either prey or procreate, or the occasional forest fire. Besides the planet’s indigenous predators, there were also rumors that savage beasts mutated by crazed Dark Side sorcerors prowled this benighted biome. Very few sapient creatures dared venture to these depths, and very few people would call these brave souls intelligent.

 

Tonight, nine individuals decided to pay a visit to the planet's surface. They rappeled from an indeterminable height from thin robes of liquid-cable. All of them were clad in armor of steely plates that covered their figures from head to toe and concealed any identifiable feature, save for the fact that the largest of their number had a significantly larger helmet. They moved as ghosts towards the forest floor, their armor shifting colors and texture to match their surroundings.

 

Two of them carried high-caliber, long-barreled rifles of an unknown origin. Four of them bore weapons that were identifiable as carbines of some design, though the firearms lacked anything that could be identified as a loading port for a magazine or gas cartridge. The last two, notably more powerful in build than their peers, hauled an enormous cannon. The design of the weapon was almost completely without feature, a metal grey box with machined curves to accommodate the strain of wielding it, but the size of its bore and berth made it clear that these were the guys who manned the Big Fracking Gun. One, an individual with an air of unyielding dignity despite the burdens of her age, was conspicuously armed only with a pistol on a hip holster.

 

Slowly, the party descended to the forest floor, whereupon they each turned their masked faces to the light-swallowing canopy, braced their feet against the muddy terrain, and clenched their fists to retrieve the cords from which they descended. A small motor whistling in their vambraces, a set of barbed harpoons thudded into the ground and raced into a slot immediately above their gauntlets. The silent fireteam then shared a significant glance, nodded, and advanced into Kashyyyk’s wilderness with nothing more than a hand gesture from their leader. Whatever remarks they said to each other were swallowed up by the soundproofing in their face-concealing helmets, and the only sound they made as they advanced was the occasional rasp of their boots against the foliage or snaps of fallen twigs.

 

Having learned that Kashyyyk was the last known position of the former Jedi Grandmaster, Misal Draygo and a number of her associates had determined that it was worth the risk to venture to the arboreal world’s surface and investigate for any signs of what had happened here and what had happened to the disappeared Jedi. The Wookiees had been quite cooperative; evidently, there had been a raid against one of their cities by a unit that Vladimir Faust had commandeered. The loss of life was substantial and the city was nearly destroyed, but having arrived unlooked for, the unit was quickly routed by the former Grandmaster before the two archnemeses descended deeply into the forest. Having other matters on their minds, the Wookiees lost track of the two… though it was presumed from the lack of appearances from the infamously public Jedi Grandmaster that Draygo had perished at Faust’s hands.

 

Misal, at the time clothed in her grey robes and silver-laden veil, could only bow her veiled head with solemnity, thank the local bureaucrats for their assistance, but remark that it was her habit to never assume that someone had died unless their body was recovered.

 

They continued into the uncharted depths of Kashyyyk’s forest floor, their riflebeings scouting ahead and covering their advance from the rearguard. From a cluster of sensors built into their helmets, they were able to discern more than most in the pitch darkness as they scanned the forest, but the fireteam was nonetheless having difficulty shaking the feeling that an ancient, watchful… something was aware of their presence. Every so often, however, Misal called the fireteam to a halt as she examined evidence of someone’s passing: wreckage that had fallen from the canopy after the destruction of a Wookiee village, a tree that had been badly scarred from falling debris… a tree whose bark was gashed seemingly from treetop to stump by the blade of a longsword.

 

Misal stood by this specimen for a long time, her gauntleted hand pressed against the bark of the tree’s base. Her bodyguard contracted about her and deployed their heavy weapons to establish a perimeter, somewhat concerned for her safety; the elderly Miraluka seemed to not have a concern for anything that was happening around her--not for the hive of kinrath that had just been alerted to their passing and seemed to be pondering whether this strange-smelling party of adventurers was edible; nor for the malevolent presence that seemed to be surveilling their advance with growing interest. Misal, clad in the armor that her sect deployed for hostile insertions, gave no sign that she was aware of, let alone concerned by, the tactical redeployment of her retinue; she stood by the tree completely motionless save for the gradual rise and fall of her chest.

 

This tree, despite its great age and the depth of the wound, was dying, even if it was taking a long time for the taint of Sith alchemy to fell its victim. The gash still wept sap as though it had been inflicted hours ago, rather than years. Faust had wounded this tree, Misal decided.

 

A metallic clang rang out from one of the riflebeing’s weapons, followed by a animalistic shriek of agony. One of the kinrath had gotten a little too curious for their liking, and the round robbed the arachnid of its confidence and one of its legs. The wound wasn’t lethal, but hopefully the beast would retreat back to its hive and spread the message that these travellers weren’t going to be easy prey. Misal gave a small jump, finally shocked out of her reverie.

 

That ancient watchful presence grew somewhat more intrigued. A nervous glance was shared between the members of the fireteam, and their sharpshooters exchanged their loaded magazines for something more powerful. Misal, finally having noticed the threat, made another swirling hand gesture and directed their advance deeper into the forest floor, guided by an instinct that her daughter had passed nearby and that they would soon discover where she had Faust had confronted each other.

 

The party passed another wounded tree, pierced years ago by a harpoon of a design similar to that of their own make. Misal stared up the tree’s trunk for a long while, piercing the bark with her inner eyes. Indeed, it was a armor-mounted barb that had penetrated the branch of the tree, though a spectral scan of the wound suggested that it was comprised of a magnetic alloy. However, Armiena had not been perfectly graceful in rappelling from this tree; immediately beneath layers of fresh growth on the outside of the trunk were rings of scarred pulp. The Miraluka smirked despite herself; her daughter had always been an enthusiastic, though not expert spelunker, and was prone to occasional mishaps that would have probably resulted in the death of one not blessed with Force Sensitivity.

 

One of their scouts, patrolling ahead of their advance, spotted an enormous, its fists ending in vicious, scimitar-sharp claws that gleamed with venom. It stood at nearly four meters tall despite being hunched over by age and old injuries. Its thick, scaled hide bore the scars of many healed wounds, from tooth, claw, and even a blade that had lodged between the gaps of its armor. It was a terentatek, and it had come to prey on Jedi.

 

The ancient Jedi Order, in times of peace, had occasionally sent hunting parties to eradicate these mutated monsters that were a unique threat to members of their Order. These expeditions were only partially successful--most of the terentateks were destroyed and the surviving Jedi became living legends, but there were always a few that survived and this particular beast had been drawn to this location by the dark energies vortexing about from the confrontation between Faust and Draygo.

 

Immediately upon sighting Nikita Trell in her identity-concealing armor, it charged with a velocity far greater than she expected for a creature of its bulk and the Chandrilan got far too close a look at its fangs before her harpoon carried her just outside of her reach. A yelp rang out over their comm channel as her armored form collided with a tree and the undeterred beast began climbing in pursuit. The rest of the expedition, far from panicking, took up a defensive posture that gave each of them a clear line of sight on the abomination. Rounds immediately began cracking from the sharpshooters’ rifles and the riflebeings’ carbines, while the heavy weapons wielders braced their autocannons for a fusillade and waited for an opening.

 

The beast far too close to her ankles for her liking, Nikita decided that she’d had enough. Hurling her body out into the open air with a Force-assisted leap, she launched her harpoon into another tree in the hopes of swinging to safety. Not quite fast enough; the terentatek leapt after her, flailing its claws after her legs and catching her shins. The armor held against its claws, but her bones did not and her flight, now knocked astray, carried her painfully into another tree where she felt her breath and a few rib bones give out. For the moment, however, she was safe, albeit in extraordinary pain.

 

The terentatek, however, was screwed. Not enjoying the benefits of Force-assisted flight, it crashed into a clearing where nearly all of Misal’s fireteam had a open line of fire. It righted itself with astonishing agility for a creature its size to charge into their ranks, mud and dirt spraying from its hide, but it was far too late and its intended prey too heavily armed. Both of the operatives wielding heavy weapons, having had time to deploy and charge their arms, unleashed their autocannons. Armor-piercing rounds penetrated its hide and detonated inside the beast’s gizzards, shredding the terentatek from inside-out in a deafening shower of gore and bone. The mutant never even had time to shriek before its mouth caught a round that blew apart its jaws and vocal apparatus.

 

The fireteam was… generous in its application of overwhelming firepower. Even after the dying beast had gone still, they continued to perforate its hide with rounds, stopping only when they realized that their fire was passing straight through what was left of its flesh and impacting into Kashyyyk’s soil and flora. Smoke rose from the aberration’s corpse and what little remained of its flesh wept into the forest floor. And with that, a millennia-old monstrosity was felled: not valiantly slain by a hunting party of famed Jedi Knights in glorious combat equipped with lightsabers and profound devotion to the Light Side of the Force, but slaughtered by a fireteam of nine individuals who would remain anonymous to history, armed to the teeth with bleeding-edge firearms and state-of-the-art armor, whose greatest weapon was discipline and their trust in each other.

 

No legends would be passed down from this encounter; all that would be said was that they regretted not taking the opportunity to try making jerky out of its meat. One of them would have some scars to brag about.

 

The struggles of the Dark Side-mutated monstrosity having ceased, silence reigned for a moment. Any fauna in the immediate vicinity had since turned tail and run for their lives or gone silent with panic. The only sounds were that of the two autocannons crackling as their barrels cooled. One of their number levitated Nikita Trell’s crippled body to the forest floor with a gentle application of the Force and knelt beside her, stripping away plates of armor to see to her wounds. The operative’s armor, though battered and twisted by the terentatek’s claws, had not been penetrated and her legs were badly broken but not shredded.

 

Misal Draygo, satisfied that one of her cohort was no longer in mortal peril, gathered half her squad and led them further into the forest depths. She'd been confident that they were almost upon the site of the confrontation with Faust, and the presence of the perforated predator confirmed that the desecration had attracted the beast. Caught by a sense of dread, the Miraluka unholstered her pistol and stared down the length of its barrel as they advanced further. Despite the death of the abomination, the chatters of and screeches Kashyyyk’s insects and other fauna had not returned. Advancing forward, Misal’s fireteam caught sight of a blasphemy that made their hearts quail.

 

It was nothing--literally, nothing. The forest floor had opened into a clearing composed of absolutely nothing but ash and dead space. Even the Force was silent, save for an incoherent hissing of white noise. The air grew cold around them, despite their armor’s sensors not detecting any change in the ambient temperature. As the wind gusted, no longer restricted by Kashyyyk’s unending forest, mists of grey ash wafted onto their armor and they periodically had to wipe it away from their faceplates. A few twigs and branches had been scattered into the clearing by the wind freeing them from their trees from somewhere above them, but the debris was all perfectly preserved. The ashland was completely bereft of life; even the microbes that would normally rot the fallen branches seemed to understand how thoroughly defiled this place was. Forgetting discipline for a moment, one of her rank knelt for a moment in the grey powder, staring at the thin curtains of ash that flowed between the fingers of his armor.

 

Clearly, Misal and her cohort had come to the right place. The Miraluka sat down near the middle of the clearing and let her armored fingers trace over some slivers of dark crystal that glinted just under a layer of ash. It was frigid even under the protection of her gauntlets.

 

It obviously was not a natural mineral, nor an alloy, nor a product of bleeding-edge science. It was an aberration of the Dark Side. Misal’s fingers absently tracing patterns in the drifting clouds of ash, she fell into a meditative trance to attempt to glean some information from this trace presence. This time, her trance lasted for hours. The oppressive hissing in the Force made focusing difficult, to say nothing of following the vague currents and eddies formed from an individual’s passing.

 

No curious or hungry animals passed near during Misal’s seance. This defiled space felt thoroughly wrong to all of Kashyyyk’s creatures and nothing came anywhere close to this wasted land, not even microbes. Her retinue continued to uneasily scan the treeline while she probed what remained of the Force.

 

“My daughter left this place alive.” She eventually declared. The static in the Force was stifling Misal, and the aged operative was having difficulty just drawing in breath. Forgetting herself for a moment, the Miraluka tore off her helmet, revealing a shock of white hair and a simple band fastened around her eyes. Dust blew into her hair and turned it pepper. The fresh air, deadened as it was by Faust’s defilement, didn't help with the sensation of claustrophobia. A gauntlet fell on her shoulder, and she felt the reassuring presence of one of her cohort’s marksmen and their Battle-Meld. Murmuring a quiet thanks, she put her bucket back on and drew a sip of water from an internal reservoir before continuing her meditation.

 

More hours passed. Nikita Trell’s broken legs were tentatively set and bandaged, but the tenacious woman refused to be evacuated until she was certain that the rest of her squad was safe. She rested at Misal’s side in the center of the perimeter, peering over the sights of her rifle and casting the occasional nervous glance at the kneeling Miraluka. Her gauntleted hands, which had been tracing directionless patterns in the dust, had now clenched into fists and her armored form was beginning tense with rage.

 

Her daughter had been imprisoned in a shell of comprised of this abominable crystal and left alone for an indeterminable period of time while Faust visited uncounted horrors upon the galaxy. Someone had brought power tools into this place: explosives, earthmoving equipment, plasma cutters, repulsorlift haulers, other portable equipment. Through a combination of blasting and cutting, they had freed Armiena’s prison from Kashyyyk and removed her daughter to an unknown destination, but her daughter’s body remained in stasis. Misal hoped that the crystalline lattice in which she was imprisoned didn't leave her mind aware of her surroundings; years had passed since her disappearance.

 

“Armiena did not leave on her own power.” She called out into her helm’s comlink, legs cramping from having say several hours. “Mr. Hamis! We're finished here!”

 

As the cadre slowly returned to the treeline, one of their number hissing quietly with pain at every bump and awkward jar in the ascent, Misal discussed her findings with her squad and the actions they would have to take. It was most likely, Misal decided, that the people who had captured Armiena’s body were using it as a resource, a reservoir for the implants and micromachines that she had acquired during the war. They would have to move quickly; identify any high-tech entrepreneurs that might have an interest in such things, governments, militaries, anyone on the bleeding-edge of cybernetic technology was a suspect that they would have to investigate. All of this, however, would have to wait until after they had left Kashyyyk, returned home, and had access to the intelligence network of their covenant.

 

Whether it be Heaven or Hell that stood between Misal and her daughter, she was prepared to move it.

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Towering beams of wroshyr trees, their limbs reaching upward towards the atmosphere since time immemorial, had once been appropriated by corporate capitalist swine to build a point of access for outsiders. Kashyyyk's Great Walkway had become something of a galactic marvel, the boards weaving through the canopy for miles and miles upon the myrtle-colored planet's surface, over time becoming a haven of commerce for those taking interest in the Wookiees' way of life--or in the case of the slavers whose interests had not entirely been eliminated, the Wookiees' lives themselves. But the furry bipeds had reclaimed their homeworld following the Jedi Civil War, and since then, they had gradually become more open to the presence of other species on their homeworld.

 

In that light, Jaina Jade Skywalker, clad in robes of green and gray, found herself moving quietly through the trees, completely solitary for the first time since finding herself in the company of the Jedi on Tython. As much as she still found herself preoccupied with the absence of her daughter, she used the time to center herself in the Force. There was a sort of grim peace about the place, a planet teeming with life unfolding in its truest sense: birth, death, predators, prey. It was as though her spirit had found a compass in the morning stillness.

 

It was early dawn. The only sounds on the Walkway were the chattering of birds and the occasional scuttling of the native kinrath clearing the way for her approach, scrambling down the sides of the wroshyr trees to their nests as the filtering light expelled them. With every trunk she circumnavigated, she half-expected to be met by a delegation of the Wookiee protective guard that would escort her to the village of Rwookrrorro.

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Finally having returned to their shuttle, Misal hit the quick-release on her armor and sighed with satisfaction as the identity-concealing plates peeled away from her aged body as easily as paper.

 

Finally having returned to her shuttle, Misal Draygo hit the quick-release on her armor and sighed with satisfaction as the identity-concealing plates peeled away from her aged body as easily as paper. Even if the armor was designed for prolonged infiltration in the field, it was steel nonetheless and uncomfortable to wear for hours on end. A groan of pain came from just outside the crew quarters; Nikita’s shattered legs were being tended to by their medical droid as best as was possible in the field, but a single glance at the wound confirmed that a bacta immersion would be necessary.

 

“Med droid needs a couple of hours to do its work. Nikita should make a full--oops, sorry Misal,” came a familiar voice as the doors to the berth slid open.

 

The Miraluka finished shifting into her black robes and adjusted her veil over her vestigial eye sockets. She had paused changing into her robes, having been distracted by a minute disturbance in the Force; there was a vague ripple cast by the arrival of a Jedi that was unknown to Misal.

 

“Never mind that, Mr. Hamis.” Misal’s eyebrows furrowed under her veil. “There may be an opportunity here…”

 

“Not the Jedi; not now…”

 

“Depending on who has my daughter, we may require their cooperation, and perhaps, some Jedi muscle. Keep the thrusters warm. I will be back soon.”

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Later that night, Misal arrived upon the Great Walkway, which was just barely starting to see activity as the first rays of light began to penetrate the wroshyr canopy. The masked mammals of the night were just beginning to return to their dens, though a kinrath who had not enjoyed any success tonight paused to consider the aged Miraluka as potential prey, waving its antennae from its perch on an overhead branch to consider the potential risks of pursuing the aged target as prey. Misal penetrated its primitive brain and triggered a primeval reaction to encourage the beast to the conclusion that she was actually an extraordinarily dangerous predator that considered the arachnid to be beneath her attention; it scuttled away into the darkness and resolved itself to a day of gnawing hunger.

 

That brief interaction with the Force would have revealed her presence to the Jedi. If Jaina Jade Skywalker were to glance behind her, she would see a solitary woman clad in dark robes that were either a very deep blue or black. She strode at a considerable speed despite the fact that she placed a steel cane to support her left leg, the dull leather of her boots flashing under the tender light of the dawn. Even though her eyes--indeed, her entire face--was concealed by a dark veil that was laden with silver trimming, it was clear that her attention was fixed on the Jedi.

 

When she rounded the next wroshyr trunk, the Miraluka stood directly before her and she stepped forward to introduce herself. Misal’s gloved hand shot forward and seized Jaina’s arm by the forearm. Despite her slight stature and bony fingers, she had a surprising degree of strength in her grip

 

“You are Jaina Jade Skywalker. I am Misal Draygo. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” It went unsaid: yes, she was the mother of that Draygo. Despite the fact that her talons still refused to loosen their vice-like grip on her forearm, there was a warmth in Misal’s voice and a faint hint of a smile on her lips that suggested that meeting this particular Jedi was, in fact, a pleasure. Years of experience dealing with the Jedi Order had left the Miraluka with little regard for most of their kind. Jaina, unlike most of her brethren, had not spent her entire life being sheltered by the Light.

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If it weren't for the talons digging into her skin through the soft fabric of her sleeve, Jaina might have thought the black-veiled woman was some kind of phantom appearing to her in the Force. Instinct demanded she drop her hand to the saber hanging from her belt, but years of carefully honed reflexes kept her movements in check. This woman, while no Jedi, emanated no ill will through the Force, even if the expressions of her features were inaccessible.

 

Funny, she thought mildly, I had no idea Armiena Draygo was part-Miraluka.

 

While she had never made the personal acquaintance of the once-Grandmaster since she had been more than six feet under at the time Armiena directed the Order, Jaina's extensive searching through the annals of recent history upon her return had brought the name up to her scrutiny. But if memory served, she had disappeared from the face of the galaxy around the time of Faust's death. In the space of seconds, her mind swam with possibilities. Perhaps she was hidden here on Kashyyyk, stowed away under the cover of relentless life. Kirlocca may have even sent her here to find the rumored Holocron so she would have plausible deniability if Draygo wanted to remain hidden.

 

How else would Misal Draygo know her name?

 

Wary eyes searched the murky depths of the opaque veil, and briefly, Jaina wished for Tirzah's ability to see beyond sight. Inclining her head in the smallest of respectful bows, she said, "Well, I suppose I should thank you for getting the prerequisite courtesies out of the way, though I have no idea how you know who I am. What can I do for you, Ms. Draygo?"

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Misal’s grip on the Jedi’s arm loosened and the faint hint of a smile faltered when the Miraluka realized that she had made a potentially disastrous miscalculation. Her daughter had once made mention of a pair of wayward Jedi that had caused the Order a number of headaches. As this Skywalker also bore the scars from contact with one of the Ruinous Powers, Misal had made the erroneous assumption that Armiena had personally known this young Jedi. Realizing her error, Misal released her arm and lower her veiled face.

 

“Please allow me to walk with you.” Even if Misal was allowed that courtesy on what was undoubtedly sensitive Jedi business, she would prove to be rather poor company. The Miraluka said little by habit, and it would be difficult to surmise what occupied her attention under the concealment of her veil, especially when her sightless gaze was cast downwards in thought . Absorbed in her own thoughts and quietly examining the young Jedi’s Force presence, her footsteps quietly thudded next to Jaina’s as she began to lean rather heavily on her cane. Meanwhile, the music of the twilight continued on, the buzzing of Kashyyyk's insects and rustle of the occasional gust through the trees their only company.

 

Skywalker was very strongly bonded to… someone. With whom she shared this connection was unknown--regrettably, this young Jedi was one of the few subjects on which her daughter's files were rather scant--but Misal was willing to hazard a guess that there was someone deeply important to her, a lover, or even a child. Perhaps this would be useful information for leverage. Or perhaps it would be a wiser course of action to approach the situation with a degree of honesty and compassion before going for the emotional jugular, she decided.

 

Her footsteps lightened and the old Miraluka ceased to lean on the assistance of her cane, the steel implement now tapping lightly against the walkway. “My daughter disappeared on this planet shortly after Faust returned. I never stopped looking for her. You can imagine my joy when I learned that she is still alive--or at least, she was when she left Kashyyyk.”

 

But Misal's expression, what little of it could be guessed at from looking at only her exposed lips, was not at all overcome with joy. To the contrary, her jaw was slightly clenched and everything about the old Miraluka's posture suggested that she was grimly determined to continue on with the next phase of the hunt for her daughter.

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Forcibly commanding her limbs to keep moving as the aging Miraluka kept pace with her, Jaina fought to still her breathing. How had she been so foolish as to leave Tirzah behind on Ossus? She's fine. There was no place in the galaxy safe enough for her to be without her mother. She's survived this long without you. If Jaina left immediately, she could be back on Ossus in only 36 or so hours. Kirlocca entrusted you with this. Prove that you're not who you were. Tirzah could come along, what would be the harm in befriending a whole village of giant furry protectors while Jaina did some reconnaissance? The Shadowlands are no place for her. Remember Acrid. Remember Altyr. It wasn't as though she were taking the girl to Korriban. This was a scouting mission, nothing more.

 

STOP.

 

This was not about Tirzah. Armiena Draygo was a Jedi Master of the highest caliber. Her disappearance boded ill for the galaxy, especially since it had so closely corresponded with the resurgence of activity attributed to the Hunter.

 

Kirlocca had expressed concern about the Cult acquiring a Holocron on the jungle floor. But what if the Cult had apprehended something far more valuable? Tares' plight, Emily's disappearance, now Armiena... all of these seemingly unrelated events, if somehow connected, could spell disaster for the galaxy. Not to mention, the Order could use the strong guiding hand of Armiena Draygo. But since when had laying everything down for the sake of the galaxy gotten Jaina anywhere? Her only devotion was to Tirzah, to the daughter to whom she had crossed a thousand eternities to return.

 

Pillars and marble, etched grandeur in obsidian, agate, and tiger's eye; she was once again a heartsick teenager pressed against the granite floor of the Grand Hall of the Jedi, beseeching favor from a Grandmaster who possessed power beyond all that she could imagine. But the woman to whose mind these images were recalled bore no fondness for them, only a stifling sense of duty that she shouldered at the request of an old friend who had welcomed her back with open arms and forgiveness. Council. She had barely had time to think of the request he had made of her. Joining the ranks of the Council had been her dream as a young woman within the halls of the hallowed order.

 

But that dream had been edged out by another as Andon Colos remade the galaxy before her, and the Grey Goddess received her birthright; the power to create life.

 

To which dream did she now offer fealty?

 

"I know what that's like," she blurted out against her better judgment, halting in her tracks along the massive boardwalk and squaring off with the steely older woman. "Losing a daughter, suspending everything until you find her. I walk that road."

 

Her own use of the present tense made her heart sick, and she surprised herself with the honesty with which she divulged her thorn to this woman. Vulnerability begets vulnerability, I suppose. The tension of the silence demanded more from her, so she continued, her eyes shining with sincerity.

 

"I'm here on business of the Jedi Order," she began slowly, carefully, lest she divulge more than prudence allowed, "but from one mother to another, I will do all that is in my power to help you find her."

53bzzl2.png

...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Four dark furred and big, even by Wookiee standards, guards came out to meet Jaina Colos to escort her to Graanta. They were a bit weary of the elderly looking Miraluka that was with her, but their growls of complaint seemed to of little consequence, as they had received word from Kirlocca that a woman would be arriving from the Jedi Order to aid them in their problem. The addition of another being made them wonder if they had brought the right woman. But it was not worth stopping for, as the chief wanted them quick. The had escorted the two into the home of the chief, where Graanta sat and almost immediately began to speak to them.

 

<< I fear that Kirlocca may have sent you too late. My guard from the elevator is wounded, fur burned and missing a paw from someone who went to the shadowlands before you arrived. The trespasser has cut the rope we use to raise and lower the elevator. Because of this information, I must now ask that you not carry your lightsaber or blasters with you for the rest of your duration on Kashyyyk. It is for the safety of my people, especially during this time of civil unrest within the Galactic Alliance. Our ties with them are fragile now, and seeing as the Jedi are a people who are always associated with them, I must ask that you follow these rules given to you. >>

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Probing deeper had not been necessary after all. The older Draygo’s assumption proved to be correct; young Skywalker too was a mother and had experienced the unique pain of separation from the one she loved most. Misal had spent the entire war fretting for her daughter's safety; sometimes the Miraluka had the luxury of agonizing over tactical data from one of her sect’s observers; often only learning of the battles and the wounds after the fact. Those had been long, quiet days and nights, spent watching a holographic feed that depicted an azure icon plunge into a thicket of hostile shapes; often, her vessel would be surrounded by so much fire that her observers would lose sensor contact, and the Miraluka would find herself with clenched fists, hoping that Aidan wouldn’t have to be raised without a mother.

 

But that had happened regardless of Armiena’s survival. Between the civil war and her untold struggles with her personal demons after its conclusion, her daughter had lost everything, even ther right to watch her own son grow up. Aidan had never been neglected; he was surrounded by dedicated men and women who cared for him, would have given their lives to protect him and dedicate their energies to see him become a fine young man… but he never had his mother.

 

Misal’s lips tensed under the hem of her dark veil and she reached with a finger to smooth out a crease that had formed next to her nose. Anyone that knew the aged Miraluka would have been horrified by that slip; normally inscrutable, that minute display was the equivalent of a more emotive individual breaking down into inelegant blubbering in public.

 

“You understand. Thank you, but what I need from the Jedi Order is--” The Miraluka croaked, her voice struggled past the tightness in her throat. Misal coughed to clear her throat. Then four Wookiees, large specimens even for their gargantuan race interrupted them and demanded their presence with a village elder. Skywalker’s Jedi business had clearly arrived and required their immediate attention in the form of an aged greypelt named Graanta.

 

The Miraluka remained silent and completely motionless save for an occasional flexing of her arthritic left leg. Her command of Shyriiwook was elementary at best, but he at least made use of a portable translator for the benefit of his guests; the true obstacle, however, was Misal’s withdrawal from galactic politics and relative ignorance of recent events on Kashyyyk. The elder Draygo understood his demand his company surrender their arms, however; sighing, she pulled off the synthleather glove to reveal a right hand with ghostly skin. Misal withdrew her sidearm from a holster on her back and vented its chamber; she grasped the grip tightly for a few seconds, and a soft click issued from the weapon after it registered her biometrics and disabled itself.

 

She unstrapped the holster and blaster, holding them out for the Wookiees to confiscate. Her detour with the young Skywalker was unexpected, but Misal had operated with less information and fewer resources in the past. If nothing else, this would give her more information on current affairs in the galaxy, and would ingratiate herself to the Jedi Order. Her friends would have to continue the search without her assistance.

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The moment of vulnerability interrupted as they were escorted to the village posthaste, Jaina found her thoughts preoccupied with the end of the woman's sentence. In the companionship of four overlarge Wookiee escorts, it seemed irretrievable. Misal Draygo did not seem like the kind of woman to spread her thoughts far and wide, nor suffer eavesdropping, even from the likes of these. Hence, it was a quiet walk to Rwookrrorro.

 

Upon arrival, she surrendered both her own and Tares' silver-hilted lightsabers with no small trepidation in accordance with Graanta's request. While she could be nearly as effective without the tools as with them, they were not something she handed over lightly. Her blasters she had left behind on the Ferro Re, and for the first time since departing the Eternal Vigilance had opted to leave her satchel in the care of the hovering assistant droid, Atlas.

 

Her coiled ebony-leather whip, however, she kept strapped to her side, as Graanta had not requested it of her. Small comfort; it was comfort nonetheless.

 

Misal's actions mirrored hers, and as she did so, Jaina felt a spike of wariness. While she could sense the bitter truth of the Miraluka's predicament, something about her sudden appearance struck Jaina as oddly coincidental given the task that lay before her. To that end, she momentarily considered offering the older woman an out, or asking her to stay behind; making some excuse about "official Jedi business". But at this point, mostly friendless among the Jedi and attempting a search that even Master Kirlocca considered to be highly dangerous, she needed all the help she could come by.

 

Extending her presence to her erstwhile companion, she offered a reinforcing sense of teamwork; gratitude for Draygo's silent support. It was nothing if not a placeholder for additional conversation and sharing of information that might take place with fewer ears present.

 

Glancing back up at the grey-furred Wookiee chieftainess, Jaina nodded in assent to the terms offered her. "You have my assurance that we will take every precaution. I have no small respect for the traditions of your people. Please, take us to the elevator; we'll get going immediately."

 

It was a short trek from Graanta's home to the site of Rwookrrorro's access to the Shadowlands. In that time, Jaina peppered their accompanying guard with questions: did the injured sentry get a look at his attacker? Who had been knowingly allowed into the Shadowlands in the prior weeks? How many outsiders had been through the spaceport recently? Most importantly, how were she and Misal to descend, and was the attacker still to be found below?

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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The cockpit of the small snub fighter was very tight- but Trushaun did not mind, she was tiny herself. The fact that she was teeny tiny allowed her some small range of motion in the seat. That didn't matter- she spent most of that time in a form a meditation- she was crafting a new piece of her lightsaber. The vision of her father was right, she needed to move on. No longer would the saber just be meant for slicing through the undergrowth of whichever forest she stumbled into, this would get her out of any crazy situations she found herself in- and with the wroshyr trees around, there was always an avenue of escape. The female Fosh couldn't help but feel a bit of excitement to return to the planet and finish what she started. What a food she had been, she realized looking back on her actions.

 

But now- her wings were no longer clipped- she could fly free. Her own father encouraged her to do so. Even if he was a vision of the Force, she wanted to believe he would indeed say that. Pulling up her old journal after spending some time in the meditation, she read through the entries. As she came up on her destination- the Force called to her. Multiple avenues of quests lay before her- but she was determined to give herself to the Jedi now, she gave into the Force. Something was going on down on Kashyyyk, should she see what? Or just be about her business.

 

Curiosity got the best of her- she searched through the navcomputer for where the Force was calling her to be. It took her a moment, but it was the same village she had already been to. That seemed to seal the deal right then and there. Pressing the engines to life as they were back in regular space. Caution never really hurt, so Trushaun decided to do a fly-by of the landing pad first from her high advantage point. Nothing seemed... off, there was movement. Nothing out of the ordinary, so she decided to do another fly-by and get a better approach vector to land. There was no communication to her, despite her efforts- the Wookiees or her own craft? If she had a beard, now would have been the time to scratch it and contemplate the meaning behind the silence. But she didn't so she didn't, but she did stretch out through the Force, to gauge her surrounding area, and to welcome the flora and fauna of Kashyyyk. How glorious. The thoughts raced through her.

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The Jedi sent by Kirlocca and the other Miraluka woman that accompanied her were escorted to the great wooden elevator used by many generations of Wookiees who would begin their hrrtayyk ceremony, also known as the Test of Ascension to outsiders who knew nothing of the culture and lifestyle of the Wookiess. Recently, the elevator had been taken off limits with the exceptions of those granted permission by their chieftain, Graanta, as there was a stir of the katarns and other creatures on the surface, causing them to become extremely violent and rabid in their nature towards everyone who ventured on the surface. Everything was already hostile, but had become increasingly worse over the past few weeks. But since these two had been granted permission to go down, the escort lead them where they needed to go.

 

There they found Ukkorr, the keeper standing, stilling having marks of burns, scars, and a random assortment of bandages wrapped around his body, yet still standing as proud as he could guarding the door. He had two Ryyk blades hanging off his belt and within his arms he held his personally made Bowcaster. The guard immediately growled at the sight of the two females being escorted his way.

 

<< It is far too dangerous down there. The wild beasts have become agitated with everyone, and now with a crazed Miraluka down there... your trip down there will be your own death. But I won't disobey orders from the chieftain. >>

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Misal followed the young Skywalker and their Wookiee escort out of the Chieftain’s headquarter’s. Characteristic of the Miraluka, she said little but listened closely to anything that the two exchanged during their journey under the trees to the elevator bound for the Shadowlands. Her thoughts briefly passed to her compatriots, in particular Trell’s shattered legs and the importance that they return the young woman to a facility that could properly heal her wounds. She reached out to her students through their training bond; such a means of communication never allowed for complexity, but it was a simple matter to locate her most promising student’s shining presence and implant a simple sentiment that he should leave as soon as practical and Misal would find passage to Coruscant later.

 

To Jaina, she allowed her discipline to slip for a moment and reveal her bewilderment. Misal still didn’t quite understand the nature of her errand, but judging from the myriad wounds and blisters on the body of the elevator’s sentinel, it was worth killing for. How this scarred Wookiee was still on his feet and maintaining his vigil was beyond her, but judging from his posture, he had no need or desire for any concern for his wounds.

 

Misal cast a sightless glance over the handrail, her fingers carefully pressing the dark veil to her face as she stared into the abyss below. “I beg your pardon.” Misal sighed, turning away from the group as her hands went to her veil. She folded the veil into a tidy band, revealing a pale, aged face lined heavily from a long life spent in covert activities. Her fingers worked the band into a complicated little knot at back of a closely-cut shock of white hair, securing the cloth tightly around her face into a blindfold that at least wasn’t risk of of fluttering away with an inconvenient breeze and wafting away into the unending forest.

 

“Another Miraluka, you say?” Her thin eyebrows narrowed, displeased at having to confront one of her own species. If there was indeed a fellow Seer operating on this planet, Misal had almost certainly been detected during her brief communication. “Did you get a good look at them? What weapons and armor were they using? Was there anything unusual that you noticed about their clothing?”

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As they approached the great elevator, Jaina could sense the confusion of her aged Miraluka companion, but made no effort to explain the circumstance in detail. Instead, she extended a tendril of reassurance, a calm determination that nevertheless bore its own sense of urgency. If Kirlocca was right, and the injuries of the keeper before them were any evidence, the commodity that she sought in the understory of the giant wroshyr trees was a much-coveted one indeed. If the Cult that had set Raynuk on such a single-minded mission were to be here, pursuing the rumored Holocron, there was no time to lose.

 

Accordingly, Jaina's footsteps hastened. If Misal noticed, she chose not to comment, and the viridescent-robed Jedi could not help but feel a twinge of gratitude. There was no immediate alarm within the Force; why, then, was she so nervous?

 

The feral growl of the wounded Keeper stopped the pair of women in their tracks, and as Misal posed her questions, obviously interested in the presence of another of her kind, Jaina took the moment of distraction to observe the Wookiee through the Force. Surreptitiously, she turned her palms forward, even as her arms hung in repose at her sides. Invisible streams of energy emanated outwards from Jaina, and through the Force, she could see the injuries of the warrior. Clearly, he needed rest in order to heal, but consistent with the Wookiee honor culture, he refused to abdicate his post, owing to the feeling of failure after having been overtaken by an outsider. Offering subtle suggestions to his cells themselves, Jaina commanded healing energy to the edges of his pain; neutralizing gangrenous bacteria and halting the process of necrotizing wounds. It was a minor thing, not enough to be noticed at the moment, but would surely be accounted for by any presiding medical personnel.

 

Curiosity got the better of her, and she also reached for the mind of the Wookiee, determined to find out if he remained at his post out of shame at his failure, or simply a sense of duty.

 

And suddenly she found herself in a battle, a whirling mass of fabric and sound, the pulse of an alien heartbeat in her ears, an unearthly howl escaping from her lips as the slashing fire of a crackling lightwhip severed flesh from bone along her clavicle. Furious bowcaster rounds launched viridian fire into the depths of the forest, missing their mark as the wielder of the whip flaunted a temerarious grin marred by pale white scars.

 

Retracting her consciousness with no small amount of effort, a word escaped her lips just as the intrusion of another presence, not Wookiee and certainly not human, brushed past her mind. "Lightwhip." She pulled back the hood of her heavy charcoal cloak and met the Wookiee guard's eyes. "An unusual weapon for an even more unusual adversary."

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Ukkorr turned in a very readable astonishment for what Jaina had just said. With a quick look from one lady to the other, he spoke with a bit more hush.

 

<< A lightwhip was used upon me, but he also carried a blaster... maybe two. I didn't get the best look at it. He was dressed in Black, minus for his shirt, which was white. It looked like no armor was on him. Although... >>

 

The Wookiee leaned in and spoke quieter to the two.

 

<< ... He didn't cover his eyes like most Miraluka do. He seemed proud of the fact that he had no eyes... >>

 

Ukkorr turned and began to prep the wooden elevator to take the two down to the surface of the shadowlands. He naturally assumed that both would want to go down, as that was what Graanta had wanted them here for... to stop the feral attacks of the beast below and to remove the machine that many of the hunters had discovered. It took him about five minutes to get it ready.

 

<< When you guys are ready, I will take you down to the surface. >>

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A twitter in her pocket distracted Jaina momentarily, and she retrieved her comlink, excusing herself to address it. The resulting message carried with it the strange sensation as though Jaina's stomach was being pulled into a singularity, twisted and warped and pulled every which way. In response, she sent along the message she had received to her only confirmed friends among the Jedi.

 

She herself could not get there in time. To abandon the task put before her was to fail the Wookiee Master, and his words of warning rang in her mind.

 

Approaching the elevator's guard and the Miraluka once more, Jaina nodded at him. "We are ready. Please, let's not waste time."

 

WIth half a glance at Misal, she added, "I'm afraid the galaxy gets darker every minute we wait."

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Misal shared a significant glance with the young Skywalker. Even with the old Miraluka’s face impassive save for a minute tightening of her lips, it was obvious what she was thinking. It was certainly a relief that, to ensure the safety of his people from the Jedi Order, Graanta had seen fit to have his guests disarmed just prior to seeing them off to Kashyyyk’s most untamed biome. She knew full well the sorts of who beasties made their residence in that sunless pit. However, she was not about to divulge the details of her operation with the Wookiees within earshot, especially in the light of the fact that her cohort had turned one of its apex predators into red mist. Misal was more concerned about the threat of the other Miraluka, especially if he was possessed of the reckless and aggressive temperament that it required to wield a Light-whip.

 

“A seer and a....” Psychopath was the unspoken word. “This should be stimulating.” The Miraluka began to breathe deeply and drew her hands together in a steeple at her waist. Gradually, her Force Presence began to diminish and retreat, as though its owner had considered her options and thought better of the pursuit.

 

To the elevator’s sentinel, this pause might have appeared as though the old woman was quietly doubting her mettle. To the Jedi and any other Force Sensitive individuals who might have been tracking her, it was clear that the Miraluka was preparing herself for infiltration and her eddies of the Force surrounding her became still.

 

Her voice took on a distant tone. “Ready.”

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Ukkorr made the last minute preparations and then had the two get on the wooden elevator as he began to lower it. The trip down to the Shadowlands was about four to six hours in time to go from the highest point of the trees to the surface floor. Once the surface was reach, Ukkorr opened the gate, but a sudden growl and a Bolstyngar came running with foam dripping from it's mouth. Ukkorr pulled his Bowcaster and shot the beast.

 

<< As you can see, the floor has become rabid. I will honor Kirlocca and give you one of my Ryyk blades to help defend yourselves. The object Graanta told Kirlocca about is about 8-12 klicks that way. I will wait here and keep the wooden basket elevator waiting for you. Good luck. >>

 

((My last post until you reach your destination. Have fun!))

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The rugged trunks of Kashyyyk's understory gave way to the curling roots of its wroshyr trees as the elevator descended silently to the depths. Like the breezes that wound their way through the massive underbrush, questions roiled in Jaina's mind, but acutely aware of the absence of the comfortable weight of her lightsaber hilt resting against her thigh, she kept her voice pocketed. Instead, she used the ride to the forest floor as a chance to extend her senses, trying to gain any premonition of what awaited them.

 

Once more, she felt the strange flicker of a non-human presence that glimmered in the Force, that which she could not readily explain, so she put it out of her mind for the moment. Unlike the primal urges that echoed through the teeming life in the Shadowlands, this sensation carried sentience with it; but so thoroughly did it integrate with the movements of Kashyyyk wildlife that Jaina almost wondered for a moment if the planet itself conjured up such a consciousness.

 

However, extending her senses further, the revered light of life halted, clouded by an electric darkness that foreboded in visions of shadows, scars of the forest that cried out for vengeance. Something called to her, whispered with ancient voices, sang with a forgotten siren song that magnetized her spirit and demanded that she draw nearer. It was there, she felt certain, that her objective lay. If the Wookiee's testimony was trustworthy, and she had no reason to doubt it, she had a psychotic lightwhip-wielding nightmare with which to contend upon arrival.

 

Doing this without her saber was not going to be enjoyable. She had picked the wrong day to skip the second cup of caf on the way in-system.

 

As the lift settled into the flattened brush on the forest floor and the pair of women disembarked, the guardsman, in a surprising offer, thrust the traditional blade into her hands, an effective dismissal unto her errand. With a perfunctory glance into the shale blue depths of the Shadowlands, Jaina released an audible sigh as she turned to her Miraluka companion.

 

"About eight klicks east, I think. Can you feel it? The source of power?"

 

She spoke in hushed tones, slurring her hissing consonants into lisping dental fricatives. As the Wookiee had cautioned them, the predators in this area of the forest had likely been driven mad by the nexus of power in their midst, and while Jaina had long since learned to redirect the simple base urges of such predators in the Force, she infinitely preferred not to disturb them at all.

 

Belatedly, it occurred to her that she did not know the scope of Misal's ability. The seasoned woman gave no indication of fear, but rather, a rugged determination. Uncoiling her whip from her side and letting it dangle from her right hand, Jaina wordlessly extended the Wookiee's blade to Misal with her left, the hilt pointed toward the woman in a gesture of explicit trust.

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Down, once again, to Kashyyyk’s surface. The lush foliage of the canopy, gradually springing to life under the nurture of the rising sun, gave way to the eternal darkness of the Shadowlands, lit only by bioluminescent insects and the occasional tender ray of sunlight that managed to pierce through the canopy. Misal cast a concerned glance towards the young Jedi who stood beside her; possessing the gift of Force Sight, the Miraluka was completely unperturbed by the gloom, but the human might not be so fortunate.

 

Upon their arrival to the surface, a rabid beast rushed the opened elevator, its slavering jaws agape and slaughter on its addled mind. Misal let her cane fall and drew a short vibroknife from her robes, her stance immediately dropping into a knifefighter’s crouch, intent on lunging under its jaws and slashing its throat, but that proved to be unnecessary. Ukkorr shouldered his boltcaster and put the beast out of its misery with a single quarrel, and it collapsed to the ground, its consciousness rapidly fading from shock and the weeping wound that rent its torso asunder.

 

Misal hazarded a scan with the Force and probed the bolstyngar’s darkening mind. There had been hunger on its mind, the visceral motivation that always lurked in the minds of most predatory beasts, but now, confusion, agony, fear, a need to escape from this awful something that had inflicted such a dreadful wound. None of that was surprising; its chest cavity had been blown apart by an explosive bolt. Even through the haze of circulatory shock, it became clear that the beast’s madness wasn’t entirely a biological ailment. Something had addled its primitive mind and twisted it to insanity, transforming what had been a common--albeit extraordinarily dangerous--predator into a half-mad, slavering puppet of its own affliction.

 

Finally, Misal understood Skywalker’s task. Undoubtedly they would soon discover what prolonged exposure to this corruption would wreak upon a sapient mind.

 

Setting foot on the forest floor, the Miraluka accepted the Wookiee’s weapon and hefted the leather grip in her gloved palm. As they strode from the basket-elevator to the disconcertingly silent Shadowlands, she gave the curved blade a set of test swipes in the air and nodded. The ryyk blade was certainly not forged for a sapient of her slight stature; its point of balance lay a bit forward into the blade, and its edge, although honed and sharpened with loving care, was somewhat broad. This was clearly a weapon designed for cleaving through bone and hacking through foliage with little risk of damage to the blade--useful for slaughtering wild beasts, but against the most dangerous game… In any case, Misal tended to prefer polearms, though she would make do with the tools at hand.

 

“I feel it as well.” Misal guessed that they were out of earshot from the Wookiee sentinel, though she kept her voice low, both to avoid being overheard by Ukorr and any predators who had come to investigate the descent of one of the few routes to the Shadowlands. “You’ve been tasked to remove something from this world, haven’t you?”

 

It mattered little at this point if Skywalker confirmed her suspicions.

 

Misal expanded her senses to remain alert for any beasts that had taken an interest in the two humanoids. She doubted her ability with the heavy ryyk-blade, but the Miraluka could hopefully deter a starving or confused predator’s attention with a momentary touch of the Force or telekinetic rustling of foliage. She noted, however, that the chorus of Kashyyyk’s birds and insects had become strained, and the air was filled with a watchful silence--the occasional call or birdsong filtered down from the branches above, but there were few stridulations or cries from their level.

 

“It is quiet…”

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Only the truth of Misal's statement saved Jaina from uttering back the second half of the trope: it was, in fact, far too quiet to speak openly. Several times, as they walked, the snapping of a twig or the rustling of underbrush sent a spike of alarm through Jaina's danger sense as unwanted attention zeroed in on the pair of them. Each time, she extended a tendril of calm into the beast's consciousness, steadying her own presence to communicate at a visceral level. It was a trick she had learned a long time ago in the wilderness of Almania, at the hand of Talon Flick, surrounded by the wild kath hounds that ran amok on the dusty plains, after she had found herself at their mercy without a weapon one too many times. Even the flicker of remembrance of her old friend sent a pang of wistful sadness through her, but she could not afford to get lost in reminiscence; the Shadowlands demanded her attention. The katarns whose minds she expected to influence easily, however, carried with them a shield whose coat of arms bespoke darkness. It took more effort than she cared to admit to redirect their aggressions into their natural prey; the tach and the kinrath that skittered about on the tangled web of vines that made up the forest floor.

 

In the back of her mind, she still felt pressing urgency to return to her daughter, but here, with every muscle taut and ready, her extrasensory abilities functioning like a well-oiled machine, she was in her element. There was an element of pride taken in her own focus. Tares had been right about her; she craved intensity. She was an adrenaline junkie who needed the desperation that she felt now, the rush of a circumstance fraught with risk; but her presence here was more than that. While the cares of the galaxy had weighed on Jaina for too long, in her rebirth she had found new hope for the life that lay ahead of her. At her disposal, she had every tool she needed to craft the galaxy into the kind of place within which she wanted Tirzah to feel at home. And, if the girl changed her mind where her own training was concerned, perhaps they could do that work together.

 

And, she admitted to herself with a degree of reticence, there was no small part of her that wanted to settle the mysteries and injustices before her so that she could begin to answer the question she had posed to Raynuk in that Corellian hospital: how to conceive of a galaxy where she and Raynuk could coexist without persecution, transcending the traditional definitions of "Sith" and "Jedi".

 

It was slow work, carving their way through the venomous underbrush, and even the assistance rendered by the blade they passed back and forth between them did not expedite the process with any efficiency. As they moved, Jaina found herself growing increasingly inquisitive about her companion. She knew little about Misal Draygo, and even less about Armiena's disappearance. About three kilometers in, her curiosity got the best of her. Erecting a protective enclosure within the Force, she halted the sound waves they were creating altogether. It was a double-edged sword, however, as they could not hear anything from without and such circumstance necessitated full reliance on their extrasensory perception, making them functionally deaf to all but the noise the pair of them were making.

 

"What happened to her? Armiena?" she asked abruptly from half a pace behind Misal. It had not occurred to her until she spoke that the presence of the Jedi Grandmaster on Kashyyyk might have attracted whatever darkness Kirlocca wanted to be purged, holocron or no holocron.

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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It was an invisible change, but a change none-the-less. After almost 300 years wandering the realm known as Beyond Shadows, Frond, the Neti, had found his way back to the illusionary world that everyone inhabited. Waking, he could feel the faintest amount of sunlight streaming down. Yes, it was time to find a new place to plant his roots for the next several centuries before returning to the truth, Beyond Shadows. There was something else though, as he awoke, he felt it. Darkness. There was a darkness present on his homeworld; a darkness that was not present the last time he had returned.

 

Rustling slightly, the large tree-like being reached out, feeling through the force and his tendrils and branches. Nothing felt out of place in his immediate area, but still, something was wrong. There was a darkness here and even the wroshyr trees could feel it and not a darkness he could define, but a darkness akin to that he felt when he stood next to the gurgling fountain known as the Font of Power.

 

With a crackling of yellow energy, the large tree began to twist and flail for only a moment before where the massive tree had once stood there now stood a humanoid man, a man made of wood and wrapped @in a cloak of leaves.

Stretching his legs, joints that had not moved in centuries popped with the sounds of snapping twigs. Once he was sure that he could step forward and not topple over, Frond began to shuffle forward through the undergrowth wandering aimlessly allowing the flow of the forests to guide him.

Moving for some time, Frond became aware of another presence nearby, not plants, not the local fauna, not even the tree dwelling wookiees that he occasionally encountered when he was in the mortal world. No, this was stronger. The Force was with it, him, her them and they were making quite a ruckus as they moved. Whoever or whatever this presence was was not from the under levels of Kashyyk. They were far too noisy.

 

Not dissuaded, Frond pressed onward, shuffling through the undergrowth until he came upon two humanoid females engaged in what for all intents and purposes appeared to be a discussion, albeit completely silent.

 

”Greetings.” he spoke waving a wooden hand at the two females. ”The Force, you know of it? Baron Do?” he guessed, ”Zeison Sha? Jedi? Palawa? Sky Wardens? Bogan?”

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Having offered the ryyk blade to Jaina a few seconds ago to give her arm a rest, Misal paused for a moment and a flicker of emotion slipped through her guarded mind. Even though what little of her expression that was visible in the consuming darkness was set in a frown of concentration, a sense of profound bitterness radiated from the Miraluka operative. Her right hand clenched and relaxed, though not from the exertion of hacking at the brush. She sighed and finally responded, keeping back in step with the Jedi woman.

 

Her gloved hand swept away the remnants of some spider’s web that clung to the band concealing her eye sockets. “Armiena attempted something very foolish. She attempted to confront Faust on her own. I imagine that she suspected Faust would not have been able to resist such a meeting, but it clearly did not go in her favor. I…” Her voice cracked. “Only today did I find conclusive evidence that she left Kashyyyk alive… but not on her own free will. Somehow, Faust kept her imprisoned in stasis, and someone dug her out of the soil like a....” A fracking rock was the phrase that came to mind, but Misal bit back the curse before her fury got the better of her.

 

Misal fell silent. She thought briefly of her students and how badly she wished she was in their presence again, continuing the search for her daughter, but her presence on Kashyyyk was required to ensure their success. Mister Hamis and Miss Trell were perfectly capable of sifting their the market fluctuations and developments in biotech firms on their own; when her most promising students had narrowed down their list of suspects for who had bankrolled the harvesting of her daughter, they would be able to point their Miraluka mentor in the right direction… and they would have a perfectly candid exchange of their viewpoints. Oh yes, Misal would make certain that whoever had abducted her daughter understood exactly how badly she had been hurt by their crimes.

 

Rescuing Armiena, on the other hand, was likely to be a suicide mission without the cooperation of the Galactic Alliance and the Jedi Order.

 

“I have my suspicions as to who would have had an interest in my daughter, and they are all… commercial. Unfortunately, some of them are rather prominent individu--back!” Misal hadn’t missed the growing awareness that was nearing their advancement. She’d tolerated its approach as the Miraluka hadn’t detected a predatory intent to its presence, but she had already been attacked by one ancient abomination this day and was wary of anything else unusual in the Shadowlands. Seizing the Wookiee’s ryyk blade from Jaina’s hand, Misal stepped between the young Jedi and the unknown wooden sapient. Misal had no clue what the newcomer was, a rarity for a Miraluka as old and well-travelled as her.

It had to have been quite a sight: a seventy-plus Miraluka clad in the concealing black robes and headband that would have marked her as conservative even for her reserved species, who had just thrust herself between a young Jedi without a lightsaber and a ancient arboreal thing.

 

“Jedi." She responded, the oversized blade kept in a neutral stance to her side but ready to snap up into a guard. Her response had to have drawn a reaction from the young Skywalker, but even speaking the name of her sect outside of one of their havens would have been a profound lapse of operational security. "And you?"

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Suddenly, Frond could hear the two before that he could only sense. A twisted, cheerful smiled crossed over his face as the seemingly blindfolded one identified themselves as Jedi, even as she stood with a blade held between them standing in front of her travelling companion.

 

You are the Jedi. Why are you in the darkness? Bearing a weapon prepared for destruction? he asked, confused by the subtle body language exuded by the black clad Misal. The Jedi he had known when he was younger seemed much less prone to violence than the two before him;

still, he did not sense an immediate danger from the two towards himself at the time. Not that it mattered, if he died he would become one with The Force,

what more could he ask?

 

"Frond is my name." he said, pointing to himself while offering his other vine encrusted wooden hand forward in a gesture of friendship, "You are seeking something? I shall assist the Jedi." he continued as he gestured about him at the Worshyr trees extending up out of sight, "Many dangers. The Force will guide us."

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The arboreal man's presence barely announced his approach, and it seemed to Jaina as though he had simply materialized out of the very essence of the planet. Misal's reaction was not unwarranted for one who had spent the better part of the planet's previous rotation in the Shadowlands, but while this being may very have been as wild and untamed as the planet itself, there was a calm vibrancy to his demeanor that was almost playful. Serenely she stood, her hands empty, stretching out to Frond with her senses as she dropped the noiseless barrier to receive the creature's greeting.

 

A flicker of an awed smile crossed her face despite herself, the Jedi finding her soul full of wonder at the peace of the tree-being. He spoke as a hopeful or an acolyte, one who had not been subjected to the many disappointments of trust in the Force. Up until recently, such naivete would have left her irritated, but there was something about his simple manner that inspired curiosity. Trust had never come naturally to Jaina, but he seemed so purely connected to the energy of life on Kashyyyk that she could not bring herself to skepticism. Consequent warmth bubbled up within her, emanating into the Force, and she stepped around the Ryyk-wielding Miraluka to clasp the wooden hand he extended.

 

"I am Jaina Jade Skywalker," she said quietly, consciously withholding Misal's name. She had minuscule knowledge of the latter and no way of knowing how secret her presence on Kashyyyk was intended to be; and she was certainly not, strictly speaking, a Jedi, as she had claimed. "There is a darkness in the Shadowlands that doesn't belong here. We're here to remove it. The Force resists its disturbance, can you feel it?"

 

Even detailing their task, Jaina could feel the stirring of darkness in the underbrush. Pushing past Misal and Frond, she held her hands up, creating a barrier around the trio just in time for a dark blur to rocket out of the shadows and smack into the wall she erected through the Force. As if to punctuate her point, the Katarn foamed at the mouth, its eyes feral: murderous aggression the only recourse for the extreme fear and hatred to which it had been subjected. With an invisible fist, she held it aloft, soothing the frantically primal nerves with a soft touch of light upon its mind. When she set it down, she planted an illusion of a tach scurrying into the underbrush into the opposite direction from their destination, and the canine launched into a pursuit of the phantom.

 

Cementing the noiseless bubble around them once more, she nodded at Frond. "You see what I mean. Many dangers, indeed. I welcome the help, but your safety remains in your own hands."

 

The noiseless trek continued, and Jaina found herself clutching the hilt of the Ryyk blade as they arrived at the edges of the nexus of tainted power she felt, the tangible darkness intensifying around her.

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Misal gazed at the arboreal being for a few seconds, trying to decide what she thought of the unknown sapient. It was possible, perhaps, that he simply belonged to one of the few, extraordinarily rare species that the Miraluka had never encountered over decades of operating in strange world. Certainly, the veteran operative didn’t detect any malevolence from its Force-presence; indeed, the bark-like being seemed pleasantly surprised to have encountered two other intelligent creatures on the forest floor of Kashyyyk.

 

So distracted by her study of the Neti, the black-clad Miraluka failed to notice their peril, having been stalked by a prowling katarn that had caught their scent, until it pounced and ran headlong into a Force barrier that had been erected only just in time by the young Jedi beside her. Amateurish, Misal reprimanded herself; amateurish and stupid, and her moment of inattentiveness might have gotten herself killed had it not been for a less easily-distracted companion.

 

“You’ll have to forgive me.” Misal apologized to the arboreal being as they set off again. “Trust is not something that comes easily to me, and considering the location…” Her face glanced off to the side, though her perception remained fixed on his bark-like form. “My name is Misal Draygo.”

 

As they continued through the thicket, Misal felt Jaina’s hand on the hilt of the oversized, traditional blade of the Wookiees and she relinquished the weapon to the Jedi. Nevertheless, the Miraluka hadn’t been asked to surrender her every weapon; and she withdrew a short vibroblade from a sheathe within her robes. It was an ordinary blade, not more than a third of a meter long, but it was keenly tuned and serviceable in a fight. Misal began to perceive that they were nearing the contamination that Skywalker had been tasked to cleanse--or remove from the planet altogether. The wroshyrs were beginning to thin, and Misal drew a hanging vine closer to her face to examine for a moment. Although the ancient tree was outwardly healthy and weathering the corruption with some stolidness, this younger growth was distorted; far from flexing in her grasp, the vine hung limply, as though dessicated despite the obvious presence of recent rain.

 

They had to be quite close now. Misal began to sense the presence of something truly ancient, but thrumming with an electric alertness that belied its age. Again, a blind glance at her Jedi companion. Was this what Jaina had been tasked with retrieving--or eliminating?

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