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Oculus

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Oculus last won the day on July 26

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  1. Oculus

    Naboo

    As his Master approached, he knelt before her with awaiting her blow, his body tensing up and expecting her power as his gaze fell upon her boots. And yet nothing crossed his form save for her words. He grinned as his grip tightened around the lance her held in his grasp. So the Nightsisters' regaling of his lose to the Rancor did not seem to phase her in the slightest, nor his broken form beneath the bound armor they had placed upon him. This intrigued him. "We have won. Lehon is in our grasp." He spoke with obedience, the power coursing through his veins holding his broken form together with the bound armor. "Though the victory was not my doing. The beast.." His gaze shifted upward toward the Rancor as Artor returned the smirk toward Shiro. "...Artor and I met on the battlefield and he proved my better. I still have much to learn." Artor stood in looming silence as Shiro presented the Forcesaber the beast had deposited on his body when he felt that Shiro was dead, sniffing the smoldering air with interest and salivating maw. The smell of cooked flesh seemed to prey at his attention. "This was presented to me by Artor." Shiro spoke as his gaze remained to the ground. "It looks like a lance, but holds a housing similar to a Lightsaber. I think he thought I was worthy of it and his presence seems to mimic that notion. But I leave that up to you."
  2. Oculus

    Naboo

    As Valhalla exited out of hyperspace above Naboo, the fossilized crust of Dxun shifting small particles of debris to it's sudden slow, Shiro stood aboard it's command deck with both Artor and the Nightsisters in tow and overlooked the carnage and destruction that mutated it's surface grotesquely. Shiro and Artor both adorned a similar grin across their faces as they gazed upon the Nabooan destruction, and Shiro could already feel the fog of war clouding his sight and mind. It was a glorious return from Lehon. A comm was sent ahead to his Master, Lady @Telperiën Ar-Pharazon as a shuttle was prepared for his departure to the planet below. Though the Nightsisters walked with the Apprentice of their Lady, the disdain and disgust that they felt for him was evident in their callous distance, even as their revered Rancor walked beside him in symbiosis. But for Shiro, Lehon had been a changing point for the young Warrior, a revelation of his past and present, that had set a new course for him to walk. The Nightsister's Magic had repaired most of what had been broken, his form delved in the blackened armor of the Infinite Empire's remnants as they had bound his flesh with the steel of the ancient Force Hounds, the stave that kept him balanced their broken weapon. But in their dismay, he had bonded through combat with the Bull Rancor known as Artor both in blood and in heart, as the remains of Lehon's power courses through both their veins. As the Nightsisters regaled Lady Telperiën with the happenings of Lehon once they arrived planetside and located the Witch, mostly of his failure in combat to the hands of the Rancor and the bond that transpired from it, two vocal in their disdain and seeing it as blasphemy to their heritage, Shiro stood aside the ship with Artor and awaited his Master's approach in subservience. His interest in their heritage and customs had not hindered, but he was beginning to understand their reverence with such beasts as Artor and in their magic that had bound these artifacts to his flesh. He felt lighter, more refined. And thanks to the wraiths of Dunstan and Saldana in his absence, he now controlled Valhalla and the remnants of the Onderonian 11th Battalion 7th Imperial Marines, his former Regiment.
  3. From the darkness, comes the truth. And within the darkness, all lost is found. For the darkness hides everything unwanted or unspoken, and from it, is birthed brutal honesty. And before Shiro, in the abyss that has became his mind, came the coldest truth he had ever had to face. What was the reason for his existence? For him to walk the path that he does? What was Shiro? What was his testament? Shiro had fought, had murdered. He enlisted in the Imperial Marines to flee persecution. And now he walked the path as Sith to feed his hunger. But these were menial excuses. Not truths. Nor were they even half truths. In the abyss, in the darkness, hidden in the recesses of his mind, he knew what had always been hidden. He empowered himself with Pride, with Wrath, with Hatred. But as Lady Awenyyd had spoken before, these were not his Sins. They were but stepping stones, enhancements. But where did his true power come from. What sin kept him going? Which held his mind and body together through the devastation he wrought upon himself? A murderous smirk crossed his face as the truth revealed its self before him, the opened maw of his reflection revealing the endless pit within his soul. And so, Gluttony had always been there within him, an endless hunger. Power, Destruction, Death, Punishment, War. It echoed within him like vibrant resonance, a complete picture painted with the ease of a brush stroke. And as the smirk widened into a grin upon the reflection of his soul, the endless maw slammed shut, and a blackened gaze stared back as the reflection became distorted. Before Shiro stood the reflection of the Rancor. Eyes shot open and peered around the cluttered cave and toward the ravenous maw of the Rancor from before as it peered down over his laid form. His body felt broken, unable to move as his gaze met the eyes of the looming beast. And around him, the darkness swirled majestically, pure and unbridled. Magicks courses his veins as the Sisters stood about and briefly recognized his consciousness. And the ground shook with power as the beast moved around. Shiro was surprised that he still lived. And beside him, Shiro could feel a weapon, a lance embued with the very darkness that seeped the soil of Lehon. Before his mind could make sense, the Sister from before spoke. "Pull yourself together, Apprentice. Your Master awaits." She spoke, her voice full of disdain. "The beast thought you dead, and has not left your side. It seems he has chosen you despite our commune over our thoughts on this matter." Slowly Shiro began to rise, grasping at the lance to hold onto as he began to gather his footing. The beast turned it's gaze and lifted it's gigantic hand to his side in aid. As Shiro's gaze met that of the beast, it's voice vocaled syllables of significance, causing Shiro's gaze to look in shock. "Arrrr-tooorr"
  4. The path of a Warrior was strenuous path to walk at best, to test not only one's self, but that of another in an intertwined lethal dance of blade and fist. To truly be tested, and to test, one would have to pour everything of themselves into each strike and blow, into each parry and deflection. It wasn't a path for the feign of heart. It required resolve and mettle, to push all fear aside and resound in the moment of defiance in death. It was always a shift between life and death, never any middle ground. You either lived, or you died. That was the truth of the Warrior's Path. And these two knew it all too well, this truth evident in the flow of their strikes, the gaze they shared upon one another of mutual respect despite the intent to kill and maim. It was fun. It was joy. It was freedom. And it was ecstasy. These two danced to the rythmn of death so ceremoniously, strike for strike, as blood poured and muscles bruised. And they didn't linger in the rapture of ego nor of concern. If one hindered for even a moment, the other pressed for submission. They would not reciede until death was eminent. This was their way, and they rejoiced in it. For a brute of extraordinary size, Shiro found himself tested immensely by the stature and capabilities of the adolescent Bull Rancor. He could feel his broken form pressing to invite his inevitable death while the Bull Rancor stood sturdy against the Force Shiro used to enforce his dominance, the heavy breath of both panting against the tropical air. The Sithling had managed to tear two of his tusks from his form and still stood if only barely. This surprised the Rancor immensely. In the recesses of his mind, he had never been challenged in such a way outside of his own ilk, prompting a kinship growing toward this outsider. And for Shiro, despite his broken form requiring his beastial mindset to overcome, he could now understand why these creatures were so revered by the Nightsisters. He, too, was beginning to grow fond of it and his kind. There was sentience within, minimal as it may have been. But there was also the pride and heart of warriors within as well, a bond that divided and brought many together. Feeling the pain within coursing through his form with every movement, even the prosthetic lung weighing upon him, Shiro smiled profusely. For if he was to die today, he was glad such a creature had been found to be his ravager. Pulling on the Force, Shiro charged forward. And blackness enveloped his psyche, his last vision of green grass flowing vertically against his sight and the softness of the soil. He could briefly feel the presence of the Nightsisters growing closer, but unconsciousness quickly took him as a hand grasped his entire form. His last thoughts were of his impending death. But was it so?
  5. As Shiro began his approach, he pulled the Force that flowed around him into his being, letting the corruption of his will ensnare it within his grasp and forced it to bend to his reality as his skin became hide, his speed became a blur, and his strength tenfold. The very pressure of his presence within became tyranny as he approached the edge of the jungle and neared the clearing. Reaching to his hip, he pulled forth his BattleAxe, letting his will flow into its bleached ivory form. The Spirit of War was beginning to stir from it's slumber. But to understand the Spirit of War, you must understand Shiro's belief. You must understand the truth of the Void. What he saw and witnessed on Cathar, a world that once knew peace and tranquility. A truth that Revan himself understood. War wasn't just aimless brutality. It was a culling of the weak and corrupted. Lehon held this truth too. For the Rakata and their Infinite Empire no longer existed. There was no Light nor Dark Sides to the Force, only Chaos. And through Chaos, Order. The Chaos of War where the strong survived and the rest eradicated. Utter Destruction created Prosperity. In this, the Mandalorians got it right. This was the truth of nature. And in this beast, he would test his worthiness. As Shiro cleared the Jungle, the beast was quick to notice his arrival as it turned to welcome him. The ground shook with the beast's engagement and a large hand clubbed the ground toward Shiro as his speed increased, the young Sithling side stepping it's first attack with little more than general effort as he drew his ivory axe against leathered hide that barely drew a scratch. But what Shiro hadn't expected was the semi-sentience that the beast produced when it changed the direction of it's swing into a second attack, nearly catching Shiro off guard as he crossed his enhanced arms and took a bruising blow. Despite this setback, Shiro grinned, finding the challenge more than he expected and even more fulfilling. This would not only mean a better testament to his worthiness, but also that the beast was worthy of its own. Gripping at the oversized fist of the Bull Rancor, Shiro used it's own momentum against its self and carried over into his own as he slung the creature over his prosthetic shoulder and onto it's back with a subtle grin of glee, empowering his augmented blade with more of his will in an attempt to split the head of the beast. But it wouldn't be so as the beast took the blow with his thick forearm and returned the favor to Shiro, the Apprentice feeling the hardened embrace of a nearby rock to his backside and the brief daze of starry nights. And yet, as his gaze returned, he caught sight of a similar grin upon that of the beast's unbridled maw, as if two Warriors had met upon the field of battle to test their mettle against one another, and in that moment, a semblance of respect echoed in Shiro's own. Rising from his position, he readied himself for his next attack. If he could not kill the creature, he would have it as his own.
  6. This planet, it was like the world he began this path upon, the Darkness calling out like a warring spirit calling for release through the blackened veil, stretching the thin line even thinner. As Shiro trekked on, he could feel it. Even as the storm began to blow down upon them torrential and visual became a hindrance, it ached for bloodlust and conquer. Behind his helm, he smiled. Cathar, Lehon, the Path and Pilgrimage of Revan. It was as if it called at his existence. Almost as if Lady Awenyyd had forsaw. His gaze shifted in the directions of the others through the thickened rain and felt the power of the Darkside amplify. It felt maternal, similar to Lady Telperiën but different. This was the power of the Nightsisters? Intriguing. He would have to further prove himself to his Master and their cause, if only to be seen as truly worthy. Not just a insubordinate welp. Or a means of prestige. No. He needed to prove his power and skill through their eyes before they would ever see him mutually beneficial. And not just for power's sake. But for respect. One could easily wave around power as a Warrior for the sake of the cause, to rule with an iron fist. But for someone like Shiro, someone who knew War and it's Art, such a foundation was minimal at best. For the Peace he sought, the Foundation he sought to build, the path he wished to walk, Respect was the Dominant Power. Shiro snapped out of his thoughts when a hand pressed against his chest, his eyes tracing the face of the Nightsisters along her arm and toward the clearing up ahead where her finger extended. Through the lines of trees stood a beast of nearly nine feet in height with protruding horns and a stubbed maw, it's form muscular and scarred. He could hear the excitement in her breathing as she gazed upon it. "You don't see that every day." "What's that?" He poised as he knelt down to get a better look through the under foliage, noticing the other two Nightsisters had stopped as well and gaze on in awe. "An adolescent Bull Rancor" She responded, lost in her own mind and unaware of her casualness. "You can tell by it's limited height and lack of tusk length." Shiro sat in silence, observing the Nightsisters' and their reverence for the creature. The Temple was only a few clicks past this spot, and there wasn't any real way around it. But in noticing the looks in their eyes and how they observed the creature, he quickly caught their admiration for it, which presented him an idea. If he could defeat and kill the creature, then perhaps he could take a step in the right direction of proving himself. But this would also mean going against the wishes of his Master. Or perhaps not, given the way the Nightsisters revere the beast. After a few seconds of debate, Shiro stood and began walking toward it. "I'm going to kill it."
  7. Lehon, or as it was known in days of the Old Republic, Rakata Prime, was a planet delved deeply in the Darkside of the Force from the millenia that it served as the Capital World of the Infinite Empire and Homeworld of the Rakata. Shiro, the Sith Warrior born from the pilgrimage of Revan under Lady Awenyyd on Cathar could taste its roots no matter how deep the Jedi tried to reinforce their Light into it. Since the moment he had stepped into its surface, smelt it's stench filled air, he could hear the echo of it's call. It pulsated through his veins and heart, and his sight saw it's tendrils trying to climb from the Chaos that ensued. It mattered little why the Sith chose to liberate this planet from the perverse filth that the Jedi had injected into its skin, the Darkness still clung to it's core. Shiro found his own reasons for being here. As he and the Nightsisters' continued on after Telperiën departed, the four ran in a gorilla formation, separate but close, through the jungles that littered it's acapellagos surface. Sweat beaded down his masked brows, cheeks, and chin in the tropical climate and despite the weight he carried, the Force kept the Warrior's stamina filled. Their target was a simple task. Make for the Jedi Temple and cut off escape, essentially wrapping a noose around the Jedi stronghold and strangling it with its own natural defenses and seclusion. An idea that Shiro, as a former Lieutenant of the Imperial Marines, rather enjoyed and could get behind. Keeping up with the others locations, he kept his stride constant and consistent over the coarse terrain. But a pain stabbed at his mind during his trek, the feeling of Telperiën passing from the world and into the next, causing his stride to come to a abrupt assault. Three paths immediately came to mind as he stood amidst the trees and foliage, the Sith Armor he wore delved in the Darkness of the canopy above. Part of him wanted to backtrack and avenge the Master he had chosen to continue his training. Another part wanted to chuckle at her weakness at underestimating the enemy. But the last part, the one that kept his gaze forward toward the Temple was that of the Soldier within, the one that wanted to complete his mission. And it would be that part of him that would inevitably win out. "Shiro Seven of the Sith." A voice echoed across the foliage, his gaze shifting to his right. "Why have you stopped? The temple is still a few a ways ahead. That's when Shiro noticed one of the Nightsisters standing behind a large bush, only her gaze visible through the rays of sunlight beaming down through the canopy. He shook his head and shifted his rifle. There was no reason to backtrack. He had been given his mission and he would stay on course. Telperiën and her mistake were her own, not his. "It's nothing. Let's continue." Shiro replied, resuming his stride.
  8. Shiro stood in silence for most of the conversation, his mind burying his thoughts and his body oblivious to reaction. He was but an Apprentice, and in the presence of Lords and Masters, he knew his place. He was but a tool to be used when the time came, and until then, he was a mere observer, taking in what he saw and witnessed to memory. Only the hiss of his prosthetic lung spoke of his presence amongst the group. That was, until they called upon him. "Lady Awenyyd is forging her own path amongst the stars" Shiro replied to Sir Blackmorne, his blackened irides briefly meeting the man's to reveal the red pupils hidden within. "When we departed, she was in good health and in good spirits. I only hope her path bears her good fruit." There was little more to say than that. Lady Awenyyd had forged a Warrior from Shiro and chose that their paths differed. This was why he now stood next to Lady Telperiën. Not to merely test the Warrior, but to strengthen his resolve. Awenyyd had made sure he understood that it takes many Masters to truly forge the worth of a Blade, and for Shiro, it would take the same. She left him with the design, and left the choice of those who would weild him up to him. This was his path. When they entered Lady Qaela's reception, the young Sith stepped off to the side. This was this business of Masters, not his. He was but a witness to the moment. He could feel his heart beating the drums of war, but his expression stayed cold and slated. Only the words of his Master forced his stature to change, Shiro bowing to one knee just as he did during his approach to Telperiën during his last encounter with her Mother, his fist placed over his heart. For the first time since his arrival, Shiro spoke, his words echoing of his intent to both his Master and her creator. "I am but a Blade." Shiro's voice came across blunt, but respectful, the hiss of the ironed lung inhaling between his words. "I will bath myself in your enemies." With that said, he withdrew himself and returned to his previous position, idle and in silence as they continued.
  9. Shiro sat in silence within the rear of the shuttle, the rememberable echoes of the meek crying and screaming in his mind as his gaze peered at the metal above in ecstasy. So fragile, so unprotected, the gaze of hate and sorrow filling the children's eyes. The moment was one that he enjoyed and wanted to process, taking in the memory of the smell, the taste, the sights, everything. And in this, he smiled. As his Master's voice entangled his mind, the memory was foreclosed and he sat upright, his blackened gaze wavering in the rush as he placed his helm in arm and rose to a stand. Her words were true, and Felucia had proved it. He was tired of relying on mere weapons and strategy. He wanted more strength in the Force. He wanted to explore more of himself. He wanted to be a weapon of mass destruction. Only then would he know his true path as a Warrior, and when he did, blossom like the blood flower. The rumor mill had already been lit aflame with the disappearence of the Dark Lord, soldiers abound with conversations about who would take his place. And in truth, Shiro had been disappointed by this. But his place was not to engage in such trivial matters, but rather, hone his skills and elevate his own stature. And so, with the Spider falling and his web erased, Shiro paid little heed in the grand scheme of things. A King fallen only meant another would rise. Or perhaps a Queen. As long as they were willing to use his blade in the sights of peace through war. That's all that matters. In Darkness, there is Chaos. In Chaos, there is destruction. And from destruction, Order is born. And from Order, there is peace. Only through Darkness, can Peace be attained, enforced and sustained by the Strong. This is why the Republic always falls. This is why Dictatorships fall. Warlords are those only capable. This is the truth Shiro found in the Darkened Abyss, and where he was truly born. As he and his Master stepped foot aboard Herløv, his Master distracted by another Lord, Shiro simply stood to the side in uniform, awaiting his Master's call.
  10. Blood splattered against the green fauna as Shiro cut down the last of the two guards, the Nightsisters' volley aiming in the heart of the village as chaos ensued. Shiro's tongue snaked behind his helm, licking at the taste of his own sweat as it mingled amongst the smell of the fear that swept across the village like wildfire. Screams and cries were but music to his ears, a symphony of poetic tragedy that warmed his blackened heart. Few came to greet his arrival, no more than two came at the Lieutenant in the barrage of arrows that claimed three within the heart of the village and quickly dwindled the number down to these two and the children. Shiro's heart raced at the enticement of the moment, his ego swelling with pride as this village fell in a matter of seconds without the backing of the Jedi, and as the two closed the gap with makeshift weapons, Shiro felt a sense of pity for these fools. Pulling upon the Force, Shiro took in the panic, the fear, the anguish, and slinging his rifle loose to his side, reached outward and grasped the two men. He could feel their sorrow, their anger, their helplessness. And in the moment, sealed their fate with a simultaneous crunch that unified their end. All that remained of the village was the children who stood upon the top of the hill, the village in flames from the chaotic trample of the Nightsisters' aim and lifeless bodies falling into what would have been their last meals and engulfing their meager huts. He took off his helm and smiled devilishly. "Yes. Take that anger, take that hate, take that fear..." He shouted at the top of his lungs as the three Nightsisters came to his side. "Let that wrath become your flames of vengeance." Then came the voice of his Master at his back side and the distant roar of an approaching ship. He turned to face her with his eyes to the ground which soon met his knee. "Yes, my Master." Shiro boarded the ship with his own disdain that they had failed, but looked back with a sense of pride as the children remained atop the hill, flames engulfing all that they had likely ever knew, and the hate that boiled within them. Placing his helm back on, he turned and walked up the ramp until it closed behind him. Fulicia may have been an overall failure. But he had held a bit of success.
  11. A eeriely smile crept upon his face as Telperiën gave her orders, the Sith Apprentice rising from his knees with purpose. So he was to feast upon chaos and breath in the fear that brewed and percolated around them. It would be his pleasure. With a nod, he echoed the words "Understood" before he turned to depart, briefly bringing his fist up his chest as he passed the Dark Lord @Exodus in passing. Not only was he loosed to thrive upon this world in darkness, but he held the honor of doing so in front of the Dark Lord himself. It was a glorious day indeed. It was time to prove his worth. With three of the Nightsisters at his heels, Shiro took off into the foliage of the planet's Jungles in a sprint, no longer compelled to hide his presence in the Force. Openly, he released it, letting the permeating fear fill his form with power. But he wanted more, his insatiable hunger a void that needed to be filled. Taking his Heavy Assault Blaster Rifle in hand, he strove through and across the terrain with drive, his sight set upon the villages ahead. Darkness would rule this day and he would be the Dark Lord's Champion. These weak Jedi would hold no bar to his own. If he could survive the Kabal and the world of Cathar, Jedi would be easy targets. He grinned. "I am Shiro Seven." He spoke casually to the three Nightsisters in his rear. "What might your names be?" None spoke in return, leaving an empty awkward silence in their wake. It was pointless anyways, him of the unknown and them unknown to him. He was simply their ward at the command of Telperiën, nothing more. They didn't have to respect him or acknowledge him outside of her orders. Shiro grimaced, catching sight of the first village ahead. Halting, he threw his hand up to stop, his visage behind his HUD counting the heat signatures in the distance. Seemed about eight, possibly nine signatures registering, with three of juvenile size. Opening himself up to the Force, he began letting their emotions take hold of him, arousing himself to the smell and taste of fear and anguish. They had yet to notice him, a couple on guard near the village's edge, as he and the three Nightsisters sat within the Jungle's precipice. "It's time to set an example." He spoke in a whisper, aiming his rifle up the hill and slowing his breathing. "You three remain here and cover me." With a shot ringing through the air in the wake of the crimson blaster bolt that tore through the cranium of the first target, Shiro feed on the ensuing panic as he turned his gun to the second and charged out of the Jungle and into the open field, the Nightsisters' loosing their own volley. His eye still centered on the turning rifle in his direction, he fired one again.
  12. The Warrior that had become Shiro did not particularly like the idea of hiding away within the cargohold of a medical transport, but such was the way of War. His blackened gaze felt at home in the darkness he was forced into along with his Master and her fellow Nightsisters as he stared calmly into its abyss. Much had changed since Shiro and Telperiën first met after the Battle of Coruscant, and Shiro had grown in the ways of the Sith that she had not dared to envision him in. But to Hayley, he had been raw power, a power to be used, and he wished to show Telperiën the same. As the ship landed, Shiro stood from his kneeling, shaking off the sleepiness of his legs as they stepped out of the dark and into the light of day. As Telperiën and her followers disembarked, Shiro stood at the rear, his mission here oblivious at the moment. It seemed Telperiën would be sitting this battle out as the squad moved out into formation. Stepping to her side, Shiro knelt to her right, his head draping to the ground and his gaze discovering the dirt beneath him. "What is your will, my Master?" He spoke obediently, his gaze never rising to meet her own as he questioned his part. "Your bidding is mine to do."
  13. As Shiro took his place next to his newest Master, the entralled wraiths snarling in disapproval as their forms got into line behind their own, he followed swiftly with his gaze adverted down. It wasn't out of fear, for he could never know such emotion ever again thanks to Hayley. But instead, this was to appease. Not just the women whom held his Master in such esteem, but his Master herself, to show his commitment to the Dark. But as Shiro stood before the large doors that lead to a estranged chamber, the presence inside nearly suffocating even against his ironed lung, a hint of it strolled casually into his mind. Rage had always been an invaluable alley, as had both Pride and the more tangible form of Lust, Gluttony. But here, in this moment, as he found himself stricken in Fear, unable to move at first, he found none. Cathar had been his birth, and Coruscant had been his creation. Both had formed him into a blade to be used by the strong in the art of war. But this presence in the Force, this being who wielded the Dark with such command, felt like a thousand suns imploding. A smirk reveled upon his face, his blackened eyes shimmering in the light. He had found the Master who would one day wield him properly. Following Telperiën in suite, Shiro bent the knee and his head laid straight, exposing his neck should he be found unworthy. This was a Warrior's bow, one that exposed the greatest weakness, in servitude of another. As his Master spoke her words, he stayed silent, allowing her and this Lord of the Dark to acknowledge him when they were ready. Until then, he would remain exposed, at their mercy.
  14. "I am what the Darkness wills me to be." He replies with stone eyes. "Procreation is a necessity when it is necessary, nothing more. Until it seems me worthy of an heir, I am nothing more than a blade to be used, just as I will be after." Stepping off to the side as she and her mother conversed, Shiro stood at the ready, his gloves hands coursing the mark she had embued onto him. His future would be a fruitious and interesting one.
  15. His own erupted form of laughter intertwined with hers as he laid briefly upon his back, the pleasure of her pain tantalizing his receptors of both flesh and machine. He shifted his gaze back to her, the blackened eyes and red irides falling upon for familiar form in a new light as the two wraiths stood by with groaning snarls, almost enjoying watching her place him beneath her. As she helped him to his feet, he wiped away the blood from his brow with a gloved hand and flicked it aside. "You could say that." His voice had changed since they last saw each other, a more depth to it and hints of his rebellious had mellowed. "Lady Awenyyd said she had taught me all that she could, and that I had to find others to teach me further. It's only sheer consequence that you were the first I have crossed." "Whether I be man or woman, I am your's to teach." His grin fell from his face and he bowed his head to his better.
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