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Kyrie Eleison

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  1. The Grandmaster of the Imperial Knights had little interest in receptions and feasts, it seemed like there wasn’t a day that went by without this Rebel Alliance dallying with feasts instead of marching to war. As Kel presented Adenna, Kyrie turned to leave, but her mind wandered to the reports of destruction and the slaughter of a station of innocents. With sadness in her heart, the Exorcist spoke softly as she went, directing her words to the newly come Jensaarai, “Beware bastions of light, for they cast the darkest shadows.” Nodding her head, the Exorcist departed in a swirl of dark braids, heading towards the barracks and her assembling forces. The Imperial Knights had been assembling a fleet under the secrecy of the Order of Captains, supported by the treasury, and now they had a destination; Fondor and its vast shipyards. Slipping her datapad from her tunic, she opened the intelligence briefing, staring at the approximated wealth of such a prize. To wrest it from the Sith and their corrupt allies would bring the Imperial Knights one step closer to winning the war. The war this Rebellion should be leading. Instead they feast. Stepping into the cafeteria, her blackened boots slapping softly on the hardened flooring, the Imperial Knight noticed one of her own dining alongside the Jedi, Sandy Sarna. It was Aidan, the Order’s newly minted diplomat to the Jedi. He wouldn’t recognize her by her features, every time she saw him now she was in a new body, and it distressed her how much she had failed him as a Master. Kyrie studied his features and saw his smile. It wouldn’t be a good time to interrupt him. Instead, she typed a message on her datapad to him while grabbing a handful of ration cubes beside the door. Tapping on send, the Exorcist entered the docking bay for her own people. It was a smaller and separate hanger, apart from the rest of the Rebel Alliance. She had requested as such to keep her Orders operations secret, away from spies and the Dark Jedi that were a part of the Rebellion. The Imperial Knight caught sight of her friend that awaited her, a tall man all in black, with a headscarf and white beard, Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium, Maréchal of the Order of Captains. He would be her admiral for the fight to come, and to him she jogged, bouncing on the metal plating of the flight deck. Al-Afdal bowed his head in respect to her as she approached, the old man smiling widely. He had just finished transmitting reconnaissance data to the assembled Captains, and was now awaiting her departure order. “Grandmaster, the fleet is yours.” Kyrie smiled and bowed back, her tousled braids covering her vision “I will meet you in space, Maréchal, I will fly with the rest of my pilots in our TIE-Uglies.” The man sighed and turned back to ensuring supplies were being loaded properly by the Dagermends and the Dagets. “Fly safe among your Watchers, Grandmaster.” With farewells said, Kyrie slipped into the confines of her TIE-Ugly, a bastardization of a Z-95 Headhunter and a TIE Interceptor. The seat was of worn leather, and formed to her as she began to check the preflight data. Her flight-helmet was worn loose, the breathing apparatus causing her enough claustrophobia as it was. Taking a deep breath of the recycled air through the nosepiece, she smelled the mixture of spices she had placed into the air-flow, bendrak root and crushed harrion seed making each breath taste of fragrance and giving her peace. Preflight checking done, The Grandmaster’s TIE-Ugly cleared the hanger, and departed into hyperspace and to lead her fleet to victory
  2. Admiral: Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium, Maréchal of the Order of Captains Leader: Kyrie Eleison, Grandmaster of the Imperial Knights and its Orders Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Enyo Precision Strike Carrier Group Task Force Experience: Green (1xp) Strike-Class Cruiser: Erebus Prime Captain: Imperial Knight Argo Montferrand, Tucopolier of the Order of Captains, Former Jedi Ace, Trained by Atho Ben-Drassa Second-in-Command: Gonzo Lockjaw, Gonfanonier of the Order of Captains, Purified Sith Recruit from the battle of Gala Crew: Mainly Cardian recruits to the Order, buffered by Kuatian and Corscanti refugees. Fighter Complement: Z-95 Headhunters Bomber Compliment: Y-Wings Supporting Ships: Lancer-Class Frigate: Almaric Captain: Melisende Bar-Koron Second-in-Command: Hodierna Bar-Koron Twin Sisters, both of the Gonfanonier rank of the Order of Captains Crew: Mainly Rylothian natives, buffered by Cardian recruits IPV-2C Corvette: Navarre Captain: Aslous Armack, Castellan of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Psalter Fomat, Prior of the Order of Captains Crew: Refugees from Haruun Kal IPV-2C Corvette: Melitene Captain: Morphia Iovetta, Castellan of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Azaz-del-Vasto, Infirmarer of the Order of Medicine Crew: Refugees from Coruscant IPV-2C Corvette: Adelaide Captain: Nablus Conkessa, Castellan of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Afriak Ban-Harab, Exorcist Crew: Cardian Recruits IPV-2C Corvette: Tripoli Captain: Thoros Cadmare, Castellan of the Order of Captains and Exorcist Second-in-Command: Vladislaus de Craon, Bailli of the Order of Medicine Crew: Recruits from Oovo IV Background: The Cruiser and Frigate starships of Task Force Enyo were built on Kuat in response to continued Sith incursions into Imperial Territory under Exodus, before the fall of the Empire and the dissolution of the Imperial fleets. Without Imperial oversight, the weapons fell into pirate hands before they were recovered in a skirmish over Oovo IV. Once recovered by security forces, the hulls were ransomed by the treasury of the Imperial Knights without the knowledge of the Rebel Alliance. Having fallen into the hands of a revanchist military order, the first of the starships to be recommissioned was the Strike-Class Cruiser Embegrasso, which was renamed into Erebus Prime and eased into carrier action under its Captain Argo Montferrand, as his first action as a newly minted Turcopolier of the Order of Captains. As his second, he named the former Sith Apprentice Gonzo Lockjaw, a Barabel that Grandmaster Kyrie Eleison purified personally on the battlefield of Gala. The Lancer-Class Frigate Andraste had been badly damaged in the battle between the Oovo IV security forces and the routed pirates and was sold to the Imperial Knights at scrap value and was put into drydock over Ryloth where it took several months to retrofit and repair, where it was crewed by Rylothian resistance fighters and placed under the command of the twin Twi’lek sisters Melisende and Hodierna Bar-Koron, both newly ranked as Gonfanonier for the Order of Captains. The four IPV-2C Corvettes of Task Force Enyo were commissioned with tithes and donations from burgess families in the Core Worlds and other Imperial Holdings. Their captains and crew were selected based on the donations raised for them, with the majority arising amongst the refugee populace. Task Force Enyo first saw action against pirates around Nar Shaadaa, moving in stealth against several gemstone pirate gangs which consisted of strike fighters and freighters which were mopped up with relative ease, with only the Melitene having to reroute from war patrol for drydock to repair damage to her sunlight engines. Now, under direct command of the Grandmaster, Task Force Enyo was rationed and resupplied for departure for the invasion of Fondor by the Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force. Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Task Force Phobos Light Defensive Escort: Suppressing Fire Task Force Experience: Green (1xp) Star Galleon-Class Frigate: Clermonte Captain: Abressa Tudebode, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Manuel Boutoumites, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Vengeance-Class Frigate: Chartres Captain: Adhemer Hautville, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Curthose-de-Gauder, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Interceptor-Class Frigate: Francorum Captain: Pelecanum Tatikios, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Kilij Arslan, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Consular-Class Frigate: Tancred Captain: Eskişehir Yibenah, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Sarmin Sharazir, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Sphyrna-Class Corvette: Guiscard Captain: Doukara Chios, Laypirate and Conrois Commander of the Hastalion Eschiell Second-in-Command: Kerbogha Siyan, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Sphyrna-Class Corvette: Dorylaeum Captain: Dreyfrak Chios, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Alpedrai Knocazi, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Paladin-Class Corvette: Yağısıyan Captain: Hainut Mercurius, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Demetrius Confrerai, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Free Virgilla-Class Corvette: Alexandretta Captain: Ridwan Harran, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Soqmahn Orotoque, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Background: The Hastalion League had been a thorn in the side of the Imperials in the Bilbringi system for nearly the entire existence of the short-lived Empire under Empress Raven, but had never done enough consistent damage to warrant a full response beyond the occasional skirmish with the routine patrols of the 114th Fleet. Shortly after the fall of the Empire, the pirates attempted to disrupt Sith supply lines from Bilbringi with a cohort of eleven corvettes, but were countered handily by the Sith’s 72nd Hellraisers and the remaining four corvettes limped into hyperspace to make good their retreat. Unfortunately for the pirate-captains of the Hastalion League, their arrival at Nar Shaddaa brought them face-to-face with their old enemies, the Empire in Exile. With their Corvettes too badly damaged to fight the entire Imperial Fleet, the captions of the Alexandretta, Yağısıyan, and the sister ships Dorylaeum and Guiscard surrendered to the Imperial Knight Yaldar Coredrella, who invited them to join in the secret fleet of the Order, which they gladly accepted. With the irony of fate, the redeemed pirates would be paired with the remnants of the 114th Imperial Fleet, their old adversaries of the Bilbringi system. The pirate-lords were given the title of Laypirate, marking them as redeemed soldiers. The former 114th Imperial Navy of Bilbringi, had been reduced to a paltry four frigates during the disastrous first battle of Kuat and had been drydocked and purchased from Imperial warlords by the Knight’s treasury. Unified with their former enemies, a fast comradery developed between the former Imperials and the Hastalion League, creating a unified task force which was focused on bomber interception and defensive action. Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Task Force Deimos Destroyer Group: Turbolasers Task Force Experience: Green (1xp) Nova-Class Cruiser: Ascalon Captain: Symeon Philomelium, Maître-Escuier of the Order of Medicine Second-in-Command: Ma’arrat al-Durman, Frère-Sergeant of the Order of Medicine Crew: Hapan Recruits Nova-Class Cruiser: Edessa Captain: Embriaco Jaffa, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Knights and Exorcist Second-in-Command: Chanson de Geste, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Knights and Exorcist Crew: Hapan Recruits Background: After the establishment of the Empire, the captains of the Ascalon and the Edessa, Symeon and Embriaco, began to seek the teaching of the Exorcists and took up the cause under the leadership of Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium, another Hapan noble-in-exile. All three had become cynical with the leadership of the Hapes Cluster, and saw the influence of the Dark Side in every movement of the enemy, and established a resistance within the Hapes Cluster based out of Gallinore. Despite their courage and fighting spirit, they were unable to stop the corruption of their system, and were forced to flee with what weapons and crew they could gather. With a purely Hapan crew and leadership, the two Nova-Class cruisers were set apart within the Imperial Fleet without much usage beyond routine patrol of supply lines in the Outer Rim. With the fall of the Empire, the firebrand Hapan Noblemen were taken in by the Imperial Knights and the Ascalon and the Edessa were retrofit for active duty. Their combat readiness was tested during the retreat from Oovo IV, where they engaged pirates which were working in tandem with Sith forces to attack the refugees. Drydocked for repairs and marked as total losses on the ledgers, both ships and crews were transferred in secret to the Imperial Knight Expeditionary Forces with a firepower designation.
  3. Living is harder than dying, it is my choice to defend life. The Force gives us strength, it is my choice to use it to defend and not conquer. It is what sets us apart from the Sith… Strength to feed chaos, or to set the galaxy at peace. I will protect those I hate. Even if the one I hate the most is myself. ***** The Exorcist straightened herself from her battlestance, flipping the spear on her hand for it to rest against her bare shoulder. The wooden handle felt cool against her skin, driving the fine hairs to stand on-end. When she spoke, her voice was gravely but kind. She stumbled over the basic, as the tongue was not her area of expertise, “Give your message, and stand to ease,” The officer relaxed visibly, running a hand through his sandy hair before speaking, “Trouble again, as always with the Jedi Order. There occurs another fracture. This shard names themselves the Jensaarai, and they are here on Nar Shaadaa.” Helden gave a sigh and extinguished his lightsaber’s blades, stowing it in a leather holster on his belt. He crossed his arms and gave the Grandmaster an irritated smile “The Jedi Order fracturing and crumbling is hardly news, it seems to happen every bloody week. No Grandmaster can keep them together…” Kyrie shook her head, her dark, shoulder-length hair coming to rest over her eyes. The tie had broken in their skirmish, and she brushed it back with her fingers. “I would have thought that Adenna would be up to the job, but she doesn’t have a diplomat’s deftness.” She smiled at Helden and bowed to the blademaster. “I shall meet with them. Pray to the gods for unity.” The man bowed back and walked her to the door of the training room, placing a hand on the small of her back, leaning in to whisper in her ear. His breath smelled of juja berry wine, badly disguised by mint tea. “If we cannot unify against the Spider, then we will all fall.” Kyrie nodded gravely, and passed from the room, blinking against the brightness of the hallway. We must unite instead of divide. When did it fall to me to be a diplomat? Rebel troops and civilians moved in the halls, and she caught their surprised stares. She glanced down to her sandy battle-kama and chest-wrapping, and turned towards her chambers, not wanting to offend the Jensaarai with accidental immodesty. The Jedi Master increased her speed to a trot, her bare feet making almost no sound upon the hallways’ flooring. It was smooth paneling, cold in comparison to the warm sand upon her toes, but not in an unpleasant way. The maze of hallways finally wound its way to her simple quarters and she slipped through the sliding doorway. Her medical supervision, a 2-1B droid that had the Tranzel Medical Systems name emblazoned on its chest piece greeted her at the doorway with its sarcastic tone. “Mistress Kyrie, back so soon? Did you break something?” The woman ignored the droid with a wave of her hand and brushed past him into her bedchamber, and to her drawers to find a more appropriate clothing for her encounter with the Jensaarai. Kyrie selected a simple black tunic, with a leather belt for her various weapons and a bandoleer upon which her saber-spear could be slung upon her back. As she changed she looked into the mirror. Her skin was ashen, a byproduct of the Anzati form, her eyes a bright violet. There was a slight rise to her cheeks where the proboscis-like feeding tendrils were stowed, but she had yet to use them. She had no desire to give into the hunger of death that was natural to her species. She tied back her long black hair into a series of braids, tied with a leather thong, and a headband of black cloth. She covered her feet with black boots of combat design, but of lighter material to add to her flexibility The Rosary of Il-Andon Rorik caught her eye. It’s onyx beading and ornate design contrasted sharply with her simple dress, but it was her totem. It was her burden as a Master Exorcist, and so she wound it about her ashen wrist, letting the star upon its end hand into her palm. With her preparations in order, she turned and left towards where the Jensaarai were quartered according to her datapad. They were disembarking in the shuttle-bay. Speeding to a run, she made her way swiftly there, her lithe form and dexterity allowing her to weave through the crowds with relative ease. Kyrie caught sight of the Dorin, Kel, standing before a shuttle where armored and unarmored beings were disembarking. To them, she made her approach. She reached out with the Force first, letting the fiery presence of a Master Exorcist wash over them before she got all the way to them. Odd armor. Almost look like cultists. Stepping beside Kel, she placed a scarred hand to her chest and gave a small bow while giving the Dorin a smile of greeting, “Kyrie Eleison, of the Imperial Knights and order of Exorcists, bidding you most welcome.”
  4. It all hurts. A burn beneath my skin fueled by hunger. It’s a deep and twisting pain, worse than when I was starving on Nar Shaddaa. This is something else entirely, like a command from the force itself. I hunger beyond imaging... ***** A consistent chill ran through her skin as the Exorcist moved through the warmed practice ring. The pungent perfume of exercising soldiers clung to the air and wrapped around her like an arachnid’s web. She was always cold now, even a month out of the bacta her new form’s physiology and nervous system was an enigma that even weeks of training had yet to unravel. The sand shifted beneath Kyrie’s bare feet as her opponent drove the particles to the side with a wave of the force, causing her to stumble mid-run. She twisted the fall into a roll and brought the long wooden weapon to bear against the rusty-haired man. The leather-bound grip of the polearm wrenched from her hands as the Imperial Knight snatched it with the force. Kyrie watched it sail away through the musty air to drive into the sparkling sand behind Helden Rave, her weapons-master. It was a polearm of her own design, the handle a meter and a half in length, with a meter-length blade a handbreadth in width, hewn from Shadnalyn briar. The reddish wood reflected the natural light that filtered through the skylights above and seemed to mock her weakness. In her distraction, Heldon brought his orange-bladed lightsaber crashing into her side, before igniting the weapon’s second blade and batting it across her pelvis, pivoting on his feet to sweep her into the sand. The blades were on a practise setting and left scorching welts upon her skin. He let out a roaring laugh and spoke in his calming Festian accent, “If I must fall, I will rise each time a better man… or in your case a better Anzati.” He offered her a hand which she grasped with scarred and nail-bitten fingers and jumped to her feet. This form was vastly less strong than her first, but much more lithe and dexterous, another change she was getting used to. “Always bond your blade to your hands, weave it to you with the Force’s Embrace. You know this.” His tone carried disappointment but also understanding, but it did not make the hit to her self-confidence any less. Hate of herself rose unbidden, but she confined it again in its cage in her mind. She would work against it later, she could not afford to allow it to undermine her strength today. The polarm shot into her hands as she focused upon its form. She could no longer hear the song, how she had always found the force before, now all she had was hunger and a Revanchist’s resolve. To place the universe right, to destroy the Sith and their evil. It was a colder view of the force, no more was the life of the song attuned to her, and only through dispassionate focus could the Force answer her. Kyrie fed her self-loathing into the foci of her resolve and let it form into fire, tendrils of light bound her weapon to her hands and the wooden blade sprang to life with silvered flame. A revanchist’s resolve; to fight until the Sith were eradicated and the torturous enslavement of the dark side was banished into the Maw. Only then could she die and finally rest. In truth she hated the whole galaxy for the burden of it. I will protect those I hate. Even if the one I hate the most is myself. The Revanchist steaded her feet within the sand, feeling the rough grains bite into her feet. She lowered her center of gravity by bending her knees and began to circle the larger man, letting her natural litheness reset her into the more predatory and aggressive form, Ataru in a way she had modified for her spear-like weapon. Helden was fond of Niman form, utilizing both his weapon and the Force to overwhelm and disorient his opponents, so she circled him with caution, slinking through the sand like a Vornskr stalking its prey. She held her weapon one handed, the polearm’s handle adjacent to her forearm, steadied against her shoulder, the blade tracing down through the sand, leaving a wisping trail of silver flame. Kyrie breathed in his scent, allowing her hunger to focus on him. There… She could almost see his intention, a half dozen combinations of attacks to offset her balance and destroy her. The choices cycled as he turned, starting to narrow in upon her footwork. She answered the intent by slowing her right leg, and he immediately focused on it. Trap laid. As the sand shifted beneath her right foot, the Anzati girl sprang from her left foot, spinning into a crouch and animalistically transitioned her form into a hasty stance of Djem So, lowering herself even closer to the sand, but that itself was a trap. He advanced on the defensive posture with confidence but she bounded into his advance, channeling the Force through her legs, the lower posture giving her more momentum in her vaulting jump. She directed the leap to his saber attacking side, letting his momentum bring him into her blade. The tip of her weapon smashed into his gut, and she passed behind him, driving the pommel into the ground as if to impale the larger man on a stake and leapt on his back. The Exorcist channelled his faltering momentum into his off-foot and rode him into the sand where his pained laughter began to filter through. “Godsdamn, Kyrie. I haven’t seen you fight like that.” He tossed her off of him, and she landed gracefully on her feet, sliding into her true form-stance, that of Juyo, a ferocious spirit rising from her in the Force, tinged with hunger. “Godsdamn dirty that wa-” An officer pointedly coughed on the side of the practice ring, drawing their attention. Kyrie stood swiftly, embarrassed for not noticing him earlier. “Message for you, Master Kyrie. Of some urgency.”
  5. The Imperial Knights The Imperial Knights are an order of Force users once sworn to the Imperial Remnant and its Emperor/Empress. While the Imperial Remnant no longer exists, and its empress reduced to nothing more than a political face of a rebellion, they still stand strong. Formed in the era of the Galactic Alliance, the order still bears the scars of its split with the Jedi order. Contrarily to the Jedi Order, The Imperial Knights are primarily a militant order, training with, serving alongside, and commanding elite units of the Rebel Alliance. They are sworn to protect the citizens of the Rebellion and purge any evil when and where they find it. At times they may be aggressive, choosing preemptive strikes to save lives instead of inaction or purely defensive actions. They are sworn to prevent the Leadership of any Light Side Forces from falling to the Darkside of the force. If asked about their charge an Imperial Knight would answer: "My life is sworn to defend the Galaxy and its citizens from the corrupting influence of the Dark Side, wherever it is found. I serve the the will of the Force, and that service includes purging friends and enemies from the influence of the Dark Side which may move them to harm the innocent." Though their founder was a Jedi Knight, they are not affiliated with the Jedi Order. The Imperial Knights represent militarism and revanchism against the Sith and any other force that threatens peace, and will use the Force as a tool to do so. They will never willingly accept Jedi or Rebel Leadership who use or partake in the darkside and prefer to operate in coordination with such allies but do not answer to them. This would include up to killing or exorcising Jedi councils, or Rebel Leadership should they become tainted. This faction and its beliefs directly contradict main aspects of being a Jedi. They purge the darkside where they find it, without hesitation. How the Imperial Knights operate: The Imperial Knights aggressively hunt down Sith and will attempt to redeem them. If that cannot be done or is unfeasible, they will kill them in order to prevent them from doing further harm to the galaxy. They coordinate with the Rebel Alliance Military, commanding commando units or military brigades and can attain the rank of General or Admiral. They do not train as mediators or diplomats, but as investigators, hunters, and warriors focused on precision. The Imperial Knights focus on teamwork with their fellow Knights and squads of npcs. They are not loners and are never sent on missions without full support, and are never sent on missions with less than an NPC escort. The reason is for the maintenance of the order, if an Imperial Knight falls to the darkside, the support is there to redeem or destroy them. On writing an Imperial Knight: The Imperial Knights tread on the edge of the Dark Side, sacrificing themselves to eradicate it in the process. They will use whatever tool they can muster to save the galaxy from the Sith. Some outside the Knights may see them as Darksiders (citing aggressiveness, harnessing the Force as a tool to defeat their enemies, pragmatism, etc), but the Imperial Knights take every precaution they can to combat the allure of the Dark Side. Long sessions of mediation are taken after every deployment and they are constantly monitored by their fellow Knights and the Grandmaster for any signs that they are slipping into the pull of evil. This order may seem like an easy way to be a Jedi and also an aggressive pragmatic force user, hunting the Sith down like the dogs they are. However: There are reasons that the Knights are never deployed in numbers less than two. It is not easy to be an Imperial Knight. Every mission is sacrifice. Even though they strive for the traditional ideals of the Light Side the Imperial Knights recognize hard choices need to be made, and that reflects heavily in writing a Knight. In the process of a mission they may be called to make choices that contradict those traditional Lightsider ideals in an effort to eradicate the Sith and preserve the greater good. It is never an easy choice to make, and if it ever becomes that way, they will have fallen and their fellow Knights will treat them accordingly. This hard duty tears at the soul of a Imperial Knight. This isn’t a simple order to write a character for. It is a harsh calling for a Force user, constantly exhausting the soul of the character, and while they strive to do good, good might not always be the outcome. The order is strict and If a character begins to fall they will either be forcibly cleansed or killed by their fellow Knights or will willingly sacrifice themselves if their time has come. For a Knight, death is preferable to a life lived in darkness. Eventually after many years of service, the line they tread begins to wear on them, and they cannot retain their purity. When this time comes, they prefer to die alone in battle, a final offer of service to the light. Ultimately, the Imperial Knights hold a lonely vigil, enduring lives of hardship and sacrifice to protect the galaxy from an evil that can never truly be conquered. The life of an Imperial Knight is suffering, isolation from the galaxy, and an eventual violent death.
  6. The air was familiar, filled with the scents of childhood. Of rust and blood, of crime and dispassion. The Jedi Master’s breaths were labored and slow, tinged with the whisper of a rattle. Through her darkening sight, she could see the glow of iridescent lights, sparkling as if the glow had been reflected upon a placid lake and she beneath its surface. A voice came through the water, muffled and nearly imperceptible, even in the stillness. The struggled gasping from the Jedi became a gurgling, pitiful scream. Pink-tinged froth bubbled from her lips. The voice brought a groundquake that birthed ripples, which rose into waves upon the lake and the light became hazy. She could feel the waves move her, contorting her form beneath the surface. She strained to hear the voice, desperate to make out the words. Upon the medical cot, the Exorcist seized. The thrashing of the water felt like a storm upon her, and the voice became louder until it was a scream that shattered the world Time’s up. Kyrie let the water take her, letting herself be washed from the struggling form. Thank you for giving me life once more. The body on the cot became still, the breathing returning to normalcy as the healers continued to work. May we meet again, in this lifetime Kyrie’s spirit recognized the world as her homeworld of Nar Shaddaa, the irony of rebirth was not lost, even on the dead. The Force Provides. The Exoricst focused upon the song of the force. It was filled with the stoic rhythm of Jedi, and the harsh fire of her own Imperial Knights. The melody of the two orders working together was hauntingly lovely. The brightest fire she could sense to be Lok, and the stoicism of a Grandmaster was unmistakably Adenna. Kyrie focused harder as her own power began to wane. There was a pull now, like she was on the event horizon of the Maw. There was a part of her that wanted to let go, to embrace the infinite harmony of the Force’s song, but she knew that was not her path. To abandon the galaxy now, would be to leave it in darkness. Discordant Tones. Living. Soulless. The body was not her own. Breath. Emptiness became numbness. Numbness became tingling electrical fire. Her whole spirit fought to harness each neuron. All was pain. Every feeling was new. Everything hurt. Breathe. The lungs burned as they inflated, as if she was sucking in the soot and smoke from one a Mustafari volcano. For now, only the lungs worked to her command, and it took all her strength to control each breath. The Exorcist let out a soft whimper.
  7. -̰̩̞̲͘-̷̥͔͡ͅ-̬͖͎̺̯̪̟̘̥͢͝-̸̡̤̙̠̼̥̦̥͢ …Thirst... Darkening thoughts reverberated across a dire mind. It had not always been as such. Scientific brilliance had fallen into shadow with the shattering of the heavens. Baser nature was all consuming. The abyss was watching. -̮̜̰͉̲̬̮-̥-̸-͇͖͉̩̘̹-̛ ̗͎̝ The Imperial Knight, listened to the words of Lok, followed by those of Adenna. The Force had led her to them for a reason, and that path was now offworld. Away from the shattered world. She nodded to herself, her heartbeat filling her ears with its unsteady rhythm. Something else lurked behind her struggling heart. She could feel a sense of unease. The Exorcist slowly drank from the canteen beside her, washing her mouth of the sour bitterness of her stomach’s rebellion. She focused instead on the anxiety and felt a fleeting spirit to it. She spoke through gritted teeth. Bluntness was her only respite. “Then let us leave.” The wounded teenager struggled to bring herself to her feet, and with help from Lok she succeeded. She leaned heavily on him, her fingers gripping his armored arm as it was the only way she could keep above her swimming mind’s collapse. As the soldiers assembled to move out, Kyrie meditated, leaning on the stronger Imperial Knight beside her. The unease she felt lay upon their path towards the stars. She touched it and felt no humanity. -̹̬-̨̥̺̖̭̣̭-̭͞-̞̻͎̹̠͙͍--̹̜̼̞̼ Shambling nightmare, unspoiled by neither lucidity nor benevolence. Deprivation. Boundless suffering, unbroken by death. A shade of the tombworld …I still hear their screams… -̧̼̪̲̙-͇̜̼͟-̢̼̤͇-͙̹-̯̭͖͙͍͇͔-̰̣̥̻̬͍͞-̠͙̟͍ As they walked, The Exorcist focused on her own apprehension. They were climbing towards salvation, but she could feel only the advancement of inhumanity. She stepped away from Lok as they crested the rooftop. The team began to prep for the oncoming shuttlecraft, but she was focused on a heartbeat that was not her own. A cold sweat beaded upon her neck. …Who are you? --̭̥͕̫͍͖-̛̝̜̫͕̻̖ͅ-͈͎̖̳̠̀-̹̲̘̰̪̹͖̀-̟̙̖̦͔͡-͏͇͚-͔͜ Indignant zeal gave way to discontented pain. Unrelenting starvation, the ravager of sanity. The depravity of instinctive mania. -͏͕-̱̺͎͍̥̻͕-̳̹͙͍̗̯̱--̵͇̫͖̯-̢̳̯͈̜̲ͅ-̯̥͕̹͉̹͘-͖̺̙-͈͚̼̪̲̪ The Exorcist bled all of her remaining power into her spiritual fire. The Malice was rising. Advancing. Hungry. A form tore itself from the shadowed sprawl of the ruins. …Sagitta spiritus A bolt of pure white light leapt from the Exorcist’s mouth, as bright as lightning across the shadows, striking the rushing form in the throat. The wave of ravenous hunger gave way to a swell desperation, before it began to fade into the background song of the Force. The form seemed frozen where it stood, silver flame pulsating from its neck. Kyrie stumbled as she approached, and both she and the form collapsed onto the rooftop with a clatter. ...Help... M̱͇̠̫͈̜e̱̝̺͉͖̰͔.͎̖͍.̗͈̱̬͙.͕ It was a young woman, the twisted form of an Anzat. Black blood bubbled from her partially cauterized throat, gurgling bubbles portrayed unspoken words. Her orange eyes were full of fear. Full of the terror of the abyss. The Exorcist gripped the humanoid’s hand. Silver flame connected them, consumed them. When the Jedi spoke, it was with grace and compassion. “Te Liberavimus.” The desperation left the searching eyes, replaced momentarily by peace, before the gaze fixated and faded. There was a mewing sound that passed from her chattering teeth, and then there was nothing. The Exorcist collapsed beside the body, still grasping the dirty hand in her own. She stared into the heavens and no longer saw the abyss of endless night. She coughed up blood of her own, spattering her face with crimson. She could hear repulsar engines. Her eyes searched for Lok. Consciousness faded. “The Force Provides.”
  8. The young Exorcist took the Jedi’s words into her mind as they came, processing them slowly. Her brain felt like it had been drowned in the swamps of Dagobah and washed up on the misty shore. She hadn’t been able to clear her mind in weeks. She shook her head once more, trying desperately to clear the mist from her mind. Abomination… Why was she so fixated on that word? Kyrie breathed out a heavy sigh, but still her mind would not do anything other than spin the word over and over through her mind. She couldn’t feel any condemnation from the Jedi Master, but within her, something recoiled. Do they hate me for what I have become? The Exorcist’s dirty fingers clenched into fists as she hid them against her chest, beneath the veil of her cloaks. She tore at a loose nail, feeling the pain sear through her as she ripped it from the skin. Pain cleared her mind for a moment. She could feel the blood well up on her fingertips, and she fought the urge to suck on the wound. She lost, and her voice was timid as she spoke around her fingertip. Her words were directed at Lok but they did not sound her own. “Do you hate what I am?” The Imperial Knight repressed the impulse to hit herself in rebuke. Why would you say that? Kyrie ground her teeth, revulsion rising in her stomach, amplifying the nausea with a deeper feeling of self-hatred. Realization came as she emptied her stomach into the mud. There was a crimson stain to the bile, but it disappeared into the tar-coloured ground. Teenage Insecurity. This is the ghost of my other soul. Her voice was frail as she spoke again, but it held her own intonations. “It is true, we must separate.” She spit out another mouthful of bile, wiping her trembling mouth with the back of her dirt-stained hand “Cloning data of my own form was destroyed on Kuat. The Force will find me a new form…” She smiled at Lok, a masquerade of stained teeth to hide her own self-doubt “If not… The Force is with me… And I am one with the Force.”
  9. Kyrie welcomed the assistance of the reconnaissance troopers that had accompanied the Jedi, letting them support some of her weight as they moved to deeper cover. It was another collapsed building, but one that was much more intact than many she had explored since the death of this world. The permecrete was crumbling, but most of it was cloaked in the façade of the standard officeworks. She didn’t recognize any logos, and nor could she decipher the faded arubesh on the rotting scraps of flimsi that piled up in the ruins. It smelled of ranat urine and stagnant water. She could sense the roaming spirits of those that had died there passing about her in a haze. She could almost hear their laughter. Side effect of being so close to a wound in the force. The young woman drank the protein solution, letting the bitterness of it dissipate in the rising nausea. The force was illusive, and she could barely feel its strength. Every time before she had drunk from its river and it had always restored her, but now that water did not flow. All she could feel now, was the unease of her rescuers. Mutterings of souls were of little comfort to non-exorcists. She took another swallow of the protein solution and stared at Lok and Adenna through her violet eyes. A pensive smile passed over her face “Master Alluyen, of all the ideologies of the Jedi, those that the Exorcist follow, run the knife’s edge that is the boundary between the light and the dark.” The smile turned into a frown “We take the dark side upon ourselves, consuming and debriding the wound that is left so that it may heal. I fear somewhere along my path, I strayed.” She stretched out an arm, letting the cloak fall away from it to reveal the anorexic flesh. Gone were the muscles and strength that she had been once blessed. “In that stain of corruption, the crucible of my soul was shattered. The dark side was used to resurrect me, but for what purpose, I do not know.” The girl glanced between the two Force users. With the expression of her internal frustration, a few tears swelled in her eyes unbidden, blurring her vision. “The soul I share this body with is dark. A tortured pawn of dark sorcery. It is because of this I can only see the Force as though through the reflection of a shattered mirror.” The Jedi shook her head, the tousles of muddy blonde hair bouncing with the movement. "What you ask is for an Exorcist to become at peace with what she swore to destroy."
  10. The Jedi let her eyes drift shut as the Lok Skyshatter picked her up. The man had followed her in her desertion of the Jedi Order, trained under her friend Knight Alekseyev, but she felt she hardly knew him. All she had known in her time as Grandmaster of the Imperial Knights was war, and the Holy Crusade against the Sith that had driven her from the Jedi Order. Chaos had led her into the arms of the Empire. She breathed out a restful sigh and focused on the faint murmur of his heartbeat that filtered from beneath his armor. She reflected on the life around her but could only feel the looming terror of the Sith above. Their darkness was like the circling carrion, feasting on the death and destruction of a dying world. There was a distant familiarity to the darkness. It stank of greed and filth, an odor far more potent than the unwashed humanity that clung to the skeletal remains of triple zero. As the man set Kyrie down, her eyes opened once more, and the peacefulness drained from them. The levy, that great isolation of the dying world, that which had brought her peace, had died. As his rough hands began to bandage her wounds, her voice was grave and haunted. “I did die on Kuat. I fell fighting a Sith Master and his legions.” The Exorcist gazed into the bloodied mud, remembering his face. Remembering his agony. Remembering his redemption. “He is one with the force. At peace, at long last.” Kyrie stared into Adenna’s blue eyes, her own violet eyes flashing with the reflection of the Holy Fire that had been the death of her and the Sith army on Kuat. She winced as Lok scraped some of the debris from her wounded leg, channeling the pain into laughter. It was a sound the old Kyrie would never had made. She swept her hands over herself, indicating her much younger form. She was half a decade younger physically than when they had met on Kashyyyk, but her soul was much older. “I was called to this body by its owner, and it is not my own. I do not know how much longer she will keep me. ” The Imperial Knight placed a hand on Lok’s head, giving him an awkward pat to try and indicate he should let her rise. His hair was matted from the journey, but it still smelled faintly of the standardized Imperial cleansing solution that all the refreshers were equipped with. She looked to both of them now as she slowly got to her feet. The pain seared through her mind, but she spun it away into the force, helping it to disguise her presence further. A mask of pain and suffering on a dying world was an easy disguise. She indicated the sky with a pointed finger, “You know how those scavengers love their dying Jedi. It would be like lighting a flare.” Kyrie took a step, focusing her strength into not falling. She appreciated his offer but it was too risky. “Best not to let this party be ruined by turbolaser fire.” The girl gritted her teeth, feeling the nausea grind through her guts, tinging her tongue with sourness. She reached out for his arm to steady herself. Another breath and she wretched out the emptiness of her stomach. Her shoulders straightened, and she brushed her hair from her eyes. “The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force. " Her eyes looked towards the horizon, concealed as it was by smoke and flame. "Let us leave.”
  11. -Snap-Hiss- She heard the lightsaber far before she could see it. It pulsated in her senses like a beacon of warning. There was a faint feeling of friendliness, but the world was a tumultuous storm of emotions now. The spirits were crying and it made detecting friend from foe much harder, as the wound in the force masked the signatures of all The Jedi scrambled backwards as the Rodian and the Wookiee made their attacks, but her attention was fully on the oncoming lightsaber. She gathered herself, letting the Force flow to her muscles, allowing her to quickly move over the shattered stones, ignoring the pain from her torn and bleeding feet. Silver... Its illumination crashed through her foes, and she could feel their spirits fade before the smoking pieces crashed into the rubble. Smoking blood stained her face. It burned but she hardly noticed. The form was familiar in style, the strikes fluid in their subtle brutality. He wore armor. ...Alekseyev? Did you not die with me on Cardia? The Exorcist rose to her feet, the mudstained cowl concealing her trembling hands as they clung to the long-handled lightsaber beneath. Her matted hair half fell into her vision, and as the lightsaber moved his face was revealed. She breathed out a breath of air slowly, and with it her anxiety and her prepared strike. “...Master Eleison?” With a bloodied hand, The Imperial Knight moved her muddied tangle of hair behind her ear, and she shot the man a sheepish grin. Nausea twisted her belly, eating only a protein cube in the last week had taken its toll, and now that the adrenaline was draining away, her relief turned to sickness. Her feet dug into the broken permecrete, trying in vain to steady her, but it was to no avail. The permecrete cut long gashes into her legs as she teetered and stumbled barefoot towards the growing number of allies, before she crumpled to her knees. “As subtle as a bantha, as always, Lok.” The Jedi Master gazed at him from behind her violet eyes. She longed to embrace him, she was far removed from the soldierly stoicism of her command. Behind him came another, one she recognized from the old days when she had been pledged to the Order. Her old form had barely spoken, but in a stuttering rush. Now she spoke with the accent of the Outer Rim, off the Shantilan Trade Route. “Forgive this reincarnated form, its master called me and I was reborn. It is not my own.” She glanced to Lok’s companion and bowed her head, cringing at the pain that racked her body “Master Alluyen, it has been many years.” Kyrie’s mind turned to the Jedi, distaste souring her tongue. She bit back the nausea. The Jedi had shown up to a crisis, and it was a welcome surprise, but not one that filled her with ease. “How does The Order fare under Trevelian’s leadership?”
  12. Kyrie kicked the torn boots from her feet, casting them carelessly down the permecrete ridge she had climbed up over the course of the last two days. The shattered stone and steel beneath her now bare feet hummed with the terror inherent in the dying world. It had been skyscraper once, full of life, but from the pain she could feel, it was the poor that had died here in the destruction of the ecumenopolis. It was nothing now but a crumbling mesa. As she walked, she left footprints of crimson upon the bare permecrete. Five days. The Jedi placed a protein cube in her mouth, washing down the gritty taste with a mouthful of rainwater. She let the metallic wrapper float away on the wind, the imperial insignia glittering in the refracted sunlight. They had been scavenged from a wreck. Looted from the rotting bodies of the mandalorians who had died on their basilisks. Their base nature had led to their deaths, and she had no reason to mourn the deaths of raiders. She was no Jedi Pacifist. A rusting steel beam jutted from the rubble, hanging haphazardly like a bridge across a ravine of wreckage to a downhill slope. The girl slowly clambered onto it, balancing herself as she made her way across. The steel coolly caressed her wounded feet, the rust grinding into the cuts and blisters. Wind swept its way across her, billowing her mudstained cowl and blinding her with her own hair. She stretched her arms out like a circus performer and calmed her galloping heart with a sharp breath. She was almost at the end, but there was something else that made the hair on her neck rise. -Snap-Crack- Permecrete shattered into dust and splinters tore at Kyrie’s face. There was another report and a hole punched its way through her cloak. The Imperial Knight let herself fall from the beam, her shoulder catching her weight as she tumbled down in a hail of stones and rust. She let her body twist and contort as it moved down the hill, distributing her kinetic force into momentum, letting the Force redirect her from being impaled on any jutting rebar. Eventually gravity gave way to the entropy of friction and she skidded to a jarring halt. The Jedi wanted to get up and fight, but there was something that gave her pause; there was a sense of friendliness nearby, vague and distorted, but there, nonetheless. Her own force signature was still disguised and diminished, but perhaps it would serve as a beacon. She pumped innocent fear and desperation into the Force. She lay as if dead, taking shallow breaths to disguise her life amongst her tangled cowl. The Imperial Knight could smell them before she sensed them, the pungency of unwashed human and alien. Four figures approached, a Rodian at the lead of two humans and a wookiee. The hard steel of a slug-thrower’s barrel bit into her back as he prodded her. One of the humans spoke behind a patchy beard that was squirming with lice. “Could have gotten her alive, Kato.” The Wookiee chortled, scratching at the mange that pockmarked his creamy coat. Kyrie held her stomach at bay as they leaned closer. The Rodian picked at her cowl, lifting it to reveal one of her legs. His rough hand stroked her bleeding foot. “Still warm though, Warg. I know how you hate when they struggle.” He slapped a hand on the Wookiee’s rump, and the crew roared with laughter. The allied presence was close. “You’ll get last turn Mak’ath, for obvious reasons.” Kyrie nudged the beastial mind. Why shouldn’t you get prime pickings? The Wookiee roared and pushed the Rodian to sprawl across the Jedi. As the weight came down upon her, The Imperial Knight slipped the E-11 from her back and put a blaster bolt through the belly of the bearded human and another that reflected off the permecrete to char the throat of the other. The Jedi slapped the trigger again to send a bolt into the Wookiee, but the gas canister misfired, slagging the rifle and nearly tearing her hand off. …Oh kriff. The Wookiee roared as the Rodian scrambled and withdrew a vibro-dagger. The girl threw the useless rifle at the Rodian with her burnt hand as she jumped to her feet. She longed to wield the force to her capabilities, but with the Sith in orbit, it would only bring a hail of turbolasers upon her head. It would be a fight like her old days in the fighting pits of Nar Shaddaa, but only now she was in a much weaker body. …Spast.
  13. The girl slipped through the destruction, the listless throws of a dying world, listening to the voices of the dead. Her teenage form was draped in a mud-stained canvas of mottled green and brown. Its previous owner had been a much taller and broader woman. The hem was tangled and frayed, stained dark with a half meter of the putrid mud that drowned the fading world. Once a glittering gem, shattered now as it was into mud and crumbling permecrete, no longer radiated the light that had made it the pillar of civilization. Kyrie’s scavenged, military-style boots slogged through the foul mud, the leather bindings fighting against the tide of tepid sewage and runoff. She brushed the hair from her eyes with her freckled hands, sweeping the blonde tangles behind her ears. The whirling crash of a missile caused her to crouch, nearly disappearing into the sludge. The rancid odor invaded her nostrils, driving her to nearly wretch, but her empty stomach allowed her only to shudder. She drew into herself as she heard footsteps slapping through the putrid muck. The Imperial Knight let the force flow about her, steeling her body, enhancing her muscles. The aura she allowed within the force was small and weak. No more than a padawan. She pumped fear into the force, but there was no response in the footsteps. No quickening of pace or movement of the dark side. …Not a Sith then. The Jedi thought about the longhandled-lightsaber that hung from her hip, concealed in the mud, but had no desire to attract even more unwanted attention. Clarity came as she focused, allowing herself to feel her surroundings. She hadn’t tapped into the song in far too long. Kyrie tried to burrow herself deeper into the mud. Perhaps it held some protection …Two sets of footfalls. Heavy armour. Their song was of Malice and Lust. A guttural voice cut through her silence. “Ber’aka I see a girl. Cloaked in the mud.” Kyrie stood slowly, letting her blonde hair fall over her violet eyes. “Pretty little thing. Looks half starved.” She faced them slowly, her eyes taking in their armored forms. She let the force crawl over them, exploring their armor, probing for weaknesses. Somewhere in the distance she could feel more Jedi presences, but they were not of her concern now. These soldiers were Mandalorian raiders, marked as Deathwatch. Scavengers. The Jedi could feel the lust in their eyes as they looked over her teenaged form. It reviled her, but she took the anger that welled within her and let it burn away upon her soul’s flame. She began to feel strength flow into her, along with a righteous power. Her boots set themselves, her muscles tensing. The song of the force hardened before her and she raised it as a shield against their wickedness. “We can feed you, girl.” The voice was sneering at her wretchedness. The other raider spoke, a gruff laugh staining his laugh “You’ll have to work for it” He motioned to his codpiece, which Kyrie found to be an unnecessary clarification. The Exorcist brushed the hair from her eyes once more, letting them see the glowing silver fire in her eyes. “Spast!” They stumbled and fired their weapons haphazardly, but the shots fried the mud only. Before they could move further, the Jedi Master was upon them. Her long-handled lightsaber was wielded like a baton, the burnished metal hardened by the fire. With a hammer-handed strike, the pommel crushed the larynx on one raider, leaving him crumpled and choking in the mud. The other was decapitated by a quick burst of energy from her blade, one sweeping motion, a single beam of light that was extinguished almost before it was lit. She kissed the onyx rosary on her wrist, thanking Il-Andon Rorik for the blessing of his power. The Exoricist stripped the weapons from the raiders, admiring the E-11 and the scattergun, slinging the latter on her back and holding the former in her shaking hands. The two vibroblades she placed in her belt. With heavy footsteps, she began to trudge towards the force signatures, letting her own aura pulsate with the inexperience and caution of a scared padawan, hiding her strength to draw in Sith prey.
  14. Aidan’s emerald eyes were clouded by the murkiness of doubt, Kyrie could see that, even as his body stiffened under her embrace. He felt different, more clouded. She stepped back and looked up at him. She was shorter now, and it made the whole world feel different. His words pained her, as she could feel his pain in them. It ripped into the force, unconstrained emotion. …I Felt you die… Kyrie pulled her blonde hair back, lashing it with a scrap of leather she had around her wrist. She stretched, her small muscles rippling under her pale skin. Her voice held a sorrow, but also a happiness. She spoke the code she had memorized on Ossus under Xae-Lin-Ardel “There is no death; There is the Force” She held her palms open before her, and her long-handled blade danced across the room, to settle into her grasp. It was heavier then she remembered. It crackled in its ignition, and it blended into her spirit. Her locus of control enveloped it and the silver blade became more then a tool, it held a part of her life within it. “To every soul within this galaxy, death comes soon or late.” Kyrie began to feel Aidan. Feel a deepset darkness, like a cloud of smoke obscuring the sunlight. His fire was tinged with it. She finished her poem as her violet eyes washed over him, taking in his new weapons. “And what way could I have died better, then facing fearful odds, until I was nothing but ashes out of the reach of God.” She let the blade extinguish and stepped close to her apprentice. “Your weapons bear the evil of the Sith… You will need training to overcome their influence. But don't worry, I will not take from you the trophies of war.” She was disappointed. Not in her apprentice, but in herself for being so lax in her training of him. The Force was filled with the chaos of evacuation. Children screamed, abandoned and alone. She gave Aidan a kind smile “To purify, one must know how to calm their own soul.” She indicated the evacuation about them. “Calm their wayward souls. Wipe away their tears with your spirit.” She pressed out with her presence, filling the room with a soothing calmness. A song of peace amongst the chaos. “Now you try.”
  15. A small voice bubbled to the surface of Kyrie’s mind, floating to the surface of the confusion and mystery that surged about in her rebirth. It was a soft voice, one that matched with the smaller and kinder form into which she had been called. It was filled with a gentleness that was soothing, but also a firmness that displayed a fighting will. …Blackthorn is my name. Kyrie stepped forward into the rush of evacuating orphans and whispered her own response, the fire of the Exorcists spreading across the pale skin of her palms. She felt powerful, unrestricted by the scars and traumas of her past. Basic came readily to her tongue, unweighted by a stutter of doubt. “I am Kyrie Eleison, Revanchist, Master of the Exorcists.” A small laugh reflected a victorious spirit. …I did it then, brought a soldier of Revan to destroy the Mandalorians. Kyrie glanced about the running children, her locus of control beginning to reflect the confusion and chaos of war. It was familiar, she had felt it when the Sith had come to Ossus. She had no knowledge of a Mandalorian threat, only the Sith had been her enemy. Her fingers curled into fists. Mandalorians. “Did Moon Knight finally attack?” There was no answer, only a feeling of uncertainty. The familiar presence of her apprentice burst forth nearby, vibrant and chaotic. It was like the fragrance of the Oerkanji bloom after a spring rain. Refreshingly alive. A heartbeat of life in the bereavement of a world in upheaval. “…Master?” Kyrie’s violet eyes matched his emerald gaze, and a kind smile formed across her unscarred face. He looked older, more battle-hardened. Chaos dripped from him into the force, causing ripples that washed across her. She held out both her hands, palms up in an offering of peace, but an unnatural instinct pulled her to wrap him in an embrace. She burned with the force, her heartbeat hammering her joy into both of them with uncontrolled flame. She was not as strong, not as harsh, but she was much more alive then she had ever been. “Aiden. I’ve missed you.”
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