Kyrie Eleison

Within the veil of The Force, the spirits spoke, taking physical form within the mind of the Exorcist Kyrie Eleison, who sat upon one of the metallic benches before the council’s chambers. She had not been allowed in, simply because she was not yet a master. Her mind was bitter, and into that field seeds of dissent began to grow, fuelled by her own sense of Purity, of Righteousness. She could hear the words of the council, but that was not all. Voices spoke within her mind.] Do not let this galaxy be once again torn apart by war! You are the last of the Watchcircle of Illentria, you were raised in war, within the path of the Dark Side. You felt the sorrow of torture at the hands of the Sith. They raped you, they stole your innocence, your life, your dreams. The Sith that took you from your home, is like the one now standing against the Order, leading the forces of the Dark Side. This Furion. This Julio. To save the galaxy, you must remove the head from the serpent, and crush it beneath your heel... Kyrie’s hand caressed the laminated, ebon wood of her longbow, her nimble, nail-bitten fingers playing over the softened grain, before moving to the stiff string of tallowed sinew, taken from a Bantha. Absentmindedly, she notched one of the arrows within the string, allowing her hand the pleasure of drawing back the stiff pull of the weight, nearly twice that of a typical bow. Standing upon her booted feet, Kyrie frowned, at let loose the arrow, allowing it to embed into an ornamental platter, mounted upon a nearby bulkhead. The platter shattered into a thousand jagged pieces of plaster, before themselves turning into projectiles, hurled by the force, to drive themselves into a mural. Voices within her head continued to speak, as she notched yet another arrow, taken from her quiver. You let a Sith live upon Gala, you showed him mercy. Now, undoubtedly, he continues to strike down the innocent. To have slain him, would have sacrificed your morality, to ensure that those who are innocent continue to live. Now, their blood is upon your head... The creak of a door and the pungent odour of a lit cigar shattered her from her musings. She turned, her black cowl clinging to her tunic, her braids of jet-black hair whirling. She rested her emerald eyes upon the Sith Master that now walked towards her, followed by a desperate-looking Jedi, the one called Dahar Raikanda. With caution, Kyrie stepped forth, the arrow drawn halfway within the longbow, not quite fully in the Sith’s path, but to the side. Her voice rang out within the hallway, carrying strength towards Faust. “The course of the Jedi, begins to spin once more towards divide, as it did upon the onset of the Mandalorian Wars... Against that great evil, The Sith, the Council shirked their duty to the galaxy, opting instead, to sit upon their thrones, and care not for the galaxy, the one they SWORE to protect... Just as of now, they once more choose to leave the galaxy to the Sith, to protect their own asses... Their own... Sense of the Jedi’s Code...” Kyrie paused, hoping the Masters would hear her words. “Is it not said within the code, set down by Master Skywalker, that the Jedi are Guardians of the Galaxy? Are we not to use our powers to defend and protect? Jedi must put the needs of the galaxy above the needs of individuals... Even... Even our own souls. If you hunt the Sith, I shall follow you.” Reaching out with The Force, she touched Faust’s and Dahar’s ears with simple words, carrying the strength of The Force. ...Ex malo bonum...

((OOC: feel free to post us to the medical unit, for the essence of time, as Damon wishes us to arrive there quickly.)) Within the presence of another Exorcist, you will feel more at home than you will with your spouse. Only others of our Order truly understand the constant battle that runs through our very soul. No other sect within the Jedi Order has such a dangerous battle as we do, for we deal with the darkness hand-to-hand, soul-to-soul. We are a family. We are one. The metallic plating was stained crimson with the blood of the dead, killed by Kyrie, in defense of her life. With a trembling hand, she moved the scorched and gutted body a slaver out of the navigational station, and watched as the man tumbled lifeless to the blemished steel tiles. A wave of emotion rolled through her, shaking her to the core. With her black-gloved hand, Kyrie rolled his head to the side, and looked into his motionless eyes. She would remember his face the rest of her life. She had extinguished hundreds of lives in the arenas of Nar Shadda, before she had become a Jedi, and it had never felt like what she was experiencing now. Meditation and peace, in the face of death. You did what you had to, to defend your own life, and the life of your master. From now on, you must focus upon protecting those that cannot protect themselves, no matter the cost. Through the purity of The Force, the Dark Side will be purged. It is part of being an Exorcist. We cannot spare the time to disarm at every turn, or negotiate every situation, where action is more prudent. Every Sith that escapes justice, due to our lack of will to end their life... Every innocent they murder is on our heads from that point on. You fight for the Light. At that moment, Kyrie’s heart began to beat with strength once more. Self doubt was deadly on a battlefield. With her spare hand, she brushed a fallen braid of her raven hair from concealing her vision, and pushed it behind one of her ears. Standing once more, she reached out with The Force and felt the presence of the Jedi as they entered The Felucia, and began to spread out, responding to her signal. She quickly yielded the helm to the autopilot, and began to sing the song of strength, to bolster herself through The Force. As she felt the presence of two Jedi outside the door, one of whom she had felt on Tython, she added to their action of The Force, by pushing against the door. A voice, from a young woman, who wore bindings across her eyes. “What happened here? Was your Master injured in the attack?" Kyrie’s emerald eyes sparkled, with the reflection of sparking monitors and flickering luma-panels, the light mixing with the internal flames of pure white, to give off an aura of battle-strength. Her brow was damp with perspiration, her body pouring out sweat, spurred on by the adrenaline still flooding her veins. Simply put, she looked fresh from the battle, the blood of the fallen staining her tunic and pale skin, like a painter had flicked his brush over a blank canvas. With broken basic, Kyrie responded. “S-slavers... T-t-tried to d-disable us-s-s. I r-retook t-the s-s-ship. M-m-master w-wounded at-t Gala.”

The Jedi Order is at times, truly magnificent, able to produce some of the finest warriors the galaxy had to offer, and at the same time, the best philosophers and pacifists. For over a thousand generations we were the sworn protectors of the Republic, its laws and regulations, and its senate. The Exorcists lie outside the realm of one government, as few within government know of them. We do the Order’s dirty work, eliminating their enemies, when the codes and laws disallow such actions. Wetwork was once my specialty. I ran the blackest of operations against the Sith governors of Collaran and on Fulgeist, which culminated in their deaths, and the overthrow of the Sith. Before you now, lies the Order of your time. It is now your choice in what path you will follow. The synthetic flesh felt like ice where it was interlaced with the skin of her body, marking where she had sustained injury during her battle with the Sith. The recycled air of the small Corvette, designated The Felucia, tasted bitter to her tongue, compared to the fresh, mountain air of Tython, or even the smoky wind of Gala. It was artificial, and unsettling, just like the kaleidoscopic void of hyperspace, as seen through the viewport of her quarters. Her hand pulsed with energy, where it rested upon the viewport’s transparsteel screen, feeling the pounding of the hyperdrives, echoing through small tremors across the ship as they began to power down, to take The Felucia, and its small crew to their destination; Triple Zero, the heart of the galaxy, and of civilization. A whisper skittered across her mind, leaving a trail of blackness. Something was wrong. Flipping out her datapad, she began to enter information into its nexus, adding a section into her journal, detailing her battle with the Sith Barabel, whom she had left back on Gala. On instinct, she opened up a section of the Galactic Alliance database, and casually entered in the name of the cruiser, The Felucia, a CR90 Corvette, so she could properly thank its captain. The entry that opened however, caused her emerald eyes to narrow in disbelief. The Sundari Slavers had destroyed The Felucia over Thessia, nearly eleven years before. Her half-gloved hand fell to her lightsaber, feeling over its battle-worn handle. The metal was ridged and scarred, pitted and etched with the signs of war. It was comforting. Spast... Her blackened leather boots moved upon the polished ground, as she staggered to absorb the impact of a sudden departure from hyperspace, flipping to catch herself upon a bulkhead, with the assistance of The Force. The internal dampners had been disabled within her quarters which would have caused massive trauma to one caught unaware. The door to her chamber whisked open, and three heavily armored guards entered, carrying stun-sticks and sonic weapons. These were ex-Imperials, well trained by their old Emperor in the ways of anti-Jedi combat. The first to enter was a large, muscular human, holding a shield in one hand, and a scattergun in the other. The second to enter was the most heavily armored, covered from head to toe in plasteel plating, with a wide-beamed sonic rifle gripped in his armored fingers. The third was an officer, lightly armored, dressed in navy blue, with a seal of the Empire upon his collar, denoting previous valor in combat. They were an elite squad of Jedi hunters, undoubtedly working for a slaving ring, or of their own initiative to eliminate the enemies of their Empire, long past, and rotting, attracting scavengers to tear apart the remnants. -Snap-Hiss- The first man paused for half a second, not expecting to find her, a simple padawn to be standing right before him, lightsaber in hand, its silvered blade, surrounded by crimson lightning burning the air before his nose. His hesitation was all Kyrie needed to bring order to the chaos, and death to the enemies of The Jedi Order. She brought a booted foot into the corner of his durasteel shield, bashing it to the side with Force-enhanced strength, and drove her lightsaber into the unarmored section beneath his jaw. The blade bisected his head, ripping part of his face and helmet with it as she tore her lightsaber free. As the body began to relax, she was already on the move, flipping her lightsaber over the next trooper’s shoulder, spearing the officer in the throat, and retrieving the first soldier’s scattergun. Dropping to her back as the armored soldier fired a round of sonic energy past her shoulder, she placed the muzzle of the plasma scattergun into his kneecap and squeezed the trigger. The shot shredded the man’s leg at the kneecap, and sent rounds into the collapsing officer’s chest. Kyrie flipped backwards as the armored soldier began to topple, and fired another round into the crown of his helmet, shattering it, along with a good portion of the skull, sending his body into immediate convulsions. Stepping over the bodies of the dead, she retrieved her lightsaber from where it had lodged in the officer’s throat, and stepped into the hallway. The passage was darkened, lit only by emergency nodes. Reaching out with The Force, she located her Master’s presence, dim and subdued, a few doorways away. Deactivating her lightsaber, as to not paint herself a target, she stepped into the flickering darkness. The door immediately to her right opened and two troopers boiled out, lightly armed, responding to the commotion. Slipping past them in the darkness, she observed them carefully, her hand resting on the notched handle of her more silent vibrosword. The two passed by without noticing, seemingly more intent on rushing to the room from which she had come. Stepping out behind them, she grabbed their heads with The Force and slammed them together, knocking them out cold. Retrieving one of their sonic rifles, she slipped carefully to the door from which she could feel her master’s aura emanating. Feeling the cold, metallic bulkhead against her back, and the vibrating panel against the fingers of her right hand, she keyed the activation, sending the door whisking open. She expected a hail of blasterfire to come boiling out of the door, but there was nothing, but the gentle sounds of active monitors. With her vibroblade drawn, Kyrie stepped carefully around the corner, and her body moved unheaded to the side, avoiding a thrust from a vibro-pike. The blade-length of pike caught a small portion of her skin, slitting it open, and spilling a small stream of blood down from her forehead, and into her bright green eyes. Leaping past the pike, she drove her vibroblade up to the handle in the red-armored figure’s shoulder, driving the large mad backwards. Not relenting, Kyrie ripped half of the soldier’s arm away as she dragged the blade free, before pushing the blade into his chest, through the gap in his armor, between the neck and helmet. The man collapsed in a heap, with her kneeling upon his chest. As she glanced up, she witnessed a crimson bolt of energy speed past her face, so close that she could feel the heat from its passing, causing her to roll off the lifeless corpse, and onto the decking of the medical bay. As she rolled, she scooped up the discarded pike, and sent it soaring towards the source of the shot, like a javelin hurled from the heart of a storm. The pike flew through the air at incredible speed, and impaled a blue-clothed doctor, who held a sporting pistol at the ready, prepping for another shot. The pike bit through the man’s clothing, then through his flabby skin beneath, the vibrating point shredding the doctor’s abdomen, and the vital organs within, before exiting through his spine. The force of the strike sent him careening into a stack of medical tools, placed upon a silvered tray, and sent a splash of gore upon the wall. Standing slowly, Kyrie ripped the vibroblade from the soldier’s chest, and stepped to where her master lay, subdued through an injection of sedative. Picking up her master, and slinging her on her back, Kyrie began to move quickly to where the bridge was located. According to her readings, there were very few crewmembers remaining, and all were located upon the bridge. One in particular stood out in The Force, a very dark presence, filled with corruption. Stumbling back across the bodies of those she had been forced to slay earlier, she retrieved a blaster pistol, and two fragmentation grenades, which she would only use as a last resort. Stepping past line of deactivated droids, she reached the bridge, where through The Force, she could sense a total of eight life-forms, not including the one tainted with the Dark Side. With great care, Kyrie propped her master against a nearby bulkhead, and covered her in her blackened cloak. Keying open the door, she strode inside, and locked it behind her. Her enemies were numerous, but as a Jedi, she knew she would be victorious. The first enemy she saw, was the Dark Side user, a large Iridonian male, who stood tattooed and bare-chested at the front of the observation deck. Their eyes met, his blood-red and yellow, hers the colour of Corusca gems. As he withrew a disruptor rifle, she stepped to the right, igniting her silver-bladed lightsaber, into the thigh of an advancing trooper, and cutting up, disembowelling him, and slashing the throat of his partner beside him. Flipping up a fragmentation grenade in her other hand, she armed it, and sent it flying like a bullet, propelled by The Force into the Iridonian’s stomach, where it slammed through the flesh, lodging within his gut. She took no pleasure from the expression of absolute hate and terror on the Iridonian’s face, the second before he exploded all over the bridge, efficiently ending all expressions from him forever. Two of the other troopers were taken up by the blast and killed by the shrapnel, minced by both metal and chunks of bone where they stood, aiming their weapons. The remaining four slavers were far too slow to react, and were killed where they stood, fishing for their weapons, their battle reactions slowed and impeded by the liquor they had imbibed but an hour before, celebrating their catch. The first two died by her blade, cut down as they attempted to attack, and the last were shot in vital areas by her blaster-pistol. Shaking her head slowly, she stepped over to the navicomputer and entered in the coordinates for a diversion from their current course, and on to Coruscant. The ship trembled, and reentered hyperspace, heading for the current location of The Eternal Vigilance. As she moved the bodies away from the viewscreens, the hyperspace alert system sprung to life, alerting her to deactivate the drives as they were making a swift approach. Keying the drives, she brought the Corvette out of hyperspace above Triple Zero. Above the dazzling planet of lights shining in the darkness, she could see the shape of The Eternal Vigilance, and a feeling of peace and tranquility washed over her. Activating her comlink, she entered orbit, and opened up the encrypted Jedi Frequency. “E-eternal V-vigilance... This is padawan-n Eleison, requesting d-d-docking permission, aboard the f-f-former s-slaving ship-p, The Felucia. My m-master is injured, and n-needs m-medical attention. Requesting Medics, and a security-y team... Possible h-hostiles s-s-s-still active aboard...” After a moment, Jedi air control toggled back an affirmative, and Kyrie initiated the docking procedures as best she could manage.

Such anger is weakness, such loathing, a burden, such fear, will cause hesitation, and that will get you killed. The Sith that captured you… called you Kyrie Eleison, and emblazed it in blood and fire upon your back, and with torture upon your mind. He called you that, because he himself wished for mercy from the heavens upon his deathbed. Will you give such mercy to a Sith if you ever get the chance? Do not consider mercy a weakness, for it is one of the founding principles of the Jedi, and it forms the very bedrock of a Jedi’s bond to The Living Force. ...Darkness... The wind and the rain swept across the battlefield, mixing with the blood that stained the ground. Kyrie’s loose braids whipped about her pale face, bringing the darkening world back into reality. Her head was swimming from the pain, and she felt groggy. The Barabel Sith was sprawled at her feet, unconscious, and for the most part unharmed. The pain was overwhelmingly intense, and it was beginning to once again erode away at her vision. Dropping the sonic-pistol to the darkened, soggy earth, she hefted her lightsaber, and ignited it. The Snap-Hiss of the awakening blade brought solace to her heart, and peace to her mind. Its silver blade, tinged with red lightning, lit up the darkening clearing, casting long shadows upon the ground, the tendrils of light stretching off into the forest, where they disappeared into darkness. Mumbling under her breathe, she knelt down beside the fallen Barabel, and placed her injured hand upon his scaled forehead. Her emerald eyes glistened with tears, caused by the pain of her injuries, and she spoke a few words to the unconscious beast, confidant he would hear her. “M-m-mercy... I-is a b-bless-sing. B-be h-healed of your h-hate...” A few of the scarlet droplets of blood dripped from her hand, and spread out across the Barabel’s scales. White fire, pure and beautiful, streamed from her hand and onto the scales of the Sith, burning into its forehead the print of a hand, in pure white. It was an essence of purity, and perhaps, if accepted, it would help lead the Sith towards the light. With a gasp of pain, Kyrie rose haltingly to her feet, placing her cloak about the Sith, to protect him from the elements until he awoke. Apprehensively, Kyrie placed the blade of her lightsaber against the wound on her arm, and screamed as the energy cauterized the wound. There would be a nasty scare, but with medical treatment, it would heal. With cautious steps, she moved out of the clearing, using the trees about her as support for her weakened legs. The battle had taken much out of her. The ground beneath her began to grow rocky, and she saw a pale green glow ahead of her, very akin to that of a lightsaber. Stumbling down a dusty trail, she began to see signs of another battle, one very fresh. Several dead Sith troopers lay scattered about a small form that lay sprawled amongst the dead. A shock of amber hair caught her attention, and Kyrie felt a familiar presence, albeit weak. Rushing quickly past the dead, she dropped to her knees beside the body of her master, who was still alive, but badly wounded from a lightsaber slash across her abdomen. Concentrating upon The Force, she began to pour her power into her master’s wound, focusing on trying to heal it. She was no Jedi Consular, but the wound stopped bleeding profusely, and a bit of colour returned to Xae-Lin’s face. Kyrie spoke softly, hoping her master would soon awake. “M-master? Do y-you yet-t l-live?”

Against the Sith, our weapon is most potent, as it erodes their base of power, built upon anger and other Cardinal Vices. It is our duty to purge the Vices from the galaxy through Justice, a virtue that I consider to be the very bedrock of the Jedi Order, although it seems to have been forgotten in recent days. There are four of these virtues, which the Exorcists consider to form the centre of our Order: Temperantia, Prudentia, Audentia, and Aequitas. Within each, lay great strength. You represent Justice... You are the scales... Upon which crimes are weighed and measured, and you are the sword, to carry out the will of Justice, and the will of God. The pain within her arm was like wildfire, consuming all within its path, blocking out all other feeling. No longer could Kyrie feel the cool touch of the whirling wind and rain, only the burning jolts coming from severed nerves, cut flesh, and torn muscle. Her arm was useless, and would require immediate bacta treatment in order to prevent permanent damage, which would leave it crippled. Blood ran in a scarlet stream down the pale flesh of her arm, following the pattern-like scars, until it dripped off the tip of her blackened glove, to the rain-soaked earth below. The song moved about her like a whirlwind, building in power as it had been throughout her fight with the Barabel Sith. Its beat filled her mind, guiding her movements, and into it, she bled the pain, letting it pass into the void of The Force. It was but a distraction to the battle. Her mouth moved, following the words, as the song was projected into The Force, its haunting lyrics able to be heard by users of The Force. The injuries she had sustained were grave, but they would not stop her from annihilating the Sith, and the corrupting darkness he brought with him. It was her duty. Kyrie’s emerald eyes glittered with a hidden flame as she watched the Sith struggle against the bonds of exorcist’s fire, and her usable hand drew her Sd-77 sonic pistol from its holster, prepared to end the beast where he stood, as an act of mercy. Suddenly, the beast’s eyes changed from a Sithly yellow, to a deep crimson, and within The Force, she could feel his rage, unleashed like an ocean breaking through a levee. Rage was powerful, and a true embodiment of the Dark Side. It also blinded the user to the environment about them, causing them to narrow their vision to their target. Kyrie’s eyes narrowed and she jumped back, bringing up her sonic pistol, yielding herself to the song’s power. Under the guidance of The Force, although weakened by the pain from her arm, she twisted to the side, avoiding the full brunt of the Sith’s thrown sword. The blade of the sword narrowly avoided splitting her head in twain, and cut a deep line into the side of her face. ...Fiat iustitia et pereat mundus... Landing unsteadily upon her feet, her words caught in her throat, and she tasted the metallic tinge of blood within her mouth. The power she had built up, was about to unleash itself. Her body felt warm, and electrified, like she had been struck by lightning, and the tingling in her wounded arm ceased. She could only do one last attack, to strike down the Sith Lizard charging towards her, wishing to gut her. With a scream, she let fly the power of The Force, through the song, and squeezed the trigger of her sonic pistol. The cone of sonic energy leapt forth from the bevelled tip of the weapon, and from her mouth, came a storm of burning flame. The two meshed together into a blast of sonic-laiden fire, which shot forth towards the Sith, who at his rate would run right into it. ...Alea iacta est... ((3. Great duel, Lockjaw.))

Fear cuts deeper than a lightsaber... Fear can draw the power from a Jedi, as a leech draws blood from the body of its host. The reason for that is quite easily explained... Fear, is the first link in the chain that binds so many to the Dark Side... The Fear of the unknown, the fear of losing a friend or a loved one, can blind even the most well-intentioned being... And cause them to turn from the path of the light, onto the easy path to power... Which leads to eternal destruction... Keep your mind strong, and your body will follow the will of The Force. The wind swept through the clearing, carrying fattened drops of rain, as the storm began to amplify its fury. Against Kyrie’s pale, scarred skin, the downpour felt like a thousand needles of ice, stabbing into her flesh, carrying with it a feeling of innate dread. The darkness was strong, but would be easily repelled by a pure flame, carried in strength. The song flowed about Kyrie, carrying with it the music of battle, to which she was highly attuned, through years training and struggle in the dueling rings of world of rust and shadow. In the fading light, Kyrie’s emerald eyes flashed as she watched the Sith spring from her trap, relatively unharmed. The Barabel was covered in a thick crust of mud, laden with what appeared to be blood. But for his bloodied appearance, the Sith carried himself uninjured from the attack she had made upon him. Her hands tightened upon her vibrosword’s hilt, caressing the battle-word leather, letting its familiarity keep her mind focused. The pain in her own back was beginning to grow from a minor pain, to an annoyance. Kyrie let the pain bleed off into The Force, adding its power into the song, as it passed from her lips, and into the world about her, like tendrils of spidersilk, ready to be woven into a web. A pure fire began to grow. Evil, serpentine laughter filtered across the clearing as the Sith began his taunts. His words were like venom to her, like a snake tempting the first of the children with forbidden knowledge. Within her mind, visions began to surface, unbidden: A darkened forest, frightened prey pursued by a cold chill. Enemies with skin as pale as an Alderaani moon, and eyes as blue as the stars... The Sith’s words broke through her vision, and Kyrie began to add layers of resolve to her mental barriers, not wishing for another vision to obscure her during battle. “It isss going to take a lot more than sticksss and stonesss to break thessse bonesss of mine, in cassse you are unaware in your barabel anatomy allow me to educate you” How quaint, for a Sith to use a children’s poem in battle. The Sith removed his tattered robes, revealing for her, his powerful reptilian body, shod in his species natural armor of jade scales. The Sith’s body glimmered in the fading light, the rain reflecting the sunlight upon his scales. The rosary of black and crimson around her neck felt as ice against her flesh, seeping power at such close contact to a Sith. The spirits of the dead were not willing for the crimes of the Sith to go unpunished, as so many Jedi had allowed before her. Justice would be had, even at the cost of her own life. “Asss you can sssee my ssscalesss offer me more than adequate protection, but I wonder how well your own ssskin holdsss up in a sssimilar tessst” Through The Force, Kyrie answered in kind, her haunting voice carried to the Sith’s ears, as if born by the wind itself, with the tongue of the Exorcist. ...Non timebo mala... Veritatem dilexi... Before her eyes, the Sith withdrew a lightsaber of his own, and ignited it. The snap-hiss of the crimson blade caused the forest, so full of life, to grow as quiet as death itself. With its other hand, the Barabel Sith withdrew another blade, made of glittering silver, in a wicked shape. Pure Flame began to form within the song, as Kyrie focused upon the Will of The Force, an essence of justice, to smite the criminal and cleanse the heretic, to purify them upon a pyre. ...Even a small candle can keep the darkness at bay... A small tingling within The Force was the only warning of the Sith’s charge as he leapt, breaking their circling trance. Terrible darkness came with him, to corrupt and destroy. Within her, concentrated in purity and strength, the pure fire surged in anticipation, prepared to swallow the darkness and cleanse it from the galaxy, like one would wipe away a stain. ...Vincit omnia veritas... As the Barabel Sith shot forward the five meters across the clearing, the burning flame within her heart moved up her arms, and about her, the song began to strengthen in its beat, weaving itself around her, mimicking the storms overhead. At the same moment, she leapt backwards, but not swiftly enough to escape the incredible speed of the emerald-scaled Sith. The Sith’s beskar blade skidded across her left forearm, taking with it a good portion of pale flesh, and his crimson-bladed lightsaber knocked her vibrosword from her loosened grasp. Kyrie screamed in pain, feeling the flesh of her arm tear away, and fell backwards, her leap taking her to the ground upon her back a meter away from the Barabel Sith. From her belt, she grabbed two of her throwing blades, to fend off the Sith if he advanced further. The ground was unforgiving, and her back felt as though she had landed upon a sharp stone of granite. The pain within her arm shot through her, carrying with it a feeling of calm, and peace. All feeling in her hand had disappeared, as the blade had cut through one of the nerves that ran along its length. She would not let the injury stop her from destroying the darkness that threatened Gala. Her emerald eyes flashed with fire as she leapt to her feet, her left arm hanging useless at her side, crimson blood running in a stream down her hand from the wound, and dripping onto the rain-darkened earth, the bone visible through the flesh, white and vivid. With a yell, she unleashed the pure flame of the Exorcist, channeling it through her body, taking with it the pain from her wounds, and out her good arm, which she outstretched in the direction of the Sith. “Now... Burn...” White fire wreathed about her body, and leapt from her fingertips, guided by The Force towards the Sith, writhing like snakes forged from flames towards their target, the Barabel Sith. The flame would move quickly, spreading out to attack its target from all angles. It would not do any physical damage, but only serve to sever the target from the Dark Side of the Force, through which the Sith would feel power. At the same moment, the two stilettos, which were grasped in her hand, leapt out towards the Sith, like missiles of blackened steel, as fast as The Force would carry them, towards the Sith’s bare, scaled chest, homing onto their target with Kyrie’s bidding. With a grimace, Kyrie set herself into a defensive stance, letting her good hand fall to her belt, prepared to call another weapon to bear upon the Sith, should he live. The rain began to pour down through the treetops, whipping though the clearing, carried by the wind. ((2))

An Exorcist, whose lightsaber is guided by The Force, and his or her own righteous conviction, need not fear the outcome of any battle, whether against the criminal underworld, or the corrupted Sith. Be not in fear, let go of everything, and trust yourself to The Force, you are a Jedi. You are an Exorcist. The song flowed about the clearing, binding itself to Kyrie's mind, as she let it flow through her, letting The Force guide her. Her emerald eyes glittered, reflecting the fading light, as it fell through the swaying, green boughs of the thick forest. Evening was beginning to draw near, and, if in witness to the growing darkness, the breeze turned colder. A storm was brewing, it was to rain. ”œBold wordsss from one ssso young, tell me Jedi have you ever fully witnesssed the true power of the Dark Ssside of the Force. Becaussse I have and every time I have ssseen the Light go againssst the Darknesss, the light hasss fallen every time. Ssso what makesss you think that you will have any chance of defeating me, and even if you do it will be but a sssmall victory for the Jedi asss they will sssurely fall before the all might power that isss the Sssith. But if you truly wisssh to fight me very well then, letsss sssee what you're made of." The Sith's words tasted like poison upon the wind, winding themselves around her as a spider would spin a web. The Force was moving, like a whisper within her ear, raising the alarm. There were the nine soldiers, slowly approaching her position, using stealth. They reeked of the Dark Side, to a lesser degree than the Barabel Sith Lord before her, but, to an Exorcist, they were hard to miss. Around her mind, she continued to strengthen the barriers against the Sith's evil grasp. From her lips, words came forth, stuttering, but carried through The Force, carrying power. ”œThe... O-only t-thing I-I n-n-need... Is The F-force." The wind increased in speed, taking with it the first droplets of rain, to land upon the clearing, the prelude to a grand storm. The droplets felt like ice upon her pale, scarred skin, causing her to shiver ever so slightly. Kyrie tightened her grip upon her vibrosword, her fingers playing over the battle-worn handle, feeling the countless, miniscule notches upon the handle, signifying the lives she had taken with it within the arenas of Ord Mantell. She had no fear from battle, even against innumerable odds. With a brilliant flash, the Sith disappeared, and Kyrie knew the trap was sprung, as if upon an unwary mouse. Her muscles began to move, following the commandments of The Force. She was no mouse. ...We are Jedi, we are not afraid of death... As one, the Sith raised their blaster rifles and began to pour stun rounds into the clearing. The nine soldiers were arraigned in a typical scattered formation, to allow themselves a good range of fire. The song increased in intensity as Kyrie sprung backwards, away from the waves of blue energy. Landing on her back, a few meters away, she skidded to a halt, rolling behind a fallen tree. Her back hurt from the clumsy landing, and her cape bore testimony, having been shredded by the unforgiving ground. Had she had more time to plan the jump, it would have gone better. The waves of stun dissipated before they got to her, thanks to their small effective range, and any that would have reached her, would have been absorbed by the crumbling remnants of the fallen tree. Through The Force, she could sense the Sith retreating, yelling like Confederates. Oddly, though, she could not sense the Sith Lord to whom she had spoken. Reaching up to her neck, Kyrie released her cowl, leaving her in her bare-armed tunic and leggings of black. She began to sing softly, within The Force, the Song of the Black, letting it bolster her body for continued battle. The song did not take physical form, but resonated through The Force. ...Cast out from the lands of their births, Banished from home, All must swear the oath, Forsaking all they've known... The rotting wood felt damp against Kyrie's exposed skin, and through The Force, she could tell it was teaming with life. Silence began to fall upon the clearing, all but for the pattering of rain against fallen wood and grass. She calmly rested a hand on the hilt of her vibrosword, the feel of the handle bringing back waves of memory. Its name was Bealocwealm, justice through strength. Battles won and lost, bitter defeat and joyful victory. Two sides of a credit chit. The two opposing forces of the galaxy, the light, and the consuming darkness. ...If you choose to take the black, Bid farewell to Heaven's fate, Those who do, don't come back, Prepare yourself for life on the gate... The song was hauntingly beautiful, and carried with it, great power. ...Crack... Kyrie froze, as the sound of a snapping twig came to her ears. Was it the enemy, moving from hiding, coming to attack? Her nail-bitten fingers tightened upon her vibrosword's handle as she began to bend the song towards the sound. She felt nothing through the Force, only the typical life of the Forest. She frowned and began to focus upon The Force, letting it fall about her upon the field of battle. It was as if she was casting out a net, woven from The Force's pure strength. She let her own purity flow about her, to purify the ground on which she sat. ...Crunch... There. The sound was nothing more than energy within The Force, as a dart thrown by the enemy upon her ears. Sith manipulation. As the song moved about her, she uttered words in the language of the Exorcists, as she rose to her feet, her loose braids whipping in the wind. ...Veritas, bonitas, pulchritudo, sanctitas... She focused upon the sounds, the darts of the enemy, and began to trace them to their source. They came from behind her, perhaps a dozen meters away. Within her mind, the music of the Song of the Black began to increase in beat and strength. She took a small step backwards, letting her body settle into the stance of Vom Tag, her feet and body aligned at a slight angle, balanced equally, facing towards her enemy. She brought her blade up above her head, grasping the battle-worn handle with both hands, angling the blade at a forty-five degree angle towards the sky, angled behind. With a small smile, she leapt forward, concentrating upon the guidance of The Force, to where she had tracked her enemy. The distance to be covered was around a dozen meters, no small feat for a normal human, but for a Jedi, it was as easy as throwing a pebble into a lake. ...Night gathers and your watch begins, The wind carries an unnatural chill, There are things beyond the northern border, That mere steel cannot kill... With a push of her strength, she flew forwards, gathering all her mental power, and let it flow into the ground beneath her, forming with the partials of earth and rock, as she had in the forest, while battling the technobeasts, which had attacked her earlier in her training. She wished to crush the lizard with raw power, but that was not the way of the Jedi, it was within the small things, that a Jedi's strength lies. Oft practiced, the moves were almost second nature. As she flew through the air, she pointed her hand at Sith, palm up, and lifted, both mentally and through the force, focusing the raw power of The Force into one movement. The song flew out of her, amplified in power, in the language of the Exorcists. ...Nil igitur est mors ad nos... The small rocks and branches would explode up around the Sith, and rush inwards like a bitter storm, like shrapnel from a bomb, concentrating on Lockjaw's body, like waves of fire to from a shotgun, to obliterate the enemy. Kyrie landed upon the ground a few meters in front of the Sith, with her blade held in Vom Tag, prepared to do battle. A small trickle of crimson blood flowed from her back, a witness to her earlier landing. She let the pain flow from her body, channeling it back into The Song. She flicked her blade downwards into a defensive stance, and began to circle, the air about her beginning to grow heavy with rain. ((1))

((I apologize for the delay, it was unfortunately unavoidable. Set up post for my duel with Lockjaw)) Stealth and deception. The Sith often move in plain sight, using only the shadows for cover, and are successful. Because of their ability to easily conceal themselves, their Assassins are renowned... And terrible... Know this the light will always prevail against the dark, for in all its hate and evil, but one candle can hold it at bay. To see the dark, one must rely on more than sight, for it is like to view the galaxy through a crack in a door... You must rely upon the Force, for through it, you will find victory. The pale grass, shallow in root, scattered in patches where the sunlight would filter through the canopy of deep green, blew steadily in the evening's cold breeze, as it whistled through the boughs. Upon the wind, Kyrie could hear the haunted songs of death, filled with sorrow, from lives cut prematurely short. The wind picked up in speed, and Kyrie could feel the icy hands of death, piercing through her blackened tunic, and sending chills up the ridges of her spine. The souls howled in her ears, tortured and bewildered at their sudden demise, ripped from life in an instant, burning in pain and sorrow. Wincing visibly, Kyrie stumbled against the dark, mossy bark of one of the towering trees, as her mind rang with their cries. Sinking down into the soft dirt, she glanced back towards the Praxeum, knowing that it had been completely obliterated, and placed her bound hand against her face. There was no time left to grieve, only time to battle the Sith, and cleanse the infection from the planet's surface, though the only way she knew, with fire. A small tremor in the Force kept her where she was, sunken into the hallow of the tree, as a dark presence appeared, albeit diminished. The feeling of dread moved closer, and in response, Kyrie drew the song about her, concealing herself with the power of the Force. A normal Jedi, one not used to hunting Sith, as an Exorcist was, would have had a hard time detecting the dark presence. It was more than one Sith, not surprising, considering she was far behind enemy lines. Her emerald eyes glimmered in the shadows as one of the Sith moved close and paused. It was a giant of a man, clothed in black, armed with a double-bladed lightsaber. He was bald, and his scalp shone in the glimmering light, filtering through the trees, and she could make out tattoos etched into the flesh in black and red ink. His presence was strong so close at hand, and at this distance, it was beginning to become clear that he could also feel her within The Force, albeit at a smaller level. Heavy footsteps revealed another Sith coming to join the other, this one a Kel-Dor with a single blade of Sith-steel, and lightly armored in the fashion of the Krath Sorcerers. A silent kill on two enemies would be difficult, but not entirely impossible. A small smile tugged on Kyrie's scarred lip, as the thought of vengeance began to invade her mind, and the tone of the song began to change back to those from the dueling rings, where the death of an opponent meant one more step towards freedom, where the spilling of blood meant glory. Checking herself quickly, Kyrie realized the dark's corruption, trying to rob her of her strong foundation in purity, and destroy her righteous power. Reaching her half-gloved hands to her belt, Kyrie slipped her lightsaber back into place, and silently took out her vibrosword and one of her stilettos. Feeling the battle-worn handles in her palms, she knew she was ready for battle. As silent as a whisper, Kyrie leapt from the hallowed tree, the blackened cloak whipping out behind her, as swift as a diving falcon. The Kel-Dor Sith saw her, and began to yell a warning, but before he could utter a word, Kyrie had released her vibrosword, and its blackened tip caught him in the jaw, ripping through his vocal-chords and face-mask, bisecting his jawbone. The blade, with its raven sigil, finally exploded out the back of his head in a spout of black blood and ivory shards of shattered bone, taking with it a large portion of his spinal column. As the Kel-Dor's body went limp and began to fall, the large Sith warrior turned, but was too late, as Kyrie landed on his black, driving the stiletto into the base of his skull, between the second and third cervical vertebrae. As the blade passed through the spinal-cord, the Sith went stiff, before Kyrie ripped the blade sideways, and passed it through his skull and out the side. The body tumbled lifeless into the dirt, already begging to burn into ash, as the powers of the Dark Side devoured the body. Using The Force to retrieve her vibrosword, she rolled to her feat, and glanced about the clearing. Spinning the Vibrosword on its weighted pommel, she brought the blackened blade through the belly of a charging Twi'lek Sith, dressed in light armour, and a deatheater's mask. The blade passed through the Twi'lek's flesh, carried on by the weight and momentum of his own charge. Kyrie whirled to the side, ripping the blade free, taking with it about a third of the man's chest cavity, as well as his left arm. The lifeless, disemboweled husk stumbled and fell, consumed in orange flame, as he was turned to ash. Then, there was silence. Kyrie glanced up at the edge of the clearing, and saw a large Barabel Sith, (Gonzo Lockjaw), observing the battle. This was one of the leaders, a captain of the Sith. Using the Force, Kyrie carried her voice to the Sith, small, frail, and haunting. ”œFight me... Or... Or... Die... Sith. T-t-that is y-your c-choice. Tu autem, Domine, miserere nobis...”

The flame of the Jedi, moves ever in darkness, threatened always to be extinguished by the forces of the of the Sith... The powers of evil take many forms, all of them wrapped with deceit, for they cannot stand truly to face the light, for it would reveal their weakness, for the failing of the Sith lies within their core. As an insect is drawn to honey and is trapped by its own greed, so are the Sith, trapped by passion, by the lies in which they live. As fire purifies a forest, giving it newborn life, the power of the Jedi is a flame, borne of righteousness, to combat the darkness. Against the power of the Jedi, there is no victory. In all of its power, the entire power of the dark can be held at bay, by a single candle, held in purpose. Upon the wind, the stench of the dark was almost enough to overwhelm, like the rot of a corpse, lying exposed to the sun. The wind blew from the south, from the shadowed forest, with its passing, the evergreen boughs stirred, and rustling as if in anticipation for the coming conflict. Beneath her boots of softened, blackened leather, the ground was soft, the pale grass sparkling with the morning dew. Letting the song flow about her, Kyrie pulled a few droplets of dew to her hand, letting it cling to her pale skin. She brought her hand to her face, and watched the droplets condense into a small stream, and run from her fingertips. The last signs of purity on a world about to become corrupted by the Sith. The song whirled about her, carrying with it the words of sorrow and pain. Deaths. Many Deaths. Both good and evil. A second later, a small tremor stirred the ground beneath her feat. Letting her lips for the words, Kyrie began to sing softly, a song for the souls lost to The Force, and for those to be lost in the coming war. Sinking to her knees, she let the soft ground catch her, and she began to meditate, letting her mind form to battle. Over her raw memories, she began to form barricades, to defend from any Sith mental attacks. Her lightsaber rose from her belt, its long handle glinting in the pale sunlight, filtering through the forest canopy. It was a symbol of her purity, and of a Jedi's power. Over it, she wove righteous fire, to drive away any lingering darkness, to ensure its total allegiance to her within battle. Opening her emerald eyes, Kyrie leapt to her feat, taking her blade in-hand. She ignited the silver blade, reveling in the snap-hiss, and began to pass the blade about her in Vom Tag, beginning the Form of the Fyreborne. Each strike had been practiced a hundred times before, and cut the air in simple precision. Focusing upon the righteous fire within her mind, she extended its power to the lightsaber, as if she was pouring water upon the blade. She formed it around the silver blade, and continued her strikes, the pure, white flame passing about her, weaving a shield of flame. With a yell, she released the flame, concentrating it like an arrow, letting it fly off into the forest, where it would dissipate harmlessly. Kyrie sighed and began to move quietly away from the Jedi temple, keeping her Force Presence reduced. She was ready for battle. It was time to wipe the Sith from the planet.

Even in the depths of depravity, there is good within each mortal soul. It is up to you to decide whether it is pure enough to save from the fire. Each case is different... We do not slaughter in our crusade, simply because they are Sith, but because they are beyond saving, or the risk is too great. Is he worth it? With gleaming, emerald eyes, Kyrie looked over the Sith before her. They stood alone within his new chambers, isolated from the eyes of the temple, but for the sentinels that waited outside the doorway. Letting the song flow about her, her eyes sought out those of the wounded Kiffar, and a softness appeared behind the wall of righteous fire. At times... The only way to turn one from the dark, is to show them the horrors that lie in the path to come. To relate with the one you wish to save, is valuable beyond measure. Show them your life... A small smile flowed across Kyrie's face and she held out a hand to the Sith, Vos, beckoning him to take it. If their skin were to make contact, she could bond with him, if he was willing. She spoke, the fumbling words of basic. ”œI-I... Y-you should k-know m-my past. It-t is w-why I hunt t-them... So n-none m-may walk the path I w-was set upon b-by the S-sith, through t-their evils... I c-can show you...”

At times, the greatest of evils are only allowed to persist, through the force of good intentions. As such, the Jedi will always be ineffective in combating the evils of the Dark Side... If the Jedi had sacrificed the lives of a few of their own, to purge the galaxy of evil's taint, wars beyond count could have been avoided. Had an Exorcist had been present in the temple, when Skywalker began his journey to corruption, the Jedi purge would have never come to pass. We are ruthless in the charges of our orders. That is why the Jedi Order will never truly accept us into the hold. Forever are we to walk on the fringes, combating evil in the only way possible to extinguish it completely: Without mercy or compromise... Kyrie's emerald eyes flashed amongst the shadows, lit by internal fire, burning in solitude, just as her her mind spun, finding refuge within thoughts of a distant, dark past, filled with pain and righteous fury. She stood but a meter and a half from the Sith, but was forbade by her master to stamp out the evil before her, to halt the corruption of the Sith of the temple's halls. The shadows moved and swirled about her as she walked with the Sith, the spirits of long-passed Jedi whisking about her leather-bound heels, for she was assigned to guard him against further attacks by the righteous. Heresy should receive no compromise, yet there she was, protecting one made for the pyre. Kyrie stepped further into the shadows cast by the dimmed lights in the darkened hallway, as Jedi Master Illioni approached, yielding to his command as he greeted the Sith as though a hopeful in the Order. The master lacked perception and the gift of foresight, or was naïve beyond imagination. Was she the only one to see the danger in this Kiffar, other than Master Raikanda? Even her own master turned from wisdom, to follow the folly of the Jedi Code. Such idiocy would lead to the death of all. The song changed tempo as the Jedi departed, becoming a whisper, streaming from the shadows, carried through the Force, into the ears of her master, to the Sith; Vos, and Jedi Masters Raikanda, and Illioni. It was a cheerless warning, a prophecy of the evils to come. ”œThe master of deception now begins with his dissection of the Word... And with all of his craft and subtly the serpent twists the simple Code they've heard, While hanging in the balance is a world that has been placed at their command And all their hopes will die as both of them bow down to Satan's hand.”

The Dark Side takes many forms, it hides behind deception, follows in the steps of the generous, and sow seeds of doubt into the heart of the faithful. Deceit is one of its main weapons... Never trust the words of a Sith, for that is folly, do not trust those in which you have sensed the dark, for instinct is all too often right. The corruption of the Sith, is easy to sense in a sentient, for it scars both the mind and the body, in ways that never truly heal, and hard to keep concealed for long under scrutiny. The mind of a Sith is tainted, and can never be washed clean from the destruction wrought there by the Dark Side. No matter how much the rest of the Order flaunts those who have found redemption, like that accursed soul Qel-Droma... Upon his soul you can still see the lives of the Jedi he slew etched in corruption... As it is with all Sith...Nno matter how whitewashed their appearance... The deeper you dig, the more filth you will find. Kyrie's emerald eyes ran slowly over the man before her, sizing up the Kiffar before her, filled with a righteous flame. His smile was disarming, but far too often she had come into contact with the type before, upon the planet of rust. Charming on the surface, devious in the soul, as corrupted as any Sith. Upon her body, she still bore the scars from the abuses she had taken at the hands of the depraved Sith, men who appeared pleasant, but were as evil as the devil himself beneath the façade of kindness. A small smile tugged at the side of her pale lips as she watched the man's hands still upon the brush, her body itching for an opportunity to purify the man by righteous fire. ”œHello.”

The stirrings of The Force within the mind... They are ever powerful, and often right. As it binds the galaxy together, as if sown by the hands of the creators, the smallest disturbances within the song itself, can be felt by a Jedi close at hand. The dark side causes ripples, easy to sense within places of the light, like a large stone cast into a placid lake, its darkness contaminating the surrounding as if with the stench of decaying flesh. The darkness, cast within the light, is easy to sense. Through her black-bound gloves, Kyrie could feel her ship rumbling softly as it settled upon the steely combine decking of the Jedi Praxeum. Anxiety crawled about her mind as her nail-bitten fingers passed from the ship's consul, to her soft, black-leather belt, and to the lightsaber that hung there, fashioned as if to the handle of a cross-guarded vibroblade, and long enough to accommodate both of her half-gloved hands upon the pommel. Through the viewscreen, the temple's guarded halls were bereft of battle signs, and still carved in the beauty of the Jedi's old customs, the columns of the halls decorated in statues of Jedi the heroes of old, and the worn verses of ancient wisdom passed from masters long since accepted into the veil of The Force. With cautious steps, Kyrie followed her master to the ship's landing ramp, and disembarked, feeling the gentle change beneath her soft-leather boots, as she passed from the landing ramp, to the combine-decking of the Praxeum's docking platform. Her emerald eyes sparkled in the sunlight as she paused long enough for a gentle breeze to pass over her, driven from the sea, carrying the smells of the forest and mountains, pure and beautiful, though tinged with sorrow. She turned in the direction from whence the breeze had come, and saw darkened clouds gathering over the mountains, and below them stirred the birds of the forest, disturbed undoubtedly by the signs of a coming war, devastating in power. The signs of a coming conflict were visible in nature itself. ”œEt lux in tenebris lucet... Fiat voluntas tua...”

Force corruption is subtle, like the wiles of the Sith themselves. It starts as but a whisper... It has been said that the dark is like a poison... A stain upon the very soul. It soils every emotion with its silent corruption, and its whispers of doubt. The dark is generous, and it is patient.... It is the dark that seeds cruelty into justice, that drips contempt into compassion, which poisons love with grains of doubt, through which embitters the heart, deafening love's lightening call. The dark can be patient, because the slightest drop of rain will cause those seeds of poison to sprout. The rain will come, as they will to all, and the seeds will... Sprout... Simply because it is in the very nature of the soil in which every emotion grows. Just as the dark resides within the soil, it is in the clouds above, and it waits behind the star that gives them light. The dark's patience is infinite... Eventually, even stars burn out... It is our job to remove the corruption, even in the very ones we love and trust. In that bond, lies the key to unlocking the light... For the darkness finds its strength in loneliness, within the heart. In the heart lies its own undoing, for one candle cannot hold back the dark for long. Love is more than a candle... It can truly ignite the stars. Kyrie's emerald eyes glimmered with the reflected azure flames of hyperspace, a smile lighting her pale, freckled face, as she watched her master. The woman looked slightly ill, which might have been a reaction to the flowwalking, for the song changed each it touched in turn. Il-Andon's words whirled about in her mind, as her master plucked the warm handle of her lightsaber from her black-bound palm. The illness in her master's eyes increased with each passing second, until she returned the blade. Kyrie frowned slightly at Xae's reaction as the Jedi spoke. ”œIt's well crafted. As easily as you're able to listen to and feel the Force I know that you'll be a strong Knight one day. How did you come by the crystal?”

The most crucial part of a Jedi's blade is the focusing crystal”¦ Each is unique, and some bond with the creator. The Sith often use synthetic crystals, strong and evil, some of which are able to short out a Jedi's natural-made crystal. You must utilize the powers of The Force to make your crystal stronger”¦ To allow it to bond with you. To weave it to your will and your mind, will make your lightsaber a true extension of your soul. The crystal floated a several inches above the control panel, elevated by The Force. Through it, the song flowed, and amplified as Kyrie slowly sang the songs of war, observing the crystal slowly morph to her command over several hours time. She had found the silvered crystal nestled amongst the hyperdrive's focusing core, and according to the readouts, it had grown there over the period of the ship's existence, which was almost a century. It was odd, and through the scans Kyrie had performed on it, a she found no other crystal had ever been recorded. As the song flowed through it, the silvered crystal took the shape needed of a focusing crystal, and began to ring with the song of The Force. Around and through the crystal, a storm of red lighting seemed to be forming, dancing over its facets like an electrical current. It felt pure, as if it could purge the very darkness from a room. With a smile, Kyrie let the crystal fall into her black-bound palm, and upon contact, she felt the caress of the light. It was truly tuned to her presence. Letting the song flow around her, she reached out with the light and passed it through the crystal's matrix, letting it channel the power of exorcism throughout the room. Pure white fire leapt from the crystal, growing into an inferno, filling the cabin with its purifying flame. As it passed around and through her, Kyrie felt the giddy presence of the unadulterated Force. She let the fire follow her as she walked slowly to the docking bay, where several of the pirate's weapons lay scattered upon the polished plating. Taking up one of the vibroswords, the disassembled the handle, and passed the light though it, burning away the residual darkness. Taking with her the disassembled handle, she walked slowly to the storage cabinets, and retrieved an extra hyperdrive focusing crystal and a blaster's emmiter matrix. She purified both with the song, and then returned to the cockpit. Taking a seat, Kyrie began to meditate, the words of the song flowing easily from her lips, long-learned in the times of war. Elevating the vibrosword's crossed handle, she placed within the electronic pieces that were required, according to the schematics within her mind. She infused each piece with the song's power, letting them flow and meld together in perfectly pure harmony. With The Force, Kyrie placed the focusing lens into position, and slowly placed the red-lightning infused silver crystal into place. With one last movement she took the power-cell from the charge and slapped in into place. Releasing the handle with the force, she let it fall into her hand. It was weighty, and perfectly balanced. Nervous, Kyrie touched the activation plate, and a bright, silvered blade shot calmly from the cross-guarded handle. The blade was bright silver, and like its crystal, was dancing with red lighting. It was simply beautiful, the weapon of the Jedi, a fine blade with which to purify the galaxy. The Sith would shrink back before the power of the light. Standing, she began to flow the blade about her in Vom Tag, striking from above like the falcon of Tri'vara, going through the movements long-practiced. Within a few moments, the blade began to move at an ever-increasing pace, Kyrie growing accustomed to the different weight. Moving her feet in war's dance to the song, in a dizzying pattern, she moved through the set. She ended in a flip, landing in the cockpit's doorway. A beeping from the ship's computer drew her attention, and she took a seat, placing her lightsaber upon the consul. The hyperdrive was ready. Keying in the navigational information for Gala, she activated the engines. As the stars swirled about her, forming together into a blue veil, a familier voice shouted out behind her ”œKyrie, You're Alive!”

Kyrie watched the swirls of hyperspace as they moved about the ship, her mind occupied by reflections on the song, and its power. Her emerald eyes reflected the shimmering azure ripples, lighting them with a blue fire. She carefully removed her black-bound gloves and placed them upon the ship's consul, glancing down at the patterns of scars tracing across the pale flesh, ending in her nail-bitten fingertips. Each of the scars had a memory of Sith torture, or combat in the arenas of the planet of rust, under the watchful eye of her Hutt masters. Each scar she had collected on her journey, each leading to the next, and finally ending with the Jedi. She stood, stretching her weary limbs, stepping out of the cockpit, and into the cramped hallway behind it. Kyrie stood there for a moment and adjusted her dark-green cloak, making sure it did not constrict her movement. Finally deciding it wasn't necessary onboard her ship, Kyrie removed it and placed it beside the pilot's seat, folded carefully. Walking carefully down the hallway, Kyrie enjoyed the feeling of cool metal plating against her bare feet, as she made her way to Xae-Lin's bedside. Her master was still unconscious, and barely seemed to be breathing. Opening her lips, Kyrie began to sing softly, placing her hands upon Xae's forehead and chest, letting the song's power awaken within her. The words were simple, learned long ago upon the arena's blood-soaked sands, a chant of mercy, sung before the finishing blow. About her, the song took form within The Force, flowing as though a river, through Kyrie's body, following her words and through her hands, into Xae's motionless body. It was basic healing, to keep the cells alive and nourished, to keep the electrical field of the heart from fading, to keep the unconscious brain alive. The gentle rhythm of the song continued as hours dragged on, a steady beat, in time with the heart beneath Kyrie's hand. As the fourth hour dawned, another tempo added itself to the rhythm, that of a warning sensor. The addition of the blaring alert awoke Kyrie from her Force trance, and sent her sprinting for the cockpit. The sensor showed an anomaly in hyperspace, fast approaching. Concentrating on her actions, she forced herself to be not afflicted by fear's icy grip. With a pull of a lever, Kyrie ripped the Sanctis Cogitatione out of hyperspace. A small stream of curses in broken basic passed from Kyrie's pale lips as she observed the source of the anomaly. There were two ships sitting before her, two heavily armed shuttles, floating in the void of space, right behind a hyperspace mine. Pirates. Kyrie's stomach went cold, as if someone had shot a bullet of freezing liquid into her gut. The Sanctis Cogiatione had no armaments, and was now a sitting duck, open for boarding and destruction. She had dealt with such beings before, having been raised in Hutt controlled Nar Shadda. They would not treat her kindly, and such beings were well known for their depravity. She would have little choice but to fight them when they boarded. By now, they had scanned her craft and found just her life-signature, and a feeble one coming from her master. At least they would be fooled into thinking her easy prey. A voice, harsh and menacing came forth from the comlink before her. ”œUnidentified shuttlecraft... You are about to host the Bloodfang pirates. Power down to be boarded, and perhaps prepare yourself for your guests.”

It is often said that The Force works through everything, even the darkness we know as the Dark Side. This is inherently true, although The Exorcists work almost exclusively within the veil of the Light Side. We were made to destroy the darkness... Even within our own ranks. It is only through interaction, through decision and choice, through confrontation and struggle, physical and mental, that the Force can grow within you. Make sure it is the light that grows, never the dark... Keep your heart and mind pure, and The Force will move through you easily, bending you to its will. Your exercise here is done... Your first mission is before you. A vision within The Force, a vision of the future. Use it to defeat the darkness, both inside yourself, and within the greater galaxy... The world swam in darkness before dead eyes. A temple burned, set ablaze by the darkened fires of the Sith. Innocent blood ran in rivers down polished steps, crying out for justice. Bodies lay scattered, without the wrappings of a funeral's pyre, finding only agony upon the marbled stone. Consolation of the dead, only in a hero's death. Banners of crimson and ebony, symbols of darkness. A perverted crusade upon the light, marked only by death, and a spreading darkness. A world swallowed by pain. A temple was burning. Kyrie gasped in a breath of air, dragging in the cool evening air into her oxygen-starved lungs. The night sky swirled before her eyes, almost as if she were about to enter hyperspace, distorted by The Force. She no longer felt pain within her body, for the lesson taught by the specters of the past had now ended, taking with it the injuries sustained. It had grown late in the evening, and the gardens of Tython's temple were silent, interrupted only by the gentle child-snores of her master's niece. The damp earth felt soft against her back, cradling her body where it had lain for many hours, experiencing the powers of exorcism taught by the masters of old. The vision thoroughly disturbed her. Like her experiences here, and within the forests, it had felt as though she had lived through it, but it also felt far distant, as though she had seen it through a mirror darkly. As if it had been ever-changing. In motion, as if it was a thread in a grand tapestry, and she was only seeing a small portion of what could be. It was the future. Struggling to her feet, Kyrie brushed the clinging dirt from her blackened tunic and stretched her stiff joints. She sighed softly and glanced over to her master, who was still lost in sleep, unaware of the world about her. Kneeling beside her master, Kyrie wrote a small note on a sheet of crumpled flimsy, describing what was to happen, and where to find her. Standing once more, she brushed a braid of jet-black hair from her emerald eyes and started towards the Jedi library. Research might help her weary brain decipher the vision, and what it held for her and the fate of the Jedi. The mossy cobblestone felt soft beneath her black-leather boots as she walked quickly towards the library, a bit troubled by the lack of Jedi activity about her. The mossy cobbles gave way to polished stone steps as she arrived at the entrance to the library, guarded by none other than the watchful spirits of past souls. Kyrie slipped carefully into one of the research booths and selected several tomes on Jedi temples, and another on the ancient Sith. The dusty tomes soon arrived, carried by a rusted droid, and she took them in hand, examining them carefully. She found the origin of the banners she had seen within the vision quite quickly, for the same symbols adorned the tome's cover. They were the symbols of the Krath, a group of Sith sorcerers birthed from the Empress Teta system, under Aleema Keto. According to the entries in the Jedi databank, the Krath were still active in the galaxy, but little more on the order's current activities could be found. It was troubling indeed, to know that Sith magicians would be somehow involved in an attack on a Jedi Temple. Worry beginning to edge into her mind, Kyrie quickly leafed through the pictures on the current Jedi Temples, stopping on the painted picture of the Jedi Praxeum on Gala. It was the last link in the vision. The Sith were going to be attacking the Praxeum on Gala, in force. Jumping to her feet, she nearly knocked the ancient tomes from the table before her. She had to warn the Jedi. Finding a small map on the table, Kyrie located the personal chambers of the Council members inside the temple, and began to sprint towards the first one. Pouring the power of the song into her body, she increased her speed incredibly, blowing past several congregated droids, and a startled guard. She arrived swiftly at her destination, the personal chambers of Darex Trevelian, and paused outside the door. She could not wait for morning. The threat was imminent. With an application of the song upon the door's lock, she twisted the handle and burst into the room, her face pale and freckled, The Force whirling about her in determination. She placed a datapad upon the bedrest detailing her findings and ran quickly from the room. The datapad would read the following: ”œMaster Darex... I've had a vision through The Force of a Sith assault upon the Jedi Praxeum on Gala. I must leave immediately. I will send you a transmission if the vision foretells the truth... Worry yourself not. The Exorcists will handle the problem.”

The Great Sith War, was the greatest revelation of power this galaxy has ever seen. I saw it all in my youth... The forces of the former Jedi, Exar Kun, and the maniacal hand of Mandalore the Indomitable had united, with one goal. To bring the galaxy to its knees, into their evil grasp. Joined with them, under their perverted holy banners, marched the Sith magicians, known to us as The Krath. All of them united... A host most terrible... Their forces swept across the galaxy, from Onderin and the Empress Teta system, to the very doorstep of civilization: Coruscant. As it is said... The Jedi who fall are the most dangerous of all... Jade fire and cold steel. Strength and honor. Within the veil of The Force, power moved, binding all life together within its palm. Within each Jedi, lay a seed of true power, hidden deep within the reaches of the mind, and to those purified by fire, it would spring to life, taking hold, guiding towards the will of The Force. Through the battlemind, determination rose as the force moved, as if a river swelled by a winter's storm, and began to wash away doubt and fear. Within this river, Kyrie moved to the rhythm of death, the Lay of Serenity, each movement practiced and enhanced through the force. The blades in her hands whirled, sketching a pattern into the smoke-filled air, deflecting and intercepting the crimson shots of the advancing Sith and their armored allies. Michelle and Grace moved in synch behind her, their azure blades streaking through the air, guided by the force, wiping away all traces of the Sith advance. Through the battlemind, barely discernable, Kyrie could feel their bodies move like hers, their straining muscles, the beating of their hearts. Another presence also touched hers, that of Xae, her master. The brief brush of her master's presence inspired her, the dance increasing in pace. The shattered cobblestones shifted beneath her softened, black-leather boots, each step in the dance changing the terrain. The sharpness of the shattered stone bit into her flesh as the Sith's scarlet fire crashed into the ground before her, in a blaze of boiling rock and flame. A small trickle of blood ran down her brow, tracing the scars of Sith torture that made Kyrie the girl she had become. A warrior. A Jedi. She smiled at the metallic taste within her mouth as the blood reached her lips, flesh was easily torn, but a determination fueled by The Force would never die. Through the beat of the song of death, she could feel the advancing enemy, the terrible horde of evil, and through the battlemind, she touched her master, a whisper of reassurance, like a passing wind. Kyrie's eyes grew bright with power as the first assembly of Sit forces broke upon the wall, like a wave upon a distant shore. She and the padawans advanced as one to meet them upon the rubble of the collapsed wall. A loose braid of blackened hair fell into her vision, but it mattered not. Sight was nothing compared to the power of The Force. In opposition, two squads of heavy Sith troopers advanced up the pile of rubble, and at front, two flamethrowing droids, in armor a darkmetal, scuttled towards them like arachnids from a pale dream. Grasping hold of the song's power, with guidance from the rhythm, Kyrie grasped hold of the devastated stoneworks about her, ripping sections of the shattered wall from the ground. With a motion of her body, she sent the fragmented stone flying through the rising wall of flame, where they found their marks. The droids imploded in a cloud a flame that washed over the Sith troopers, sending their ranks into chaos. Flipping backwards, Kyrie and the padawans fell back under the flames, dropping behind the fallen rubble. Against her black-bound hand, the stone felt hot with power, as if a darkness was stirring beneath it. Kyrie's emerald eyes widened as the darkness surged, the stones around them leaping with an electric current. Several Sith Masters had arrived. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the Sith Masters shattered stone and earth with electric Sith fire. Standing as one, Kyrie, Michelle, and Grace advanced on the Sith Masters, their minds set with cold determination, guided and strengthened by The Force. A Counter-attack was not what the Sith expected, but they recovered quickly. Kyrie's body bent backwards unbidden, commanded by the Force. Half a dozen darts flew past, where she had been seconds before. Michelle, at the bidding of the force, grasped them with the song's power, and sent them back towards their dark masters. With a strangled yell, one of the Sith fell backwards, blood-laced foam bubbling from the human's mouth, his body spasming in the throes of death. Brandishing her twin blades, one of steel, the other of flame, Kyrie advanced upon the two Sith Masters that remained, the padawans falling back, to cover the flank. With a twist of her hand, the duelist intercepted another string of Sith lightning with her lightsaber, the song's tempo increasing in power as she leeched the Sith's energy through his connection with burning flame, the lighting seeming to blink in and out, dwindling as the Light Side grew around her. They were fighting on consecrated ground, where no Sith should ever set foot. Sidestepping a desperate slash from a Sith's blade, she lunged in instinct, driving her vibroblade through the Sith's chest. She ripped it upwards, splitting through the man's ribcage, spilling his bowels upon the shattered cobblestone. The blade faltered at the man's Sith Metal mask, so she ripped it free, taking with in half the man's face. The Sith dropped as a stone cast into a river, his body turning to ash upon the ground as the dark power consumed his soul. Kyrie rounded on the last Sith Master, leaping over his axe, diving past his shoulder to catch another Sith as he advanced upon the rubble. The Sith should have felt her coming, but the battle had clouded his mind with hate and slowed his connection to The Force with adrenaline's frenzy. She cut the legs from beneath him with Gilling's lightsaber, slashing through sinew and bone, like it was simple cloth. As the Sith toppled, she decapitated him with the bloodied vibroblade, his face frozen in a silent scream. Blood flecked her face, blending into the pale skin in a pattern similar to freckles. Commanded by the song, she leapt to the side, the Sith Master's axe shattering the stone where she had stood. The man turned, snarling in anger and advanced. She leapt at him once again, deactivating Gilling's blade, ducking low, sliding beneath him on the cobblestones. As she did, she drove one of her stilettos up into his groin, causing the Sith to scream in rage and stumble. As his grip loosened upon the vibroaxe, she commanded it to her hand with The Force as she flipped to her feet. The axe was heavy, and its handle felt course as it slapped into her palm, but using it was easy for a learned duelist. She drove a kick into the back of the Sith's knee, dropping him to one knee as he shrieked in pain, and brought the axe crashing down upon his helm. The axe bit easily through the Sith's helmet, shattering his skull, its ragged edges driving through his head. She released the axe as it met resistance within his spine and the Sith dropped heavily to the earth, his brains spilt and exposed to the cold night air. Then, through the battlemind, she felt a surge of relief, and a beckoning. She turned and witnessed a shuttle landing, its landing ramp down, and at the top stood Il-Andon, the young man's white hair stirring in the exhaust. Kyrie sprinted towards the shuttle, followed by the padawans and her master. Her eyes narrowed, as she saw them all passing her by, as if she was only walking. Her limbs felt suddenly sluggish, and a pain coursed down her shoulder, white-hot and intense. She stumbled and fell against the landing strut, placing a pale, nail-bitten hand against her shoulder. The hand came away crimson with blood, and the world swam before her eyes. She collapsed into the hold, the metal unyielding against her fall, the world beginning to grow dark as a pool of blood spilled from beneath her on the decking. Kyrie's voice was a whisper as she spoke and tight with pain, before blackness consumed her. ”œ...I've been hit...”

As the Mandalorian threat increased, our own Battleform intensified. Their aggression was brutal, and no matter the evidence put before them”¦ Witness testimonies, holovids, the like, the Council decreed that no Jedi would participate in the war. We had little choice but to turn our backs on the order and join with Onasi, Revan and Malak to destroy that imminent threat to the Republic. Our Republic. The Jedi's Republic. We turned the war around. We became heroes of the Republic. Smoke and flame. Whispers of destruction. The song of war. Within Kyrie's mind, the song began to filter throughout, overtaking the instinct to flee before the face of innumerable odds, and driving cold determination into her very core. Behind her, the padawans marched in formation, their lightsabers of green and blue, like standards, under which the forces of light would rally. Within the song, Kyrie began to feel them all, intimately connected through the strains of war and a likened mind. The Force was granting them a rare gift: A unified battlemind. They would flow as one unit, their wills joined together by a strength not their own. Kyrie ran swiftly across the courtyard, the padawans running behind, their cowls of forest green blending into the courtyard's architecture. In order to prevail, they had to be stealthy. Before them lay the breech in the wall, the ancient stone cracked and shattered under the pressures of Sith power. Two Jedi lay wounded and dying within, struck down by the invaders. Around them was the amassed power of the Sith. Four Sith, crimson blades in hand stood over the bodies, the advance scouts for the army. A daunting task, but they never saw or sensed her coming. With a leap of the force, Kyrie landed in the midst of the Sith Lords, her vibroblade slashing out to open one of them, a wookiee by appearance, from throat to groin, in a splash of thick blood. The padawans followed in suit, their fear dissolved into the will of The Force. As Kyrie rounded on the leader, a Weequay, the padawans ambushed the other two Sith, moving as one unit. Michelle and Grace dropped their opponent with little trouble, the Sith becoming overwhelmed by two separate fighters moving in absolute synchrony, and was cut down and decapitated. Gilling took more time dispatching his Sith, the Sith being less surprised by the sudden onslaught of Jedi. The Sith was good, but no match for a Jedi in Serenity, bound to The Force like a vine to an ancient wall. Gilling parried the man's furious blows easily, the Sith's rage blinding his vision, before placing his glowing emerald blade through the man's chest, burning a hole through his heart. Kyrie smiled at her team's victories, but didn't allow the pride to overcome her concentration. The Sith before her was very strong indeed, and his use of the force was wicked and warped. She bent under his blade as he slashed at her throat, the song flying about her, guiding her moves, strengthening her long-trained instincts. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, giving her the slightest of warnings before a stream of lightning flew from the Sith's ungloved hands. Twisting under the storm of dark side energy, Kyrie brought her vibroblade up, underneath the Sith's outstretched hands. The blade met little resistance as it bore through the Sith's jaw, and bisected his skull. Kyrie flipped her blade out of the Sith as he melted into ash and brought it about on the song's tempo. Her blade wavered for a moment in the air, shimmering, as if it had been caught in a forcefield. Blood began to dribble down the blade, before turning into a river of crimson as a Sith Assassin materialized before her, the vibroblade jutting from his throat. The cloaked figure collapsed in a pile of ash as the Sith's confined power disintegrated flesh and bone, burning it to ashes. Kyrie's emerald eyes flashed in surprise, and the padawans took a cautious step backwards, bringing their blades up before them, the battlemind swirling with shock and disbelief. The song swirling about her, Kyrie brought it to bear upon the breach, leveling the power of The Force upon the mysteries of the Sith. A blast of pure white fire leapt from her hands, blasting through the rubble, burning out the power of darkness. Five more Sith materialized out of the flame, their own surprise matching that of Kyrie and her team. Kyrie was the first to recover, the song guiding her hand to, where she took a stiletto from her darkened belt. It leapt from her black-bound hand, sped and guided by the force, to embed itself in the breathing-regulator of the Gand Sith in the centre of the group. Ammonia-rich gas exploded out in a toxic cloud, burning and scalding the eyes and mouths of the surprised Sith. The padawans reacted instantly through the battlemind, bringing their concentration upon the gas, driving it into the bodies of the Sith. All five dropped like stones caste by a giant, overcome by the force-sped gasses, and within a moment, they were all but ash upon the wind. The group exhaled a collective sigh of relief. Michelle and Grace smiled furiously, holding onto one another, their excitement filling the battlemind as they brushed blood from one another's clothing. Gilling leaned against the rubble, a bit overwhelmed by the battle. Kyrie herself knelt down and whispered to herself, grasping the rosary about her neck, placing her vibrosword before her, it's blade biting into the rubble. The beads felt cold against her pale, nail bitten fingers. ”œAd maiorem Dei gloriam ad quod damnum”¦”

Stand with me worthy Jedi! Our power is needed at times like this”¦ We must help the, no, our Republic in its time of need. Without us, the Republic, the one beacon of civilization in this galaxy of darkness, will fall like a flower against the onslaught of autumn's heat. We have little choice but to disobey the command of the council. Will you stand with the WatchCircles? Will you stand with Revan? Will you stand with order and justice? Kyrie's emerald eyes sparkled in the diminishing firelight as she watched her master respond to Il-Andon. She placed a black-bound hand over her wound, thankful that the pain had been reduced, thanks to her master's adept use of the force to soothe the screaming nerves. A small trickle of crimson dripped from her mouth, flowing onto the pale canvass of her skin. Her master's voice sent a feeling of joy through her battle-weary mind. It felt like a flame leaping to light in a darkened room. ”œKyrie's Master, Xae-Lin Ardel. Would someone mind cluing me in as to what is going on around here? Other than that we're locked in a battle with Sith crawling all over the temple all of a sudden.”

The connection that is forged between Master and Apprentice, in times of great struggle, is an awesome thing to behold. Together, the Master and the Apprentice, create a great light, powerful enough to drive the darkness from a world”¦The job of the master is to keep the darkness from invading the heart and mind of those most susceptible to the whisperings of the enemy”¦ When no such bond exists”¦ How quickly do the young fall”¦ Kyrie's emerald eyes flashed in the darkness as her master came to her aid, bringing with her hope and strength. The song hung about them like a ghostly web, encompassing all life, yielding to their will. A small smile flashed over her features, the pain beginning to ebb as she concentrated on the song and its beautiful power. Kyrie's black-bound hands played over the battle-worn leather that adorned the hilt of her longsword as she began to move in step to the song, long-practiced steps turning into a flurry of movement in the eyes of the Sith. Back-to-back she stood with her master, her sword weaving a pattern of glimmering, blackened steel before the advancing technobeasts and troopers, yielding her full control to the rhythm of the song. Her master's lightsaber swept away all worry of the streaming energy pouring forth from the advancing enemies, allowing her movements to concentrate fully upon the destruction of the Sith forces. Kyrie heard a metallic snarl, and her body moved in the rhythm, turning the technobeast's lunging attack into a bitter end for the Sith abomination. The Sith trooper's shots diminished, their minds clouded by a wish to not hit their ally. She let the metallic beast fly towards her, like so many of the primal beasts she had encountered in the duelist's arena, before dropping to her knees and flattening herself backwards against the charred and bloodied cobblestones. The beast missed her entirely, but Kyrie's blade did not miss its mark. The vibrosword cut the beast from its mandible to its hind legs, with the sound of grinding metal, revealing its metallic insides, a moment before the beast landed in a heap upon the unyielding cobblestones. With a small smile, Kyrie leapt back to her feet, using the trooper's indecision to press her advantage. She let the song guide her, her movements landing on every beat. She began to sing again, and a strange thing began to form. As she danced a blaster bolt struck her in the chest, and the song stuck in her throat, like pressure behind a breaking pipe, and then came forth all in a rush. When it did fly forth from her mouth, it sounded like a scream, but was something fully different. The song wove its power into her voice, binding it with its strength, amplifying and carrying it. With the scream, came a wave of pure fire, and it smashed into the unfortunate troopers in its wake, shattering their armor and searing flesh. The stone before her shattered, sending a wave of razor-sharp fragments of force imbued stone into the rest of the troops, sending their bodies flying in a hail of blood, fire, and crushed armor towards the eastern wall. Kyrie dropped to her knees and gasped in pain, blood forming in crimson rivulets down her blackened tunic, pouring forth from the tear in her flesh. She glanced up, expecting to see troopers preparing to blast her into the afterlife, but she witnessed only pure flame. The bodies of the remaining Sith troopers, as well as a few of their reinforcements lay within the inferno, against the partially shattered wall. The flame cleansed the darkness from the room, driving it back into the oblivion. She closed her eyes and sighed, letting the power flow away from her with the blood from her body. She had witnessed the Sith fall to a lust for power and she wanted nothing of it. Her longsword clattered to the charred cobblestones. Wincing in pain, she placed a black-bound hand against her chest and covered the wound, pressing against the torn flesh, closing off the pumping blood vessels. The bolt had gone clean through, tearing a gaping hole through her chest and out her back. Luckily, it hadn't torn through any vital blood vessels of organs. It wouldn't do to lose blood in a combat situation. With her other hand, she pulled the Sith's lightsaber from the whirling ashes with a gentle application of the power left in her mind and sighed as it slapped into her open palm. It was warm from the fires that had raged a moment ago through the room, and felt as though it had been cleansed of the dark corruption. She removed her hand from the wound and placed the lightsaber's emitter against the hole in her chest. With a scream of anticipation, she triggered the lightsaber's power, and the blade ignited, the crimson blade chewing through the gaping wound, searing flesh, cauterizing it. The white-hot energy within her burned like hellfire, sending her voice into shattered, haunting, screams. She disabled the blade and let the lightsaber fall to the ground, and she out a spastic stream of coughing intermingled with cursing. She slowly struggled to her feat and reclaimed her longsword, keeping a hand over the smoking wound. Kyrie's emerald eyes fell upon a walking pair of blackened boots as they approached, and followed the legs up to the body. There, entering the room was a group of three Jedi, the leader wearing dark green, emblazoned with the symbols of the Corellian academy, his white hair kept shaggy. Behind him walked a Miraluka, raven-haired, wearing cloaks of dark purple, and a belt of gold inlaid with crimson stones. Over her eyes, she wore a black band of cloth, tied behind her head. Beside her, walked another Jedi, a tall Anzati, dressed in dark armor with a crimson cowl about his massive shoulders. The leader spoke his voice tinged with humor and mirth. Kyrie recognized it immediately. ”œI am Il-Andon Rorek”¦ I see you two have cleared out this room of the Sith attackers”¦ Ahh”¦ You I recognize from the battle of the garden tomb. Kyrie was it? This is my wife Deirdre, and my brother in arms, Hildrek”¦ Battles still rage throughout the temple grounds...”

To be a defender of justice, the Exorcist must be apart from the rest of our order. The Council will never support us, based solely on their own flawed principals. In my day, they chose to sacrifice the whole galaxy, simply because they could not see past their pride... Their own apathy nearly destroyed us all. When the Exorcists joined Revan, the Mandalorians had already taken several of the Rim systems, and had committed their genocide against the Cathar. Even in light of such a threat, the council would not be swayed... Blood ran like a crimson river down Kyrie's hand, in which the serrated stiletto was grasped in her black-bound hand. A smile played softly across her pale face, as she watched the other Sith's eyes through his mask, shake and quiver with a nameless fear. The Sith troopers behind him took a step backwards, raising their blaster-rifles towards Kyrie, over the swirling ashes of their Sith commander. With a small sigh, she let herself fall back into the song, letting its verse guide her movements as a flurry of red blaster-bolts raced towards her. Kyrie dove forward, guiding her body into a swift, often practiced roll, below the crimson storm, leaping behind one of the half-burned benches. She paused there for but a moment, letting the troopers fan out in a tactical flank, in two separate groups of four. Like a bird of prey, she flew from over the bench, spinning herself in midair, bolts of energy flowing about herself, the song guiding her body away from harm. She landed before the Sith warrior, her blackened vibroblade glimmering in the fire's light, stained with blood. She focused upon his indecision and fear, letting the power of the song flow into her features. In his fear-stricken mind, she became a white-cloaked figure, blue fire streaming from her eyes, the perfect Jedi, intent on his destruction. Without a word, he turned on his heel and ran for but a moment, his cloak streaming behind him, before his will overcame her illusion, and he turned about. Kyrie shook her head slowly, and tossed the stiletto as he came about for attack, letting the song encompass the blade. The serrated stiletto embedded in his left eye, driving its tip deep within his brain. Without a sound, he dropped to his knees, and like his ally before him, his anger and hatred disintegrated his body to ashes. Just as in the dueling rings, Kyrie had little time to relish in victory, the Sith troopers recovering from their shock and unleashing another flurry of scarlet death. Letting the song flow around herself, she let her body bend backwards, letting most of the bolts fly overhead. Kyrie gritted her teeth as pain blossomed like a desert rose upon her side, burning agony flowing over her entire side as one blasterbolt landed on its mark. She emptied her pain and anger into the song, letting it fall away from her body, like rain upon the white cliffs of the Alderaan highlands. Her remaining stilettos leapt from her belt, called by the song, and flew through the air, whipping through the burning room, before embedding themselves in the throats of two of the Sith troopers who had fired upon her. Kyrie let her body flow into another roll, landing her behind one of the ornamental statues. She winced, feeling something tear within her side. Blood leaked slowly from the partially cauterized wound, but without a full physical, she could not tell how deep the wound truly was. With a voice, partially bound by the pain that she was trying to bleed off into the song, she called out to her master. ”œMaster, I could use some assistance...”

What was struck at Malachor... It blew out the light that had guided us. It left us in darkness eternal. We saved the galaxy that day... If we had not stood with Revan, the threat would have grown too much for us to bear alone. But the question still burns within my troubled mind, even in death. At what cost? Were the millions of lives saved through that destruction worth our immortal souls? Kyrie's emerald eyes glittered in the light cast from the fires of the Jedi temple. Underneath the gleaming sea of green, churned the currents of the Force, the haunting song hanging about like the spirits of the dead. A small smile drifted across her pale face as she witnessed the Sith approach, shielding her mind from her memories of torture and abuse at the hands of darkness, a weakness they, in their power, would be sure to exploit. She had been waiting six years for this opportunity. She let out a sigh as they made their charge, letting her revenge flow out of her mind, so it would not be clouded for the battle to come. With one fluid movement, long practiced, she withdrew her vibrosword and took a step backwards, in a reverse of her master, to draw the Sith from Xae's back. For but a moment, her mind flashed back to the dueling rings of Nar Shadda, and her smile grew larger as she took another step back, letting her vibrosword's blackened tip draw a line before herself upon the blood-stained cobblestones, in a shower of sparks. These Sith would not advance beyond her guard. The two Sith that followed at their leader's heel broke from their attack upon her master and rushed at her, happy to fight against a common padawan, their crimson blades sending the shadows deeper upon the ground. With hands black-bound, Kyrie danced forward to the line she had drawn, setting her will upon her own mind, building a wall to defend herself, and to protect her memories from their invasion, the smile upon her pale face suddenly terrifying. Neither Sith gave heed to the warning. The vibrosword's battle-warn handle vibrated under Kyrie's hand as from her pale lips spilled forth the lingering song of battle. The larger of the two Sith, armed with two devilish lightsabers started forward with a flurry, while the smaller stunted to the right, for a flanking maneuver. As the large Sith's crimson blade's crashed down, they met no resistance, Kyrie flowing around his attack, and placing a kick into his armored gut. The powers of the song came with the blow, staggering the masked Sith, sending him back a few steps. While he was recovering, Kyrie concentrated on the smaller Sith, whom she recognized to be male, despite the mask. The Sith warrior had anticipated her being occupied by his ally for longer and was ill-prepared to take her head-on. As his foot came to the line, her blackened blade created an impenetrable web of steel before his eyes, sending the Sith scurrying backwards to his ally's side. Kyrie heard a bellow of rage and she felt the song's urge to jump, and she followed, leaping over a focused blast of force-enweaved sonic, blasted from the larger Sith. She was astonished at the power of the blast, her cowl tearing free from her body under its power. Kyrie shook her head at the two Sith as they charged once more, blinded by their hate. She could feel the power of it roiling from them like a wave from the sea. She landed before them, bending backwards to send a kick into the larger Sith's kneecap, snapping it straight, before the power behind her blow shattered the bone and cartilage, sending fragments flying forth from the back of his leg. His bellow of rage turned into a shriek of pain and he toppled over. She crossed blades with the smaller Sith and sent him sprawling backwards with a shove, before turning her attention to the falling, screaming man. In a bound, she was behind him her right hand spinning her vibrosword above her head, her left pulling free a stiletto. There would be no mercy. She brought the vibrosword down into the chink in his armor between his neck and shoulder, and ripped off his mask. Blood bubbled from his mouth as his scream intensified. With a flip of her left hand, she brought the stiletto to the Sith's neck and leaned forward, her voice halting from the song and falling into a sad whisper. Ecce Dei manu celeri... With a swift tug of her hands, she brought free her vibrosword from his chest, cutting through the bone and dragged the ragged stiletto across the Sith's throat. The man's scream faltered into a gurgle as his lifeblood flew from the slit in his throat, as his own heart pumped away his blood. Kyrie took a step backwards and let the man crumple to the cobblestones, his blood joining with that already upon the ground. There was a surge through the Force as the Sith's power, burning hate no longer guided, charred the man to ash. Kyrie smiled and glanced to the other Sith who took a step backwards, her voice flowing over the ashes, stirring them across the ground. De pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris...

We were the youngest and the brightest of the order. So fiery and eager for battle were we, that we never saw our own doom... So concentrated upon destroying the threat to our galaxy... That our view of the future was clouded in the coming darkness, the light dimmed by the smoke from our own burning hearts. We never saw in that future, so clouded by our own hate, the tragedy of Malachor V until it was beyond our own control. Those who died there still lie in the hate that entombed them... Kyrie smiled as she heard a whisper of footsteps behind her, as silent as the steps of a ranat, yet enough to throw Kyrie into another tactic, one that had worked all too often in the arena, when the pit bosses decided that visibility made fighting all too easy. She let her muscles loosen, falling into the depth of the battle's song, letting its verse guide her movements. Several of the jet-black braids fell unnoticed before her closed eyes, letting all her concentration flow from her vision and into her other senses. Her pale skin felt cool as the whirling wind swept away the perspiration, and her ears filled with the sounds of each footstep landing almost silently upon the garden's soft earth. Kyrie's grip tightened upon the long-bladed vibrosword's battle-worn handle as she let herself fall to the earth, giving in to her master's strike, flowing with the song, its instruction, and her own highly formed instincts. As Kyrie fell, she rolled slightly, letting herself fall softly upon the soft dirt, and flicked the blade upwards. As she did so, she pulled the song's power about the blade, like a cloak about a fleeing robber, to conceal and baffle. Her smile widened and she opened her eyes, one of her eyebrows rising slightly at the blade of humming energy hovering mere inches from her throat. The tip of her own vibroblade lay hidden within the folds of neck of the Jedi's tunic, deactivated so it did not slit the skin and lay bare the lifeblood. They were at an impasse, but knowing the Jedi's resilience, a bisection of the throat would hardly stop one. She had been beaten, but not badly, and the Jedi did not yet seem to notice the cold steel's bite. With a flick of her wrist, Kyrie removed the tip of her blade from her master's tunic and took the extended hand. As Kyrie rose easily to her feet, her master spoke. "You fight well Kyrie, tell me, where did you pick up that particular trick?" She sheathed her blade in a fluid movement and bowed, placing a hand upon the rosary about her neck. She mulled over the question for a few moments before rising and taking the hand of her master. With the other, she removed the rosary, heavy and cold, radiating a calming power. Kyrie spoke slowly, grasping at the words of basic, as she did when she was of a nervous or apprehensive spirit. ”œWithin the forests of the world lie areas... Of strong power, resonating with the chaos of battles long forgo-”

To alter the force's natural balance... To bend it to your will... Is of the Dark Side. To let it flow around you, like water around a stone, to let it use you for its will, is of the light. If you are to use the force, Kyrie, let it flow through you like a channel, never bend it to your will like a smith does to metal, to turn it into a weapon... True the force can have uses in battle... But its true form does not flow through the chaos of battle. It is balance. Kyrie's emerald eyes flashed in the shadows of the courtyard, her mouth forming the words of the song that flowed like a brook from her mind. The force was a great river, through which she was able to access through concentration and song. Her pale hand grasped the handle of the vibroblade as she pivoted her feet to intercept the first of her master's strikes, the two blades locking for an instant of sparking glory. Kyrie skipped backwards, letting her legs go limp, and folding backwards letting the Jedi's blade pass over her, turning her head to let the burning blade pass with a few inches to spare. Placing a bound hand behind her body on the floor, she turned her collapse into a flip, twisting her body in the air, avoiding the next strike from her master out of pure instinct. Kyrie's soft, blackened boots landed easily upon the dusty ring, her momentum carrying her almost a meter, skidding upon the dirt. A smile lit up her pale face, as her master paused for a few seconds. She closed her eyes and began to focus upon the power growing within her mind, the call of the song. She would need everything to compare with a Jedi. A calming essence flowed over her body, cleansing it of the residual anger, and she felt its true power pass over her like a cloud over a mountainside. The songs increased its beat, fading from her lips, hanging like a ghost within the force, clear for any force user to hear in its haunting power. She opened her eyes, letting the power flow through her body as it had a hundred times before, raw and unrefined, but peaceful and calming. So often in the ring had she used this to end a duel in but seconds, letting her instincts guide her blade faster than any eye could see, to slay and dissect. Now she would use it to survive a duel with her own master. A calm smile formed on her lips and with one bound hand; she brushed the jet-black braids from her eyes, as her master charged. Tactics had always been a strong power for Kyrie in the ring, and she knew better than to stand toe-to-toe with any Jedi in a fight. She fell back under her master's assault, letting her body twist and contort out of the path of the blade of burning energy, ever giving ground, her eyes taking in the surroundings, to find an advantage. With a push of her strength, she flew backwards, gathering all her mental power, and let it flow into the ground beneath her, forming with the partials of earth and rock, as she had in the forest, while battling the technobeasts of old. It was hard to concentrate on such small things, yet she knew that was all the power she had to bend. As she flew through the air, she pointed her hand at her master, palm up, and lifted, both mentally and through the force, focusing the raw power of the song into one movement. As she did, a few words flew out through the force. ...Alea iacta est... The dust exploded up around her master, and rushed inwards like a bitter storm, concentrating on Xae's eyes, nose, and mouth, like waves of fine ash, to smother and obscure. Kyrie landed upon the ground a few meters away, and winced in pain. A small trickle of crimson blood flowed from her left eye and nose, for her body was unused to channeling the powers of the force elseware than her physical self. She let the pain flow from her body, channeling it back into the song. She flicked her blade downwards into another defensive stance, and waited for her master's charge.