Kyrie Eleison

In battle, the Exorcist must not give into the promises of power that the darkness gives. Remember that your strength comes from the light... From justice and the pursuit of peace. Our style of fighting lies the closest to the Dark Side than the rest of our brethren. Many of us use Vapaad and its aggressive variants, simply because we have no thought of disarming or allowing our opponents surrender or sanctuary. We know not mercy, for we know it will not be given in return. Any Sith that are allowed to escape us, will cause the deaths of millions. That is why so many of us fall... Remember your path and oath. Kyrie walked slowly upon the garden path, following her master, deep in thought, feeling the moist garden soil underneath her boots. Her black-bound, pale hand rested casually upon the vibrosword that hung from her side, partially hidden by her robes. As she walked, her mind continued to prepare for the coming battle, analyzing the smaller Jedi for patterns and strengths, whilst Kyrie's nail-bitten fingertips played along the length of the leather-bound handle. She turned her head and smiled at the young girl, Ineira, as she took a seat upon a metallic bench as they entered a clearing. Kyrie's emerald eyes moved swiftly as she surveyed the beautiful garden clearing, which would soon become a battlefield. She knelt to the ground and placed her pale hand against the warm, moist soil, running her fingers through the dirt, feeling the life beneath, the compactness of the soil and its depth, as she had done side-by-side with Gavi hundreds of times in the arena. Beneath the soil, spirits of long-dead Jedi stirred, awakened by the battle to come. She glanced up at her master as the auburn-haired Jedi removed her outer green robes and smiled as the Jedi spoke. "I assume that vibrosword of yours is cortosis woven?" Kyrie's mind was too involved in the coming battle to form words, so she simply nodded. The music within her mind began to build. "Good, that will make this somewhat more of a balanced fight than I thought." Kyrie stood slowly, finished with her rituals, and shrugged off her blackened robe. As the cloth fell softly to the garden's soil, it left behind revelation. The apprentice's arms were bare, showing the scars of Sith torture upon the pale skin, and the slim form of lithe muscles working beneath the scarred alabaster surface. Beneath the robe, Kyrie was wearing but a simple blackened tunic and leggings, with an ebon belt, to which her vibrosword's sheath was bound, and her three smaller knives hung. Her leggings were tucked into her blackened boots, which shone in the morning light, made from polished, soft, studded leather. She bowed in reverence. With a pale hand, Kyrie brushed a fallen braid from her eyes, before drawing her longsword in one smooth, swift motion. Within her mind, the music of the dance of battle 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 master. 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. She smiled at her master as the Jedi fell into a similar, yet varied stance, holding the jade blade at an angle downwards. She would have to avoid the green blade at all costs, knowing that the blade could dissect a body easily. It was not much different from a vibroblade in such respects, and she had avoided them for years. She sighed and settled herself, her muscles ready for the battle to come, her heart flowing with adrenaline, her mind ready to join the dance. She heard her master's voice as the Jedi spoke "Kyrie, I am ready when you are. Let us begin." The music intertwined with her mind, and Kyrie's voice joined it, coming forth soft and haunting, the song joining with her body. Her fingers played across the handle as she stepped forward swiftly, the cheers of the crowd simulated by her mind, as the pattern of the duelist took hold. With a dive to her right, Kyrie brought her blade swiftly for the older Jedi's chest, compensating for the Knight's smaller stature, but not at full strength, lest the Jedi miss the block and be dissected. At the same moment as the strike, she rotated her body backwards, so that she would land a meter or so away from the Jedi, one hand to her belt. The first blow was never as good as those that followed it, and Kyrie deliberately made her blow seem to be sloppy, a deception that worked all too well with the cocky fighters of the ring. If the blow to the chest missed, when Kyrie landed she would release one of her dull stiletto knives, to fly straight and true at the Jedi's head where it might bounce painfully off. In the off chance the Jedi jumped over her blow, the knife would land in her chest. The song rose in chorus and the dance was fully joined. ((1))

Yes. You heard me right. Cultivate the rage you feel against me. Rage is a powerful tool in a fight, another weapon in a duelist's arsenal, but one you should use sparingly. That was not sparingly. That was terrible. It will give you great strength, but will blind your judgment and make your moves unpolished. You need to be refined and elegant in Vom Tag, you need to be decisive and strong. There... That was a better strike. That... Was... A poor block, and you paid for it in blood, as you will in the ring. Now would be a good time to harness the strength from your rage... Rage is one hell of an anaesthetic. Kyrie watched the young girl, Ineira, as she spoke, Kyrie's emerald eyes sparkling with a kind fire, proud of the girl's work. Then there was a pause in the young girl's features, like she had been exposed to a memory long buried, and from the pain in her eyes, was not one Kyrie should have awakened. With a pale hand, Kyrie nervously brushed back one of her jet-black braids, as she listened to the girl's response. "You can't have my buir's permisson," Kyrie winced visibly at the girl's blunt response, saddened by the girl's response. She had not meant any harm in talking to her, but somehow she had unearthed a painful area in the girl's mind. She stuttered slightly as she tried to formulate an appropriate response to the girl's response, but basic fled from her mind. Before she could regain her startled mind, the Jedi Xae-Lin spoke softly, taking the young girl's hand in comfort. "She's my niece. Her mother, 'buir', in Mando'a has been likely dead since the moment the Ineira was old enough to begin to eat solid food. My mother was not known for tolerating rivals well. For that matter neither did my brother." Kyrie nodded slowly moving her hand from nervously playing with her hair, to the rosary about her neck, feeling its cold chill in her hand. It would seem that most Jedi started along their path due to traumatic events of the past. From her untrained eye, she could see the concern in her master's face, as she watched her niece. It was the way of relatives to desire peace and harmony for those related to them. To see one's young pursuing the way of the warrior must be hard to witness. Kyrie's own father had often prevented her from entering into fights, preferring to teach her the peaceful way of a mechanic. Now he was dead, slaughtered by the Sith. Kyrie sighed softly. So was the way of the peaceful to, die at the merciless hand of twisted evil. "You may keep the weapon, but it must stay here with me, understand?" Kyrie smiled as the child nodded her head in happy acknowledgement. Sometimes encouraging joy, even in the spirit of a warrior, was the right choice. "And I suppose if you missed your morning lessons you wouldn't get us into too much trouble, but you're going back with your masters when we're through because as much as you can learn from us, there's just as much if not more that you can learn from them." Kyrie barely concealed a small laugh at the child's look of utter disbelief. She full-heartedly agreed with the young girl's sentiments. Observing a battle was preferable by far to studying ancient scrolls, although one needed both to be well-rounded. Kyrie shook her head as the girl ran away, for she knew she would have to study at some point. Being a warrior was easy. Being a Jedi was not. The Jedi Knight stood and turned back to her, her voice slightly sad. "I'm afraid her teachers and the other younglings aren't quite accustomed to her bluntness. I'm worried about her fitting in here; all I want for her is to be happy and safe." Kyrie smiled at the older Jedi's concern for her niece. It was good to see that the Jedi Order was not completely ignorant of emotional bonds. Within her mind, she began to weigh the words she was about to speak, measuring them carefully. In the back of her consciousness, a storm began to brew, similar to the one that had swept the temple the night before. Within the wind, the ways of battle swirled and formed in preparation of the coming duel. Specters of the past. Old instincts. Old enemies. Shadows and dust. Kyrie began to speak slowly, keeping the storm from overcoming her mind. ”œI am sure the Jedi are accustomed to diversity, of species, and mindsets, like Ineira's. Each Jedi is different, for to have a uniform order would be unfitting. She will be happy and safe here, master, for while she is at your side she is loved.”

La Poste Di Falcone! Vom Tag, Kyrie! Bloody Hell girl... You need work. Keep your guard up. Strike from above, in such a fashion you can dismember an opponent. Hold the sword forty-five degrees above your head in that angle. Good. Move your feet girl. There. That's what happens if you don't move. Stop your crying now... Such a cut won't bleed for long with a bacta patch! Toughen up girl... Hah! There you go... Cultivate that rage! Kyrie's darkened memories were interrupted by the clumsy patter of feet, and she turned her head during another technique to see the girl from earlier trying to copy her movements, but obviously getting lost. Kyrie's pale face lit with a warm smile and she slowed her movements and began to sing slower, transitioning to the very basic swordplay techniques, she had learned long ago. She let her own movements become fluid and direct, allowing them to be seen and copied by the Anooba-wielding girl. The song was soft and haunting, matching the movements perfectly. She transferred the words to basic, so that they could be understood and learned. ”œStrike swift and true soldier of faith, let your strengths hold true to your Lord. Allow your weaknesses to be covered by the truest faith...”

The Sith are a powerful force, and in my day they were a plague. The Dark Side is a disease... That spreads so easily amongst the Jedi ranks... Even the ranks of the Exorcists are affected by such turnings, simply because we come into contact with the darkness so often... It attracts us. Like a wampa to a fresh kill. Those who use the dark side are also bound to serve it... And will bear the scars of its use for a lifetime. To understand this is to understand the underlying philosophy of our enemies. They are slaves to their power, corrupted by its evil. If you remove the power and the stains, all that is left is the powerless husk of a former friend, soulless... ”œI would like that very much. Now as it's late I think that it's best that we follow suit with Ineira and get some sleep as well." Kyrie bowed her head in acceptance of the Jedi and crossed her legs upon the couch. She placed her pale hands upon her lap and then began to accept the weariness of the day. It was a ritual she had started when she had first became a slave. If she reviewed the day's pain and let it pass from her mind, sleep's deep embrace came easily. She had never slept in a bed, even as a child, choosing to sleep where she sat. It was easier to react from a sitting position, than from lying down. She placed her vibroblade upon her lap and began to speak slowly, from instinct, as the Jedi filed into their rooms. ”œI'll guard the door... Get some rest...”

The role of an apprentice takes great patience, for the way of the Jedi is an easy path to stray from. When you look out on the galaxy and see the darkness consuming it... Remember that. The masters of the Jedi Order are renowned for their apathy and length of their deliberation. They will seem content in watching the galaxy burn... Do not be hasty in reaction. We in our haste did not heed the requests of the Jedi Council... We saved the galaxy from certain destruction... But lost our way in the darkness... We... Ended up becoming what we had sworn to fight. Remember patience, and it will save you... Kyrie smiled at the auburn-haired Jedi as they continued walking through the garden, enjoying a cool breeze as it flowed through the fluttering trees. Her eyes rose to the darkened sky and to the swirling clouds above and she began to recognize the patterns of a coming storm. With pale hands, she drew her blackened cloak closer around her body. Xae's words pierced through the strengthening wind. "We should probably continue this discussion inside and arrange for you to have a room!”

The Jedi order claims to fight for peace, a task it has never truly accomplished. The Exorcists were created at a time when peace was most threatened in the galaxy, when our brethren could not hold back the wave of darkness. That is when we arose from the ranks and began to fight for something more realistic than peace. Justice. Justice is necessary for peace to thrive... For from justice springs civilization. Law and order divides the wilds from the rest of the galaxy. Justice is the bedrock on which civilization is built, and only civilization can restore peace to our galaxy. An unjust civilization is built as if on sand, its foundation as corrupt as the leaders in power. Such will not long survive a storm... That is the job of the Exorcist, to shore up the foundation of civilization the only way possible... By enforcing justice. Kyrie's hands cradled her blade, her nail-bitten fingers feeling the cold caress of the blackened steel and the warm leather of the worn handle at the same time. The feelings were comforting and reassuring, just as they had been in the dueling ring. Her emerald eyes strayed from the Jedi Aira, to the auburn-haired Jedi, Xae-Lin. There was something slightly off about her, her eyes seemingly focused elsewhere, but only for an instant. Kyrie thought nothing about the Jedi's thoughts, believing them simply to be a side-effect of using the force. As she watched, Xae spoke softly and warmly to her in a congratulatory tone. "Then I welcome you to the Order officially again!" A warm smile crossed over Kyrie's face with the Jedi's kind words, and at the Jedi's motion, rose to her feet, sheathing the blade inside the folds of her black tunic with one smooth, practiced motion. With one pale hand, she brushed the small particles of the warm, clinging earth from her leggings as she stepped towards the Jedi, keeping her other hand out in greeting. The Jedi took the hand welcomingly, but not in the same way as Kyrie imagined. The woman's grip was firm yet gentle, and within it, she could feel a power she had not before encountered. Kyrie's emerald eyes found the Jedi's warm blue eyes in the darkness, and Kyrie raised an eyebrow, trying to communicate her awkwardness with the prolonged handshake. Within her mind, instinct began to run through her options of defense and attack, running from one countermove to the other, trying to locate a move that would capitalize on her strengths. Xae's words broke through her confused thoughts. "One doesn't really need the Force to see that you have suffered greatly." Kyrie's mind began to comprehend the Jedi's words, finding within them compassion and pity, something she was not used to seeing in the words of others. All her life she had been spoken down to, or abused in one way or the other. To see the renowned kindness of the Jedi firsthand was shocking indeed. Kyrie's smile froze on her face, her mind unsure how to relay a physical response to the Jedi's words. Before it got a chance to respond, the Jedi forged on. "However, it does confirm for me that the pain you have suffered, you still carry with you and it runs deeply within your being. In order to help heal the galaxy, you must first find the peace and healing within yourself. We are here to help you do that." Kyrie's mind and mouth fumbled for words in response to the Jedi's kindness and perception. She was unaware that she was so transparent in her thoughts and emotions, as to be read without the Force. As she was about to respond to the words, the Rosary around her neck pulsed with a gentle chill, an instant before a strange feeling of warmness sprung forth from the hand intertwined with Xae's. The warmth started in her fingertips and began to creep back through the rest of her hand, driving both the chills of the cold air, as wells as the scars and pain before it. The voice of the keeper filtered into her mind The powers of the force do not just concentrate on battle. Bacta can heal the wounds and scars, a choice you never made, choosing instead to rely on the conditioning of your body, but The Force... The Force... The concentration of the powers of light, within the hands of a true Jedi, can heal more than the body. It can heal the soul... The warm feelings meshed with her flesh, and Kyrie could feel the realignment of flesh and bone, the renewing of tissues, but that was nothing compared to the revelation within her very mind. It was her first feeling of the true powers of the force, nothing like the ghostly powers she had felt in the presence of the holocron's keeper, and it amazed her. Her anger faded slightly from her mind, cleansed, and diminished as the scars on her arm. With the scars, so went her pain, both physical and emotional, not forever gone, but finally under control. She gasped in a breath of the cold evening air, smelling the garden fragrances, and looked down at their two hands. Many of the scars had been erased, leaving her skin much clearer, a pale canvass, only marked here and there by stark lines of sharp white. They were the physical manifestations of her deepest and most terrible scars, caused in her youth by the power of the Sith. Scars of the Dark Side were not so easily cleansed as those from a dueling arena or from abuse at the hands of the Hutts. The memories of her torture and abuse at the hands of the Sith were still raw within her mind, but the revelation of the healing power of the force gave her hope, and let her turn her mind from their vengeance-laden control. Her breaths came in deep and cleansing as the Jedi continued to speak. "Kyrie, I'm in no way saying to forget your past and the lessons that it's taught you. I ask that you open yourself to Aira's teachings so that you can free yourself from the pain. You are the one that can control it, I can sense that you are disciplined and that will help you in your healing and in your Jedi training." The Jedi unwound her hand from Kyrie's grasp and stepped back. Kyrie's eyes focused on the Jedi, her mind still overwhelmed by the event, unable to find words. ”œThe Mandalorian's have a saying, 'cin vhetin', and it translates as 'white snow'. The concept is that once a person becomes a Mando'ad their past does not matter anymore, though it is no less a part of them. It just ceases to matter. Do you understand where I'm going with this?" The Jedi's words stirred thought within Kyrie's own mind. Was she willing to let her scarred past fade from her mind? Yes, but her life experience would still mold what she was to become. An Exorcist. An agent of Justice. Kyrie's pale hand found the rosary around her neck and began to fumble with it, just as her voice began to stumble over words. ”œYour Mando'ad have wise words... I am willing to let my past fade from my mind as I become a Jedi... But it will still form what I am to become, for with each scar, I have learned a valuable lesson. Long have those lessons guided my path. In pectore, historia vitae magistra...”

A normal Jedi, like the one standing before you, will never draw their lightsaber, but in last resort. That is the only difference between a Jedi and an Exorcist. Both rely on guidance from the force. Both follow its commands. Jedi seek peace. Exorcists seek the elimination of the dark side. We are what we are because the galaxy wishes it. Because the force guides us all. Peacekeepers and Warriors. Jedi and Exorcists. Kyrie's emerald eyes glanced from one of the respected Jedi to the other, her emotions calming as she concentrated on her emotions, trying desperately to copy what she knew of the Jedi, and to impress her newfound friends. She found these Jedi interesting indeed, and she hoped she could make them into great friends. She placed her bound hands at her sides, and smiled softly as the Jedi, Aira began to speak. "True, peace and justice are linked very closely. That is the reason I fought for the Republic as a soldier. We were responsible for taking a hard line against the Sith, against the Empire, and against anyone else who perverted justice for their own gain." Kyrie's interest was piqued slightly by the thought of this Jedi fighting fullheartedly for the forces of the Republic, but something within her mind stubbornly refused to believe that the woman had been any type of great warrior. She hated the idea that a Jedi so set in the ideals of peace could have ever been anything great. Within her mind, she was horrified at the violent thoughts as they arrived, sweeping through her barriers. Hopefully they couldn't sense such errant thoughts. With a sigh, she swept them aside and trusted in the Jedi's superior wisdom. "But there is more to being a Jedi than pursuing justice, or else we would all be soldiers. A Jedi learns to trust in the Force to guide her first and foremost. Sometimes, yes, that means innocents die when we pursue a Sith. But sometimes it means that we let the Sith go in order to save many. We always put the needs of the many before anything; it requires wisdom and training to understand the situations that arise and make the best decision. But as long as you listen to the Force, then your actions will be clear. I don't think the Jedi in this situation with the hospital didn't see the situation clearly; after all, they were two Jedi Masters. Rather, I think they were listening to the will of the Force, and in that instance, it meant letting the Sith go and saving as many lives as possible." Kyrie bowed her head and accepted the Jedi's wisdom. Although they would still disagree on what the Jedi should pursue, and it would most likely come up further, Jedi had wisdom beyond even her comprehension. Such a mindset of putting the needs of the many before the few were uncommon in the dueling rings of Nar Shadda. Her background of torture and abuse at the hands of the Sith and the Hutts made it difficult to hang back in a dangerous situation. She placed a hand against one of the hanging vines that draped across a section of the path and moved it to the side. "Indeed, redemption is something we should always strive for. When we look at our enemies as obstacles to overcome and not people who could still have a bright future, we are lost." She glanced down at the slime that the vine had left on her bindings and watched slowly as a small creature dug its way out of the gobbets of slime and crawled towards a bit of her exposed skin. With a flick of a finger, she sent it spiraling off into a wall of budding roses. She had given it a chance not to bite her, and for its redemption, but it had followed its nature. Just like the Sith. Nothing more than insects controlled by their baser instincts. As such... They would be crushed. She lifted her emerald eyes from the crusting slime back up to the Jedi. "Well, Kyrie, I think you have a lot of potential. I would be honored if you would allow me to train you in the ways of the Jedi." Joy exploded within her mind as the Jedi announced that she would enjoy and be honored training her in the ways of a Jedi. She immediately raised her hand to her chest and traced a symbol with her hand on her robes and her smile broadened. She bowed her head and withdrew her sword, placing the pommel on one hand and let the cold steel of the blade lay on the other. ”œIt would be an honor to serve you and train with you. Consider my life in your hands... Master. Tu autem Domine miserere nobis.”

Kyrie's emerald eyes flashed in the dim light as the auburn-haired Jedi stepped into her path. Her nail-bitten hands trembled slightly, her mind still seized in the throes of emotion and under the sway of dark memories. She looked down at the Jedi, Xae-Lin, as the woman began to speak, her voice seeming slightly weary, as if about to tell a story often told to disobedient children. Listen Kyrie would, keeping in mind that these Jedi had great wisdom, although their order was seized by inactivity and a lack of the pursuit of justice. "I came from the Great Canyon Tribe of Nightsisters. Not quite Sith, but sadistic enough in their own right. My mother was their leader. My older brother their champion. I faced her in my trials as he left, attempting to escape with his infant daughter. With the help of my fellow Jedi we ended any claim that we had to power there. Auros and the rest of the tribe lived because they are planet-bound and the Jedi do not kill needlessly for that is the way of the Sith. Redemption is an option for some, like myself, though I never really fit in with my tribe because I could see that what they were doing was wrong. Auros and I met before coming here on Concord Dawn where he was trying to corrupt his daughter once more who had been left with some friends there. He killed Tsikala and I disabled him, leaving him little more than a torso and at the tender mercies of the planet's native population. He was neutralized as a threat.”

The Jedi, an order of lasting peace, marred all too often by war. These will be your allies and lasting friends. Rely on them, and they will not let you down. The way of a Jedi, let alone an Exorcist, is a hard path, often marked by failure. Those who carry on to the end will be the peacekeepers of the galaxy, and those you can count as the truest of friends. Become strong enough to not tarry from the path of the light, so that you can become a beacon of hope in a galaxy long devoid of it. Always keep your thoughts to the force, so your pride will not cause you to stumble. May the force always be with you... Kyrie rose slowly to her feet, brushing back a fallen braid with her pale hand. Her emerald eyes moved slowly from one Jedi to the next as they began to walk through the garden. A smile strayed across her face as the damp garden air gave her reawakened life, the coolness refreshing her strained and tired muscles. The air was almost aglow with life. She calmly rested a hand on the hilt of her vibrosword, a touch of the handle bringing back waves of memory. 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. "You want to join in order to destroy the Sith?" asked the Jedi known as Aira, interrupting the contemplation within Kyrie's mind. "True, fighting Sith is part of our job, but most of the time it's about protecting innocents from both the Sith and other threats. Unfortunately, sometimes that means letting Sith escape in order to save innocents. That was what just recently happened on Corellia--I saw it on the holonet." One astringent memory rose from the carefully organized threads of memory, darker than all the rest. It had led to her slavery at the hands of the Hutts, and to her eventual rise in the dueling circles of the planet of rust. The death of her older brother at the hands of the Sith. He had been her protector, her best friend. She had been only fourteen at the time, and so the memory was buried deep under the anguish of her past. Emotion flooded through her unprepared mind, like a river crashing over a dam carefully constructed with time. The Sith had entered their house in the middle of the night, slaying the other occupants for the bloodlust and joy of the slaughter. He had rushed to save her from certain death, sacrificing his own life to save hers. A picture of his body rose to memory, long white hair stained crimson with blood, decapitated and lifeless, lying in an ever spreading pool of blood. His death had not saved her from the agony and abuse that followed. After a week in the Sith's company, they had dumped her into the hands of the Hutts, through which avarice and lust ran as steadily as blood. Fortunately, they had found use enough for her in the dueling circles, the scars left by the Sith left her unsatisfactory for their pleasure. The scars on her body were many, each earned by injustice, more from the abuses of the Sith. A single tear ran a line down her pale face. Was her wish to join the Jedi Order out of the need for revenge? Would she let a Sith go free for the greater good for civilians? No. Those were questions she had yet to consider carefully. Kyrie paused for a moment to consider the conflicting emotions and thoughts within her mind. Revenge? No... Not retribution. She wanted to fight the Sith to save others from the abuses she had suffered, to make sure no other loved ones were lost to evil's murderous hands. Tears still in her eyes, she began to speak, emotion seeping through the cracks in her basic. ”œI have come to join the Jedi, for the reason of defending the innocent, to be there to prevent injustice... To destroy what has ruined far too many lives... To be there when no one else seems to care. To be what I wished could have saved me once... As for letting a Sith go... It is unacceptable. Letting one go free leaves further opportunity for them to shed innocent blood. The darkness must be purged from the galaxy... To let one go... Reeks of cowardice." Her emerald eyes flashed with righteous indignation, and sparks of disbelief, but not anger. Her voice lowered into barely a whisper. "Show me to the Jedi that did as such so I may him a lesson... For through his cowardice he has destroyed the lives of innocents. Any blood shed by those Sith he let free... Is all upon his head...”

"Welcome to the Jedi Order!”

The setting sun highlighted the cryptic beauty of the temple before her, accenting the jagged angles of the rock mixing and flowing with the smoothness of the duracrete, the fading beams playing over the disguised surface, barely reflecting off the traspasteel windows. It was beautiful. A smile formed across Kyrie's pale lips, and joy blossomed in her heart, the emotion growing steadily, growing strong, like a rose of Alderaan. So different was this planet from the rotting and rusting planet from which she had been born. The smile faded from her face as her steps quickened, but the emotion within her did not. With each steady step, booted feet leaving nigh a trace, she drew closer to where she would gain the ability to destroy the Sith. Those who brought evil to the galaxy through misdeeds and chaos. Such things were unforgivable, and against her own code. Veritas, bonitas, pulchritudo, sanctitas... Such had been taught her by her own actions, through battle, and experience. To each their creed. Nail-bitten fingers played slowly over the vibrosword's comfortable handle, studying the wear from battle and the slight stiffness of the leather, born from the blood of the unrighteous. The jet-black Rosary about her neck felt heavy, its weight still unfamiliar, the burden given to every Exorcist. The black bindings that covered her arms and legs also concealed the scars of hard-won battles, and bitter defeats. She slowed her pace as the approached the walls of the Jedi's establishment, and Kyrie's emerald eyes swept across the smoothed stone, trying to identify handholds or cracks, but to no avail. A sigh escaped her lips, and she placed a pale hand against the stone, feeling the cold dampness of the mountain's dew engrained into the rock. As she began to walk the length of the wall, her tracing hand began to feel how truly ancient the formations of cold stone were. There were similar presences within the stone to the ones she had encountered in the forest clearing, ancient specters of the past, long forgotten, weary from the ages that had passed since their deaths. They had been drawn from their mortal bodies by death, but had not been able to join in the harmony of the force, instead clinging to a hope of life once more. Kyrie's pale hand paused as it located a door in the imposing wall, and a smile passed across her face. She concentrated on her righteousness and placed her palm upon the worn stone. With a gentle push it gave way, revealing a path, lit only by fungal formations, its floor covered in fractured stone. An ancient pathway not often walked. Her blackened boots made almost no sound as she moved carfully along the path, pouring good intentions into her mind, hoping that no Jedi around her would mistake her for a Sith. Spirits gazed at her from the darkness, but did not interfere with her journey. The winding path emptied into a wall of entangling vines, through which she passed carefully. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dim lighting, which revealed to her a garden of insurmountable beauty. The light sparkled in her emerald eyes as she surveyed the garden's grand assortment of native and non-native plants. She stepped onto the damp, earthy path, and began to walk upon it slowly, looking for any sign of life. As she turned a corner in the path, around a grand barab-fruit tree, she came face-to-face with a cloaked figure, whom she towered above. She immediately dropped to one knee before the woman, and glanced up at the figure. All she could see was long auburn hair and the sparkle of kind eyes in the dim light. A smile formed on Kyrie's face, and she lowered her head in reverence, and spoke softly. ”œMaster Jedi... I have come to join your ranks and clense this galaxy of the Sith's evil presence.”

Kyrie's emerald eyes shifted from the holocron upon the ancient pedestal, to her own trembling, nail-bitten fingers. The power she had felt, when in battle alongside the ancient Jedi, had been stunning. Thrilling. A small sigh escaped her pale lips, letting the pressure from her lungs, feeling the small trickles of sweat running down her back like gentle, cooling streams. With wavering fingers, she brushed several loose strands of hair from her eyes, and shook her head, the black braids whipping about her face. Once more. Once again, she began the dance of battle, whipping her vibroblade about her robes in complex series of blocks and parries, long learned and memorized. The vibroblade's blackened grip felt comfortable within her grasp, like an extension of her soul and body. Hours dragged on, only interrupted by casual breaks in the dance for liquid refreshment and transitions between series. It was now far into the night, and a mist lay upon the earth, whisping about Kyrie's blackened boots, leaving cooling droplets upon her skin. Her body was racked by exhaustion, having spent the full day trying to impress the Holocron, and her body felt drained of all energy. She stepped back to sheath her blade, but her boot caught on something concealed by the blanket of white vapor, sending her crashing to the dark, damp earth for what seemed like the thousandth time. Her lips formed a curse, but the breath caught in her throat. She struggled quickly to her feat. The surroundings had changed and once more daylight streamed through the interwoven branches, mingling with smoke of battle. Bodies lay scattered about, lightly armored Jedi, their robes mingling with the metallic structures of their foes. Hulking beasts seemed to be the only things still standing, several of them now heading her direction, their footsteps causing the ground to tremble beneath her boots. A coughing voice made her spin about, her vibroblade prepared to strike. It was the voice from the holocron, and before her lay the handsome man from before, mortally wounded. ”œWatch out, for I am behind you, girl. Before us lies... The glorious battle and the bodies of our allies and enemies. Only we remain. Let us destroy these beasts of evil, before they can claim what is not theirs to take. Protect the artifact with your life. The Jedi depend on you, beautiful stranger...”

We were made from necessity. As the Sith grew in power, we had to find a way to combat them. Our enemies came to know what we created as The Order of the Exorcist, an order to not only fight the darkening worlds, but to cleanse or eliminate them... In order to join us, you must be strong enough to hold our power... Kyrie's mind was overcome by the voice, sad and tired, as it told of the creation of the order. As instantly as it had come upon her, the voice vanished, leaving its words sealed into her mind, like a hand had written them upon a wall. She breathed in a cold breath through pale lips, the evening air tasting of fog and decay. It was the taste and smell of the forest. She smiled and glanced around the clearing, across the ancient skeletons and technobeasts, scattered about like a child's playthings. She reached into her pack and withdrew a pair of blackened half-gloves, which she had once used for dueling, and slipped them over her pale hands, drawing them tight, until they exposed her nail-bitten fingers. The voice needed to be shown her strength, and so she was going to give it quite the demonstration. Her emerald eyes fluttered shut and her hands fell to her cloaked sides, flowing through the blackened cloak until they reached the familiar hilt of her battle-word vibrosword. The evening air had done its work upon the hilt, giving her fingertips a chilling kiss as they wrapped around it. The air seemed to crackle and snap as she pulled the blade from its sheath and began a slow demonstration of technique. With increasing speed, her movements began to flow and meld into one another. It was the dance of battle, and one Kyrie knew all too well. Her jet-black hair whipped about her face and head as her body whirled, feat dancing from loose stone to loose stone, skipping over sun-bleached skeletons and strewn, jagged metal. Sweat began to run in cooling streams down her body as the hours wore on, muscles beginning to wear, breathes coming more rapid. Exhaustion was taking its toll. Finally, the dance came to its end and the blade slipped into its welcoming sheath of blackened leather. She bowed towards the pedestal, her shoulders shaking from exhaustion, the dark tunic sticking to her body from the drenching sweat that consumed her. A show of strength and quality. With faltering steps, Kyrie approached the stone pedestal and its faintly glowing artifact. As her boot touched the first step, a murmuring feeling of complete darkness stole into the far reaches of her open mind, causing her to halt. Her emerald eyes surveyed the ancient clearing with great apprehension. At the edge of the clearing, the shadows began to unravel, forming into a small army of ghostly warriors. They held the banner of the ancient republic, and in each of their hands, they held painted shields, identical to the ones lying about, broken and shattered, the ancient battleground. Before them stood a mountain of a man, even in ghostly form, strikingly handsome and holding a green lightsaber overhead like a torch. Another murmur struck her mind, she turned about, witnessing an army of the ancient metallic beasts that stood scattered, broken, and moss covered about the battlefield of old. From behind her the voice cried out in righteous anger, ”œCaedite eos!”

A world of rust is where you grew, and where you thrived. Now you seek others of your mindset on a miserable world of trees. You fight for justice, and here, on this dark earth, you will die”¦ The gentle morning breeze swept itself across Kyrie's face, bathing her in its chill, driving away the darkness from her unconscious mind, and awakening her spirit once more. Her emerald eyes fluttered open, and she groggily pushed herself into a sitting position. She was lying in darkened soil, which now covered her robes, and above her still hung her enemy from the night before. She stood unsteadily to her feat and looked over the organic and mechanical being, observing the rotting flesh and intertwined metallic superstructure. It had looked terrible during the half-light of dusk, but now it simply looked like a seriously screwed up design job. All the same, Kyrie smiled to herself, for justice had been achieved. She began the laborious task of dusting the clinging granules of dirt from her formally nice garments, but within a few moments, gave up. She glanced around the clearing, her emerald gaze trying to penetrate the dense fog which surrounded her and her kill like an impenetrable blanket. She shook her head and turned back to the Technobeast, and examined it closer for any bits of salvageable material. She scrambled up the tattered trunk of the great tree, letting her body work through the pain and stiffness, and sat down upon one of the beast's massive shoulders. Within a few moments, she discovered nothing but partially corroded sensors, rusted metal, and incompletely decomposed flesh. She sighed and moved carefully down the tree once more. She was lost, with no way of finding direction or allies. She placed her hand against the withered trunk, her nail-bitten fingers playing over the knobby bark, feeling for a sign. She circled the great trunk before her fingers found what they were feeling for, a slimy substance. Microbial moss only grew on the north face of trees such as this. Kyrie brought her hand away from the tree and observed the slime carefully, noting its blue-tinged expulsions, and the slight tingling in her palm. Poison. Quickly, she strode across the clearing to where her discarded pack now lay. She smiled to herself and washed the substance away with a jet of water from her pack's water distribution system, making very sure to wash it away in its entirety from her pale hand. She flicked the water from her fingertips and withdrew a medium-sized vial from the pack, which had at one time contained several thousand credits worth of giggledust, and placed it in the palm of her hand. She ran quickly back to the shredded trunk and began to gather the seeping, blue goo. In an hour, she had collected a full vial of the highly toxic substance, having to visit several dozen of the surrounding trees to gain enough of the bubbling, cerulean poison. Kyrie rose to her feet and capped the vial, before placing it into her blackened backpack. The air around her was glowing with sunlight, the beams glittering on moisture-laden spider-webs. A few swarms of small insects whirled overhead, in a mesmerizing dance of natural instinct. She walked slowly across the darkened earth, following her way northward, taking in the beauty of the hidden world. Her jade eyes examined a gleaming object in the distance, partially obscured by the ancient trees. From its shine, it was metallic in nature, which peaked her interest. Not wishing to repeat her earlier mistake of rushing head-on into a situation and almost paying with her life, Kyrie decided to approach it with extreme caution. She knelt upon the dark soil and withdrew her binoculars, focusing their electronic eyes upon the shining object. As it came into focus, her heart skipped a beat, for it was another metallic beast, but only for a moment. As she examined the hulking beast closer, she could see the working of time upon it. Roots of nearby trees enveloped its shining legs and its armor looked pitted and scarred from battles long since passed. She placed her binoculars back in their pouch and stood once more to her feat, dusting the clinging earth from her knees. Still utilizing caution, she approached the ancient monolith, and thus entered a very strange place. Her heart began to race as she felt an emanating power, faint, but still very noticeable. It was stranger still for the source of the power seemed neither light nor dark in nature, but a mixture of both. Neutral. Her emerald eyes moved around the massive trees and darkened soil. In doing so, she began to notice the ancient signs of a battle. More of the hulking beasts lay about in pieces, seemingly cut to ribbons by whatever had attacked them. Stones she had thought natural now seemed to fall into place as primeval buildings, ruined but still stained dark by flames. Armor, rusted and filled with bleached bones lay scattered about, like a giant had been playing with his toys. Kyrie's breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon a pedestal of stone, around which the most clustered signs of battle. With halting footsteps, she approached the red-stained pedestal, making sure to not disturb the ancient skeletons with a clumsy step. As her foot touched the steps to the pedestal, the power seemed to increase, noticeable, but unable to be harnessed. She mounted the steps gradually and cautiously. Her emerald eyes widened as what lay upon the pedestal came fully into view. It was a bizarre, crystalline structure, pale yellow in color. She felt an irresistible urge to touch it, and before she could stop herself, one of her fingertips touched its cool exterior. There was a flash of light, and then a voice overwhelmed her unready mind. The Exorcist seeks Harmony with the Dark Side of the Force.

Lord have mercy. Kyrie tweaked a heating coil, realigning to be more efficient, before placing it carefully back inside its compartment. Her mind was preoccupied, to say the least. She was on a new planet, this one strikingly different than the rusting world of Nar Shaddaa, where she had spent her entire life, running through the undercity, dueling, and trying to hunt criminals. She had been very accomplished at the latter two events, and if there had been a galactic-games competition on such things, she would have placed very high. She placed a pale hand against the compartment's door and closed it slowly, trying to blot out the painful memories of the past. She had come to this planet to train as a Jedi, and offer her skills in helping hunt down the galaxy's criminals. Once she set her heart on hunting a criminal, she wouldn't rest until they fell under her blade. She gritted her teeth and glanced down at a printout of Jedi Philosophy she had gained at the one working library on Nar Shadda. Hopefully the information was outdated. Apparently the Jedi of the old days had been great soldiers, actively pursuing the enemies of the galaxy, like the ancient Sith Trinity, but now, or so the pamphlet said, the Jedi were no more than peace-loving isolationists. Kyrie shook her head slowly, feeling the braids of dark hair hit against her black-robed back. She carefully locked the exterior compartment, and leisurely walked along the shuttle's exterior, her nail-bitten fingers playing across the silvery-green armor plating of the Sanctis Cogitatione. Her emerald eyes moved from studying the pitted armor plating, to admiring the lush forests and its towering canopy. She was on the outskirts of the isolated city of Ashla, to where she had been directed to arrive. According to her scans, there was a blackout zone past where she had landed, so she guessed the location of the Jedi's temple was to be in that direction. Kyrie let out an exasperated sigh and hefted her pack onto her shoulders. She placed a strong hand upon the battle-worn hilt of her vibrosword and studied the forest floor, looking for any sign of a path, her emerald eyes taking in all. She cursed under her breath. There wasn't a single sign of a path towards the Jedi's hidden temple illuminated in the setting starlight. Kyrie began to remember the way she had felt in hunting down criminals, where she had first found she had a connection to what these Jedi called the force. She had narrowed it down to one clear emotion: Justice. Righteous vengeance had guided her hand, and she had dispensed justice at the end of a blade. There was a tremor within her mind, like a small beacon had been activated in the forest, far, far away. She shook her head slowly and adjusted her pack, moving it to a more comfortable location on the her black-robed back. She walked with a confident step towards where her mind was leading her, to where Justice would have her go. Kyrie strode through the forest, on no discernable path, admiring the towering trees of red bark, and the formations of polished granite. She picked up her pace as she felt the feeling grow within her mind like a seed often watered. Her booted step faltered upon the decomposing undergrowth as she saw a grand, fallen tree upon the ground before her. The want for Justice was leading her past it, not but ten meters beyond. A smile lit up Kyrie's normally dower features, and she leapt over the ancient tree and ran towards the beacon. Light broke through the canopy as she entered a small clearing. He emerald eyes widened. Within the clearing was not the Jedi temple she had been seeking, but something far darker. Hulking within the filtering light stood a great beast, rusting metal and rotting flesh intertwined in a macabre display. Before its feet lay a dead Rodian, in the worn duster of a hermit, now torn and tattered like the flesh beneath it. Justice had led her not to the Jedi Temple which she had thought, but to someone in need of justice, in need of righteous vengeance. She shrugged the pack from her back and withdrew her vibrosword from its leather-bound sheath. The beast turned, its glowing, crimson eyes boring into her very soul. A voice, mechanical, dark and terrible sprung into the back of her mind. Maggot of fresh, unrotten flesh, bear thee witness to the destruction wrought by superior life. You shall be next to soil this earth with your living blood”¦ There was a mechanical grinding, and the hulking beast came to life, shambling across the forest floor towards Kyrie, the crimson glow from its photoreceptors casting the darkening grove in a fiery light. Kyrie scrambled backwards diving to the side as the lumbering beast passed her by, its dripping blades cleaving through branches and underbrush. Kyrie landed upon the soft, dark soil, and rolled towards the trunk of a great tree. Red light cast her shadow upon the bark, a warning that she had been spotted. Her fingertips dug into the bark, and her body pumped adrenaline into her muscles, giving her the strength to climb, and climb fast. There was a great crash below her as the hulking technobeast smashed into the unyielding trunk below her. She reached one of the lower branches and pulled herself to her feet upon it, before she dared to look down. The beast was beginning the climb, its great blades hewing into the tree's great bark. She smiled, for she knew she now had the advantage. It's weapons were now preoccupied. Kyrie dove from the treebranch, and lifted the blade above her head, her dark braids streaming behind her. She landed heavily upon its slippery back, and drove the vibrosword down into the back of the spine of the beast. The blade severed the cord, and the red glow extinguished, leaving the clearing in darkness. Justice. Kyrie's smile faltered as she felt her footing slip from beneath her, as the oil and blood of the beast leaked upon its rotting back. She stumbled and fell, crashing painfully into the darkened earth, crying out into the force, pain and righteousness flying forth like a wave, before her world fell into the black void of unconsciousness.

Kyrie's CHARACTER SHEET Identity [!ident] Real Name: Kyrie Eleison A.K.A: Kyrie, The Harlequin Homeworld: Nar Shadda Species: Anzati Physical Description [!dscrp] Age: 23 Height: 5'11" Weight: 122 Hair: Black with streaks of silver. Kept in a long plait of multiple braids Eyes: Emerald Sex: Female Equipment: Clothing or Armor: Black robes and a blackened belt with a dark green buckle. Flexible plasteel-bound armor, modeled in the fashion of Jedi Knights in the Clone Wars. Black-bound gloves. Made for dexterity and redirection more than for straight damage reduction. Weapons: Polearm-Lightsaber (exorcist). Vibro-sword, three fixed-blade blackened stilettos (with six-inch blades), a Sd-77 sonic pistol (in an blackened leather holster on her belt), Exorcist's lightsaber, and a blackened longbow and a quiver of arrows on the hip. Common Inventory: Clothing, weapon, several credits, a pair of binoculars, comlink, a days rations, and a quiver of arrows. The Blade of Song: Kyrie's Lightsaber A Polearm-handled blade, fit perfectly for Vom tag, or la poste di falcone, Kyrie's preferred stylization of lightsaber fighting. The blade has been attuned the her presence, and carries with it the purity of a former Exorcist, and through it, Kyrie can channel the powers of the Jedi Sentinel. The handle is a meter and a half in length, usable for grappling. Blade is silvered-orange. Handle is made of Synvalven Briar embedded with cortosis. Blue-Drip Poison: Harvested from the secretions of the Blue-Drip fungia, found on a small grove of trees in Tython's far north. It will not kill a victim outright, but instead will sap their strength and slowly eat away at the musculature around the area of injection or ingestion. Harvested Here: The Rosary of Il-Andon Rorek: This is essentially a piece of jewelry that acts as a connection point between Kyrie's mind and the Holocron's Keeper, Il-Andon Rorek, through which he can impart wisdom and knowledge. It also opens Kyrie's mind to the spiritual realm. This will not be used to give a tactical advantage in a PC vs. PC fight. It is simply a training implement. It is formed in jet-black crystal, with the cross of blood-red, inscribed in the ancient language Latin in gold filigree and is cold to the touch. Faction Information [!factn] Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force User Alignment: Lawful Good Current Faction Affiliation: The Jedi Order, The Imperial Knights, Leader of the Harlequins Current Faction Rank: Jedi Master History: [!hstry] Force Side: Light Trained by: Xae-Lin Ardel, Roene Giverah Trained who: Known Skills: Jedi Guardian/Bladedancer, Exorcist, Harlequin Senses of the Dark: Able to sense the inherent evil of the Dark Side Stains of the Past: Kyrie is able to sense the spirits and at times communicate with those who were never able to leave their places of death and join the harmony of the force. Soul of Ysgithyrwyn Mwynfawr: A consumed Krayt, once the conquest of the Sith Lord, Darth Nyrys, taken and consumed by the Sin Eater Kyrie Eleison after the battle of Corellia. Predation of the Krayt: With the Sin Eater’s consumption of the Dragon Soul of Ysgithyrwyn Mwynfawr, the Krayt Dragon of Darth Nyrys, Kyrie’s natural predator’s intuition has been enhanced. As Krayt Dragons are drawn naturally to areas strong in the Force, Kyrie is drawn to darkness like a flitmoth to flame. In essence she is able to hunt Darkside users with a combination of: her natural Anzati hunter’s senses, the Sin Eater’s righteous revulsion of the dark side, and that of a Krayt’s intuition. In practicality, this power does not have much direct duel-side practicality, other than an excuse for aggressive tactics and a flair on the natural “Force Intuition”. Outside of duels, it would allow her to better hunt her “prey”; those which use the dark side. It can also be used as an excuse to find other PCs for a duel. Crucitorn: a Jedi technique for transcending physical pain beyond normal thresholds or decreasing its affect upon the body. Expert Lightsaber Duelist, Mastery of the Spear Master of Telekinesis/Ballistikinesis Mastery of the Powers of the Sentinel. Focuses the Force into strengthening and speeding up movements Fluid-Flow: Redirective movement, intended to appear as a blur or a flowing movement style that flows with the rhythm of the Force. Background: Born into the rugged, crime-infested backstreets of a world decomposing, Kyrie lived in squalor for most of her life, working as a duelist and mechanic to earn credits for a trip off-world. At the age of thirteen, her family was slaughtered by an unidentified Sith Lord, who then kidnapped, abused, tortured, and used her. These events caused both physical and emotional scars, and since the physical scars were earned by torture with the Sith Arts, they cannot be easily healed. After a week in the Sith's keeping, he sold her to the Hutts, who, finding the scars on her body unsuitable for their pleasure, sent her to the gladiatorial dueling rings of Nar Shadda. During her duels, she felt the touch of the living force, guiding her actions, honing the movements of her blade, giving her victory. She pledged herself to uphold moral law, and took a hard line upon that stance, even as a slave. After nineteen long years on Nar Shadda, Kyrie finally bought passage offworld. Bladedancers, as written for the spear-wielders. Of the spear: Due to the length of a spear, actions translated through the fulcrum are emphasized at the spear’s tip, at a much greater speed. If looked at through the passage of circles with varying circumference, it is most manifest, that the spear makes greater passage with his point than any other weapon: and the two hand blade, more than the ordinary vibrosword: and that sword more than a dagger. This is the case with all weapons; that the longer the weapon is, the greater the passage it makes with the point, and the greater blow with the edge. Some believe that the greater the weight, the greater the force of application, and although true, the same can be achieved with a weapon of lesser weight but with longer weight, as speed is increased at the tip. (Force is but the application of mass and speed, increase either and force increases) A bladedancer forms the force along the entirety of their weapon, imbuing it with their very nature. Their weapon is their life. It is their soul. Form: Krayt Krayt is a falsely defensive in its application. The balance of the spear is held in the forehand, with the rear hand a handsbreadth from the weighted end with the spear held at the balance between high and low. The strikes of the Krayt are meant to be unpredictable, controlled by the rear hand with the forehand acting as a fulcrum. Through this grip, the actions of the rearhand are mirrored and magnified through the fulcrum to translate into unpredictable slashes. The form of the Krayt utilizes speed as its foremost advantage, and since a saber-speed does not need weight to apply damage (a lightsaber cuts no matter the application force) speed is all that is necessary to disable an opponent. A bladedancer utilizes the force to increase their alacrity and speed to emphasize this advantage all the more. It is not uncommon for an opponent to have their legs cut from beneath them at the same moment they are beheaded, as that is the advantage of the spear. The stance of a Krayt Bladedancer is a defensive one, utilizing a rearwardly weighted approach in order to retreat and maintain distance against an aggressive opponent. Form: Thyssian Blessed be those fast of foot and nimble of form. Thyssian is the most aggressive form known to the Bladedancer and in its form it is closest to Vaapaad, sacrificing power for overwhelming and blinding speed. The spear is held with both hands equidistant from the balance allowing for application from both ends of the spear at incredible speeds. The stance is forward-weighted and suited for rolls and leaps. The goal of those that practice Thyssian is to take down an opponent by utilizing all the spear as a weapon, from the blade to the weighted butt. To trip an enemy, shatter bone, and dismember are all goals of the bladedancers that practice this form. To be a Thyssian Bladedancer is to invest one’s all into speed, to blind the enemy in your quickness and destroy them.