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Fieldgrey

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  1. Darth Awenydd slipped through the sky like a falling Tandbet, her body twirling through the air without a sound. The burnt flesh on her arm seeped blackened blood, each drop tearing through the charred skin with waves of pain. In turn the Sith fed on the pain, letting it flow into her hunting instinct. Their scent was driving her towards wildness. Reaching out with the Force, The Sith Lord began to inspire the sandy soil beneath the soldier to join her echo, to whisper the oncoming destruction. Murmuring prophecy washed across the soldiers, and with it came confusion and panic. The Sith Lord’s face contorted into a maniacal smile as the soldiers began to run about in confusion, just in time for her apprentice’s attack. The man’s style of attack was quick to draw attention and the panic turned to anger and fear, which filled her senses until she began to hear every breath exhaled, smell every drop of sweat, and taste the blood on Shiro’s knife. Three men fired blasters haphazardly at the apprentice while two brandished their vibroswords at the man with terrified slashes. The Sith Lord burned. As her senses overflowed, she manifested it into fire, letting it crawl across her flesh. The pain that came with it fed into her power, igniting her clothing and skin. With a predatory shriek she landed like a comet in the center of the mercenaries and smugglers, spinning the fire from her body in another pirouette, casting it about her in a wave of flame. The fire burned through the flesh of those about her like white phosphorus, searing through the sinew to ignite the bone beneath. Their screams would add to the growing echo until it became a cacophony that would drown out life itself.
  2. Darth Awenydd slipped through the air, letting the breeze carry her in her leap, fueling her flight with the pain of her seared flesh. She had rarely felt so alive as she did now. From the scorched and cracked flesh of her arm, little wisps of smoke curled and then was carried away by her next jump. The Hunter could feel the pain pumping in her heart, fueling the fire within, which in turn tuned her senses towards the hunt. She felt bestial, a predator with no fear at the top of the food-chain. She smiled, her lips twisting away from a fiery visage of teeth and flicking tongue. There was something deeper within her that stirred with the flames, even beyond the primal nature of a predator, something new. ‘ Before her, the dunes parted, showing two shuttlecraft surrounded by milling people. Their scent was on the seabreeze, the astringent odor of thuggish masculinity mixed with the sweetness of glitterstim. Drug smugglers. Almost forty in number. The Sith Lord let out a viperous hiss, letting her predatory nature flow through the force to touch her apprentice. She turned her body in mid-flight, letting her body contort into a dancer’s pirouette as she rushed towards the crowd of prey. ((Now is a good time to experiment with your combat writing, but do not be too OP. Find a way to be epic but controlled. Don’t overdo it. Find your balance. Kill/Disable only a handful, and we will work on counter-NFU tactics))
  3. Lord of Flame. Awenydd stared at the shifting ocean, her fiery eyes reflecting the horizon as light broke through the clouds. It was warm on her flesh, striking away the bitterness of the cold that the seafoam had leeched from her flesh. She breathed in, focusing on the pain from her smoking arm. Prey... She took that pain into herself, letting it wash through her emotions, through her soul itself, letting it carry away her fatigue. It was replaced by a new sensation, a more primal thing. The anticipation of a hunt. The Sith Lord felt a swell of pride, like a great tidal wave within the force, created from a thousand echoes’ coalescence. She smiled thinly as the wave of wrath came after. Pride and Wrath were a common enough foundation amongst the Sith, but if her apprentice was not careful, both were easily undermined. There was something near… An escape. Awenydd let the echoes fade into the distance, letting the pain move through her still. She could smell it now, distant life, and an escape. She pressed the pain through the nerves in her spine, settling through the sciatic into her legs. She gritted her teeth against the electric fire and… leapt. The Sith Lord’s jump carried her beyond the black-stained dunes to land on the riverbank at the edge of the beachhead, under the shade of the great burned tree. She waved a hand to her apprentice and leapt again towards the source of her hunt. He would follow her or be abandoned, either through speed or jumping as she did. ((Focus now your power into movement))
  4. As the apprentice worked, Awenydd burned within the ocean, an unending fire of pain and destruction. Powers of destruction were at their heart an ouroboros, providing to in turn consume. The ocean’s waves above had taken a green edge, white squalls forcing them to peak and crash with thunder. She felt wrath above, cloaked in pride, even as her mind was absorbed by pain. The force would answer her apprentice’s desire. A blade would form as he forged into it the warrior’s path. From the waves, the Sith Lord crawled. Her flesh was scalded, boiling, charred. The skin wept from her left arm in trails of smoking rot. She stared at her apprentice with eyes that were wholly different then when she had entered the ocean; they held a maniacal fire within them. The white of her eyes had turned a charcoal black. The irises were as crimson as the Maw Nebula. Her pupils were as dark as the heart of the Maw. She was laughing. Bright laughter that tinkled through the crashing waves. A laughter that would warm the heart of even a stranger. “Come now. Finish you blade, we have a long walk to find a ship.” ((OOC: Pour your everything, every lesson, your very essence as a warrior into this sword of yours. It'll come in handy in the fights to come.))
  5. The ocean tore at the Sith Lord’s body with a thousand ravenous hands, but the flame that seared through her flesh was unyielding, even to the might of the sea. She felt the boiling of the water around her, the ripples it made, those ripples becoming currents of their own to fight against the rhythm of the tide. She could hear a voice singing amongst the roiling currents, she could see a battle. The reckless death throes of a vanishing crusade. The death of the light countless souls swallowed by a mass shadow. The flames boiled against the endless sea as the Sith Lord discovered the next echo to trace. Malachor V…. Far above the churning waves of a burning sea, the apprentice heard a new voice, one bound by a ravaging hunger. It spoke as if through the heart of the dark side, and to his eyes there would be a swirling shadow, as if the soldier was looking upon a starless night, reflected through a dark mirror. “Pride…” The bodies about him began to unravel, flesh unspinning itself as if it were made from nerf’s wool. “Vainglory…” Muscle was exposed as the skin and clothing disintegrated. It looked alive with twitching, but it too turned ashen and faded. “The love of your own excellence…” Bone turned to ash, and all that remained was timeless shadow upon the wave-soaked sand. A piece of driftwood rolled across the darkness to rest at the high-tide line. “It is with the loss of one’s humility that great power is awoken, for pride is odious to both man and his gods…” There was a feeling of a great hunger, all consuming, all knowing. It would creep through the flesh, crawling like maggots through the pores. “Harness it, apprentice of Pride, and with it do great wonders.” ((OOC: Turn pride into a weapon, take two posts to imbue your power into a weapon. It will not yet be your lightsaber, but this is your first step towards attuning a weapon to you.))
  6. Darth Awenydd was overwhelmed, there was so much pain, so much death about her that she was not sure of her own mortality. There were souls torn to pieces before her, reenacting their deaths over and over within the veil of the Force. She saw Cathar families gunned down by blaster-fire, squalling babies steamed away in the turbolaser-boiled sea. Those that did not die immediately were stabbed where they curled and spasmed on the beachhead by shimmering vibrobayonets. Hayley could only feel revulsion. What was the lesson here? A new form stooped to the sand, picking up a glittering Mandalorian mask. It swore revenge. The Sith Lord stared in awe at the lessons of the past. So, this was the echo. At long last. The great violence of the Mandalorian genocide of the Cathar people had birthed the fall of Revan. From him, the Republic changed, the entire galaxy was bathed in the blood of countless wars that stretched millennia. Her sulpheric yellow eyes turned to her apprentice. …What echoes have I started by the training of this one? Electricity sparked from her flesh, the storm of the collapsing wound burning into her. She turned it to the forms she knew, flame beginning to wreath her pale flesh with highlights of yellow, orange, and red. She became a demon of flame, a form of pure fire, her clothes turning to ash upon her. “Apprentice; be the weapon of only yourself. Bow not to the Force, bend it to your will.” With a laugh she cast herself into the churning sea. She would boil it away once more. ((OOC: channel your power more fluidly into your own defenses. Experiment: does inflicting pain on yourself grow or diminish your power? Is pain your only conduit to the force? Find one more, beyond wrath and pain.))
  7. Perhaps I was too eager to see if he was different… Fieldgrey watched her apprentice consume, driven like a hungry beast to feast upon her offering. He was not her first apprentice to fail her tests, but unlike Lucifer, she would not kill him for his lack of wisdom. Her voice was soft as she spoke, and even whipped by the wind the purring subtleties of malice was unmistakable “You wished to show me the power you have taken… But that power is not your own. It is not driven by your strength.” The Sith Lord whirled from her cross-legged position, scattering seafoam and crimson sand about her. In an eyeblink she was standing before her apprentice, the storm at her back. He was taller than her, but she was far from intimidated. She placed a scarred hand on his chest, feeling the beating heart beneath thumping against her palm. “It is a hollow gift, the strength of the another, and one that will consume you as you devour it. The power you feel is that of an ouroboros, ever starving and only able to consume itself…” Her nailbitten fingers slid across his ribcage, and she opened herself fully to the storm. Before it had been but the pull of the even horizon, and now they had passed beyond its rim. If her apprentice was to be saved from this place, she had to make a sacrifice. She would be its conduit. Her voice became faint, “What you have shown me is not the power to conquer the galaxy, instead… you show me how the galaxy will die.” The world fractured. The Sky fell into shadow and evaporated like dust upon the wind. Stars reached their hands for them, but they too fell into darkness, becoming the crying shots of turbolaser fire, ripping through the atmosphere. The ocean began to boil about them, and the death of millions echoed about the pair. The wound in the force was unravelling. “Strength that is not your own is useless. That is the wisdom of strength.” ((OOC: Failure is the path of every apprentice. Take the next post to learn this lesson. Refocus yourself upon fostering what is within you; build your strength again but from the ground up. You will start with no power at all, as the inherent power of this place has disappeared. You have nothing but the pain from your missing arm.))
  8. The internal conflict that played out before The Sith Lord was an echo of the storm, strength fighting against strength. She could feel the dark desired within her apprentice, the promises of untold power. All he had to do was give into the sins of his mind. To embrace the carnality of corrupting power. He was fighting against it and that pleased her greatly. It was one thing to draw power from the Force, it was another to have the Force wield you in return. The Dark Side was a treacherous companion, and its ways were that of Entropy. It corrupted even the fairest minds and set them to great evil. Darth Awenydd had seen it with Darth Ares, Ason, and but never Sheog. The Hutt had his own madness, but he had ever reflected himself within the Force, he made it echo with his strength, and never bent to it. Hunger was moving. It was like the embrace of the void; that great wash of power that was the even horizon of a black hole. She could feel them both… Slipping. The fight of the prisoner had but been a distraction, and with his breaking the true chaos of the storm had been unleashed. With a thought, she shattered the prisoner’s body, breaking every single bone at once, starting with his teeth. The great wash of pain that erupted about them, she channeled into strength. Was this apprentice worthy of the lesson of Strength? Fieldgrey offered it all to the Apprentice, the entire life essence of the prisoner to Shiro. What to him was the raw strength she offered? The mind made some powerless, and to others gave great strength. Here lay the temptation. A man’s will controlled his strength, but it could also allow the man control enough to draw upon the strength of others. She could feel it now, the sands were shaking with each wave in the Force. There was the hunger, a building wrath, a bloodlust that could not be sated. That was her gift, vitality, power, and blood; enough to weather the storm. “Will you consume, or turn away?”
  9. The Sith Lord bristled at her apprentice’s mutterings. The Code of the Sith. Those feeble and meaningless words. He seemed to believe in such mantras. Peace is a lie. There is only Passion. Darth Awenydd’s eyes rolled back behind her closed eyelids, Through Passion I gain Strength. It was true that the power of the Dark Side could be channeled through passions, and such feelings harnessed for strength, but it was meaningless without conflict. The storm raged about them, the surf raging in white peaks, surging about them both. The waters were cold, sapping the warmth from her flesh as she sat upon the bloodied sands. With her own wrath she drilled into the mind of the captive before her. All his fears became exposed, and she utilized them to get deeper into his psyche. Within the veil of the Force, a myriad of swirling images began to manifest, beasts, horrors, nightmares, all for the torment of the man before her, his shrieks of terror becoming lost in the howls of the wind. She would keep his mind from the embrace of catatonia, she needed his fear fresh for her apprentice. Her own words were those of a rebuke, but a gentle one. “Do you truly think you can understand the depths of The Force through an adherence to codes?” She fed the fear into the storm, thunderclaps echoing the man’s screams. The strength of conflict. “We all achieve definition in conflict, it is there we find ourselves or find ourselves lacking.” To emphasize her point, her own battle against the will of her captive was won, the man’s struggle for freedom against the stuncuffs changing its rhythm into something else entirely. The shadow of his mind wanted only the freedom now to slit his own throat. Her apprentice would find his power, or be forever trapped in its pursuit. “Now, strengthen your flesh and fight the wind. Let us see what echoes your conflict produce.”
  10. The Sith Lord looked up as her apprentice surged away, a blossom of energy within the Force. The warped vibroblade shot away, propelled like a slug from a scattergun into a target. She could not see the actions of her apprentice with her eyes due to the curves of the dark dunes, but the echoes her apprentice made in the Force made it all too clear. She began to channel her own wrath, her rage against the chaos. Terror, Pain, and then nothing. He was killing them faster than he could utilize their emotions, but that was to be expected. He was a shining supernova of energy before her senses, but he was dimming swiftly. The way he used the force and the echoes that he cast about him in the sand were sloppy, like the splashings of a child in a tantrum. Darth Awenydd’s own hands continued to draw in the blood-soaked beach, the waves casting themselves around her, but not dissuading her actions. Her scars soaked up the blood, oblivious to the cries of the storm and the sucking of the waves. Pain. That emotion was beginning to echo the loudest, overpowering all others. Her apprentice had been wounded, but not fatally. Anarchy and Entropy were the reverberations within the Force, bleeding away the power from her apprentice into uselessness. As the captive was dragged over the dunes towards her, Hayley reached out with her wrath, that settled and deliberate anger, striking against the chaos that threatened Shiro, that cauterized wound upon his chest. With blood-soaked fingers she withdrew a handful of sand from the waves. From the captive she bound terror, drawing it out of him as she amplified it. She would let the seeds of insanity grow, fed by his worst nightmares. To the captive’s mind, the beach became littered with corpses. Breathing in the man’s panic, she expelled into Shiro’s charred flesh, slapping the sand into the wound, transforming them both. The sand was debased by her rage, falling into its pure silicate form, and bound itself into the wound, knitting the cauterized flesh with a living glass, a true horror of Sith magic. The winds howled their own rage, echoing her actions with lightning, bolts of light shattering the sand about them into glassy spikes, buffeting them with its thunder until the glass pillars became windblown shards. The Sith Lord had to shout to be heard above the turmoil. “I will torture him, you must feed off those emotions to survive this storm. Bind the power of your rage into your flesh, harden it against that which is to come.” With those words said, Darth Awenydd began to carve into the captive’s mind, using her own body as a catalyst for the corrupting power of the dark side. For the captive there was no hope, only the discord of the worst of humanity. ((OOC: The Sith Warrior makes a barrier of their flesh, utilizing their own rage to be somewhat impervious to light damage. You are a novice to this, treat it as such.))
  11. The Sith Lord could feel the Soldier’s manipulations in the Force, a sudden surge of passionate energy that swarmed about the man. He applies violence like an artist, taking a color from the palette and giving it a macabre life. The snapping of vertebrae cascaded over her, for a moment drowning out the sounds of the storm. She let out a small sigh. Yet his brushwork is clumsy, like the futile stabs of a toddler splashing his paints… It was one thing to cast about the force in grand movements, such as in the ending of a life, it was another entirely to act with precision. She stared over the dunes at the remaining soldiers who were setting about camp. They didn’t deserve their fates, but their sacrifice was a vital lesson for a far greater cause. Such were the fates of the weak, eternally the playthings of the strong. Driftwood began to scatter upon the sand, the true power of the coming storm almost upon them. The Sith Lord nodded slowly, watching the Sold-, no her apprentice. “Take them as you will. Use as little strength as possible, and be as precise in your actions as you can. Learn your control. Let their fates foster the strength you will need to weather this storm. The Sith Lord began to draw upon the sand with the blood of the fallen, the crimson pain seeming to creep up the scars in her fingers, like the roots of a great tree soaks up the dew. Her voice was harsh then, "But...Bring one to me alive for the next lesson.”
  12. How easily men are corrupted by power… Darth Awenydd watched as the Soldier killed the two men, his former soldiers without so much as a hesitation. Her sulphuric yellow eyes took in his baptism in blood, with dispassionate interest. The way the Dark Side moved was always unique in its new believers and was worthy of study. She filed away its corrupting influence on the Soldier before her. So often the Dark Side moved its Warriors to meaningless slaughter, to purge everything around them, and to leave them alone among the ashes of their own inconsequential triumphs. What use was that? Why did the Force move men to slaughter those they could easily rule, or at least dominate to their own will? Her own master had not killed without reason, only to feed his hunger, but he was Krath, not Warrior. Lucifer had killed without so much as a thought on Mykryr and he had named himself a Prince of Warriors. So this was the Warrior path, to always fight to show one’s strength. The Sith Lord rose from the sand, the sand falling away from her tattered robes and tunic in wet clumps. She brushed a scarred hand through her auburn hair and stared at the Soldier, taking him and his choices in. “If the force commands, do it, but do not slay without reflecting on the reason…” She stepped to one of the dying men, listening to his feeble, gurgled screams. She breathed in, letting the emotions fill her. The Storm was coming, and she could feel the beats of its wind upon her back. “Pain, suffering, terror. Those passions feed our darkness, let those victories add to your strength. Take within yourself such things, let it nourish you.” ((OOC: Let the emotions of those you kill fill you, feed you for the next victory. It must sustain you for the next fight. Channel this victory to conquer telekinesis and demonstrate it. You are still a novice in this and it will require great concentration.))
  13. The Krath could feel the storm. Before her was pure rage, but it was uncontrolled, and a pale reflection of the true power of the Force. As inferior as it was, she could feel the echo it was creating. This place amplified and distorted the expressions of the soul, as through a mirror darkly. Around them a hurricane was forming, inky black clouds warping and reforming into a massive stormfront. There was something else at its heart, a gnawing hunger. Footsteps… The soldier’s concentration began to wain, even as he had shifted to the knife she held. Even so, she could feel a small tug upon it, enough to upset its balance. Darth Awenydd watched the blade wobble upon her finger, letting a grin twist her countenance. He touched it, he has potential beyond just the swirling of the force. Reaching out, she snatched the blade from the air as it began to fall, turning her attention to the shocked troopers on the dunes beside them. Another test for the man. Old loyalties or power? Frustration was building inside of him. A deep well of untapped potential. The Krath slipped out her own wrath, letting it wriggle across the dunes towards the soldiers like a wave of devouring snakes. The dark sand shifted beneath them and she dragged them before the sitting Soldier. Their cries were stifled by thunder as light cut through the sky above them. Her voice was like that of a sand-panther, a concentration of mocking danger. “What would you do unto them? What does the Force command?” The fallen blade hovered between them, an electric sheen shimmering across its blade. Into it she willed her own Wrath, hallowing the blade for the will of the Dark Side. No matter his choices, he would gain his first true lesson. The blade began to warp and darken, like a sheet of flimsiplast thrown into an ironsmith’s forge.
  14. The Sith Lord watched the soldier as he became immersed in the tides of his emotions. She could feel the swirling energies of Rage, and the familiarity of Wrath, that unholy demon that lurked in her own soul. The girl flipped the vibroknife from hand to hand, watching the man as he let the Force fill him. Hunger… Beneath the surface a gnawing feeling began to eat away at her sensation. There was a draw of power in this place, and the acolyte in her lap was drawing attention within the veil of the Force. Fieldgrey could feel eyes upon her, lecherous, wanting. She shuddered, spinning the knife into a whirling blur. The soldier moved to face her, and she caught sight of the power within his eyes. There was a reflection of the hunger within them. They were crimson, flecked with gold. Just like Sheog’s. She closed her own eyes against the thought. His hunger was always there, waiting. Power draws power. The more they touch, the more they want. The Sith Lord stretched out an arm to the soldier, letting the tattered tunic fall away to reveal the scars of torture. She leveled the knife to his face before opening her palm and balancing the blade by its tang on her forefinger. The vibrating blade wobbled in the wind. “Take that storm…” She spun the blade on her fingertip, it staying impossibly balanced “Cast it out like a net. Capture this knife as if it were a fish, and draw it to you.” ((OOC: The seemingly simple act of telekinesis is not as simple as it is in the movies, take your time binding your power into an object before you attempt to move it. Fail, once.))
  15. The Sith Lord listened to the soldier with a slight smile, watching the man fight in his internal dialogue. The struggle between one’s personal dogma and the will of the force was eternal. Her own challenge of struggle and power was continuously at odds. She slipped her fingers into the wet sand, hiding the scars that patterned them from the oncoming storm. Her voice had a purring tone to it as she burrowed her fingers through the sand around her “An eternity of war and rage…” The Krath tipped her head back, letting the wind whip her hair about her, a reflection of the storm’s ferocity in auburn locks. The storm was almost upon them now, the gale engorging itself with brine, mutating the waves before them into murderous whitecaps. The dark ocean became bright with the swell, driven by the chaos of the storm. It was a foretelling of the echo they would create together in the Force. Immense enough to break the force itself. Hayley hated it, chaos. That disgusting disorder which brought death and dismay to so many. She had to fight it, to bring the vicious cycle of conquer and entropy within which innocence was devoured. Wrath burned, she could feel it within her veins, rousing her into power. It was like a drug, giving her such power, but every feeling was stained by it, that bitter hatefulness. She would that addict's end one day, that she knew. “Feel that rage within you… Take it into yourself. Hold it to you like an ember and give it life.” She breathed in slowly, and repeated herself with emphasis. Perhaps the man would find some power within himself. “Take it into yourself. Make it a fire. Make it a wildfire.”
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