Zendrin

The Quarren marched slowly, his gilded black robe gliding across the cobbled path as it dragged gently behind him. He was illuminated brightly by cauldrons of deep orange fire, and candles symbolically on each of his shoulders. Robed figures lined the hall, whispering their chants over a flickering flame held atop a candlestick. He spoke from the back of his throat the Prayers of his burning god over the torch flame he carried reverently. “The great flame, the birthplace of civilization…” With each step, the roaring crackle of the fires around him grew. “The birthplace of the spirit…” The chanting became more uniform, many voices becoming one. “The birthplace of the mind…” Their voice echoed in the chasm, their long silhouette cast their solidified darkness in contrast of the flickering yellows and oranges that illuminated the cavern “Around the great flame we gathered, we lived, we loved, we lost…” Slowly the echo balanced, becoming one with their resonating voice. “Around the great flame we found our souls, longing to be awakened…” The sound amplified as it harmonized. “Around the great flame we created, learned, studied, and evolved.” Before the spire, in the dried fountain, a tower of kindling held aloft the body of the Sith. The one that plagued his nightmares, his ceaseless visions of the woman that would restore order, that would humble the galaxy with their message. “With this great flame we call for rebirth. Let us be the instrument of your enlightenment! Bring us the champion of your devouring inferno!” He pressed the torches light to the construction of kindling. The fire took and quickly rose up the grave, engulfing the lifeless corpse. “Let us burn our path to salvation!” The chants rose with the fire toward a great crescendo. The blaze roared, burning its visage into the eyes of all who gazed into it. With a burst akin to a solar flare, sparks and ash rose to the ceiling, depositing a thick black soot above the spire. In that moment there was silence, the powerful gust blew cold each and every fire meticulously placed in keeping with the ritual. From the center of the ash coated spire cracked a blinding light, widening to reveal the shadow of a woman. The black form stepped hesitantly forward into the settling ash. Her summoners knelt silently before her radiance. The Quarren turned, behind him an acolyte offered the crown that bound her to this reality on a crimson silken cloth. He took this artifact, turned back to face the woman and kneeled to her. “My Queen,”

The wind howled over the gaping canyon, its cliffs stretching endlessly into the sky above him. The cloaked Quarren was safe, or at least safer in the canyons where the sand didn’t burn his eyes and tear his skin. He knew of a place here, one hidden from the watchful eye of the Sovereign, a place where he could nurture his vision. The march had been long, his faith nearly faltered in the days of travel in this desert, but his patience would be rewarded. Through dusted goggles he saw it, the mouth of a cave, carved by a civilization long forgotten to time. A sinking feeling filled his chest, one of fear, excitement, and above all else, anticipation. He drudged forward, his exhausted body fighting his every step, but his commitment to this cause was strong, his faith shielding him from the aching. The sun was setting, the cold shadows filled the canyon as he reached his destination, before him lay the gaping entrance to his new home. With determination he stepped forward into the blackness. Inside this place he found nothingness, his footsteps didn’t echo, the wind no longer howled, this darkness had been untouched by light, by adventurer, by local, by anything in at least a hundred years. With a deep breath he lit his torch, the orange glow burned into this place where darkness had held absolute authority for so long. The fires radiance inspired him to push further and further, deeper and deeper, until before him carved into the stone, an ancient city lay dormant. With religious purpose he began lighting the sconces along the walls, revealing ancient architecture, places that were once homes, schools, hospitals, and markets. Dried foliage lined the streets, channels that once ran life bringing water stretched alongside the paths. At the city's center a spire reached up towards the ceiling, surrounded by what was once a fountain long since dried up. Behind it stood the imposing church he would appropriate for his following. He ventured in, the stale and heavy air filled his lungs. Stone benches flanked him on both sides of this great room, at its end, raised on a stage stood a wide podium. This is the place he would begin his rituals of fire.

Tyra turned her attention away as the sublight engines began to push the might of her fleet into its firing position. The light tone of her communicator pinged while she walked the halls towards the hangar, directly from Darth Mavanger. Darth Tyra, fall in with my transports, and board the Misericordia. Your assistance is required. Always so to the point, he was efficient, to say the least. She didn't bother sending a reply message, if he were securing the hangar the distraction could be frustrating. Though that said, it wouldn't be the first time he'd answer while in battle. The memory of that session still stung, in her mind, irritating her. Kahla sat comfortably in the ever embracive chair at the helm of her Fury Interceptor, she sank deep into the leather seat as the thrusters pushed them out of the hangar. Next to the fighter she'd flown last, it handled like a boat in molasses, but the ride was smooth and inviting. She fell in with four other shuttles, two of them other Fury classes, two Lambda. Accompanying them was two wings of strike fighters to make up an escorting force. As soon as they'd gotten clear of the fleet they were being assaulted by flak corvettes, hammering down on them as they made their way towards the Misericordia. Fighters started breaking off to engage other interceptors that would try their hand at such juicy targets, their escort dwindling as they slugged through the chaos of Nar Shaddaa's orbit. Thanks to Darth Mavanger's earlier approach, the defense around the hangar had been all but eliminated. But the surviving craft were formidable, and now battle hardened. As the five shuttles bolted to the hangar door the bore down with incredible speed. They made short work of the last three fighters and quickly chewed into one of the trailing lambdas. Its unshielded hull shattered as the enemy's cannons tore through the engine's plating. It exploded in a blinding detonation. The Fury interceptors bursted through the shielded doors and were able to slow and land further inside the hangar. The last Lambda shuttle came in high, clipping its upper stabilizer on an overhead catwalk. While it was able to vertically land, it wasn't in the condition to leave. Sith troopers piled out of the crafts, spreading into the hangar and finalizing the securing effort. Beside her own craft, Tyra's Elite stepped out, clad in their personalized armour; they took security arround the landing ramp of Kahla's craft just as it hissed open. Darth Tyra stepped out, her heavy boots thumping down onto the deck as she scanned for her former master. She approached slowly, feeling the despair of loss echo in the psyche of the men and women around her. She stood silently, letting the moment sink in, for the emotion to settle heavy on her soul.

The lull of logistics was always the worst part. Sitting and doing nothing, waiting as supplies were loaded, ships were fueled, crew was swapped. Each day there'd be a new face, one to replace another more familiar. The feeling of unfamiliarity, of being lost in you own home was overwhelming. It hung over Tyra every minute of the day, she was truly uncomfortable, finding solace only in training, the sense of battle now becoming one of the few things with a sense of normality. A mishap during refueling left the Eye of Sagittarius' sub-light engines completely crippled caused a week long delay in her fleet. Kahla was furious at the prospect of being late to the party, perhaps even missing out in her chosen role. In her blinded rage she ordered a 'shortcut', one that passed through less stable lanes, and straight to Nar Shaddaa. The trip was taxing on the fleet's hyperdrives, each lightyear making a potential withdrawal more and more difficult. But at that cost, they had arrived, hardly slipping in under the wire. Already ships had begun slugging it out, and bloodlust soon filled the eyes of the young Sith. A platter laid out before her, and she drooled at the choices. On studying the moon's entourage she saw the potential of her fleet. A group of ships, Carracks mostly, sat in it's defense along side supporting craft. An easy hole to punch, to simply sit just out of range and pick off each ship one at a time. With a quick nod she motioned to Harris, and he quickly caught on. "Support craft on standby," he called calmly as he sat forward in his chair. "We make for the moon, use our bigger guns to our advantage." A grin grew across Darth Tyra's lips, hungrily awaiting the first salvo.

An off silence fell on the room as Tyra was caught so off guard. She'd not been accustomed to the generosity other Sith could show, and she was taken aback by the warmth of Lord Blackmorne's words. Kahla stayed her tongue as the Dark Lord pushed to conversation forward. The offer was made, to challenge the seat of power, for a position 'unearned' through combat. But there was no need for such a challenge, Dark Lord Nyrys fit the role very well. No one needed to see her in direct combat to bear witness to the destruction she sewed. "I was there for the opening barrage at Naboo, and took part in the ground invasions. I've seen the power you wield, and you wield it dutifully. I am honoured to serve under you." Darth Tyra bowed her head and patiently listened to her next orders.

The ramp hissed as it dropped slowly into the gravel, the dust settled as the Fury's thrusters died away. Not a hundred meters away towered a massive door into the mountain, thick black clouds rolled over the rocky surface of the mountaintop, stretching far into the horizon. Flashes of white plasma illuminated the furious storm above, in their wake followed ear shattering thunder. A soul crushing darkness filled the depths of Darth Tyra's heart as she stepped forward to the colossal stone doors. Each of her breaths felt labored, the air was thickened by the hatred that fueled this place. An icy chill ran through her veins as her left hand made hesitant contact with the ornate basalt. Her focus honed onto the darkness of this place, the darkness that she'd allowed intertwine with her being. A crack of lightning struck her landing craft, sparks flew by her as the great mechanism that had held the seal shut for so long worked, clunking and thumping before the doors loosened, and finally opened. She'd spent a long few hours in the bacta tank; waiting patiently for the more grievous wounds to heal to a more malleable state. Finally it was time for her to find some semblance of reward for her actions; in taking up this mantle in the absence of the one that came before her. She stepped forward into the depths of the tomb, with only a simple signal flare to illuminate the damp halls in crimson light. Great pillars held the weight of the mountain above her head, stone coffins held the bodies of ancient warriors of the Sith, her heavy footsteps echoed as she drudged on, deeper into these catacombs. As her mind drifted into the depths of the darkness, she'd failed to notice the thick grey fog fill the room. No longer could she perceive the walls, but could only barely make out the pillars around her. Her feet had begun to resist her, and each step no longer echoed a stone floor, but a muddied shlop. The final room laid ahead of her, as she stepped through she could feel her legs snag on a steel wire that gripped against the cloth and plates of her armor. The cold had sept in, waring at her skin, slowly chilling her flesh. She shivered, slowed by the heavy, damp and cold air. Then, finally revealed to her, a podium upon which an ancient artifact sat. A crown of broken and jagged bones, with a faceplate of black steel with a curving Y shaped eye slit. It was beautiful in its unsymmetrical structure, seemingly favoring the left, with each tooth of bone on that side reaching higher than those on its right. The Serrated Diadem With both hands she lifted it from its cradle and peered into the depths of its mask. A horror came over her, dread filled the room. Her resolve had to be steady, and she pushed against what felt like an immovable object in her soul. She turned the crown, as panic began to force her heart to drive, her every instinct to tell her to drop it and run for the doors through which she entered. With great willpower she lowered the crown onto her head; and then silence, blackness. The thunderous boom of a shell impacting the mud, causing the soil to eject into the air before raining down. The whine of bolts blitzing past. There were screams, distant and near, of suffering and despair. And then, nothing. No screams, no bullets, no shells, wires, mud, fog. Just the amber hues bouncing off the black stone walls. The sudden silence was haunting, but the worrier was prideful in her seeming triumph over the Sith illusions. There was still a great deal of adrenaline in her system, and she jumped at every sudden noise that came from the halls as she egressed the tomb. As she sat at the helm of her Interceptor, the adrenaline washed out of her, her heart steadied. It had seemed this Echo of the Past had run its course, and now this artifact would serve her purpose. Soon it would be time to discover how it would do so. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ As her craft began its final approach of the Sith Command center a familiar presence washed over the ever present darkness of the helm. And a shuttle had already claimed one of the designated landing areas. The ship rocked as the landing gear made contact with the ground, and before long Darth Tyra made her way into the command center, where in other Sith had begun to congress. She was drawn here, into this room of new faces. She'd never been good with meeting the rest of this empire, but she felt at the very least it would be necessary to report the finding of her artifact to the one commanding over this battle. Kahla had come in behind a very commanding figure, one still addressing the room. Silently she fell in, stepping to the light only after the lady had finished speaking, so as not to interrupt. The more posh of the men spoke next; speaking very highly of the fourth, and final Sith in the room. If the claim were true, that this one had felled the Grandmaster was incredibly impressive. Kahla could only be hopeful to ever live up to such an accomplishment. The unfortunate task of following up such an impactful statement fell upon her shoulders, and she knew she couldn't hesitate in her response. "An extraordinary feat to say the least, Lord Blackmorne." She bowed her head respectfully. "While my claim could never be equal, I successfully slain a defending Jedi Knight on temple grounds; and defeated her pet in the process."

There was surprise in the Sith's eyes as the crimson plasma drove into the Jedi's body. She'd done well so far, avoiding the majority of her blows, or at least deflecting them enough not to do substantial damage. Was this a trick? Was she simply playing into the Knight's hands? The thought that once again, all was for nothing plagued her mind. The memories of defeat after defeat circled her thoughts like a powerful typhoon. The Jedi twisted out a knife, one clearly not meant as a weapon, more a tool. She had to be desperate. Kahla flicked her offhand saber to deter the improvised attack. The muscle in her shoulder ached and throbbed for being forced to flex. As the second blade caught and flung the steel implement she was blinded by the sky blue light that came forth from the carcass of the spear she'd severed. In an instant Kahla extinguished her left saber, to keep it out of the way as she pulled her primary blade up in her metallic grip. The vibrant red blade hastily burned through the Jedi's clavicle before twisting left to catch the spear's point in its path. As Kahla turned similarly to how the Jedi had, their blades met. The strength in metal shoved the spearhead down from its fetal path, but not completely free of its collision with her body. The azure plasma burned a path along her hip, only just missing the bone. Once again Kahla roared in pain, near crushing the hilt of her sabers in her iron grip. As her head lifted her gaze met the endless rows of predatorial teeth as the maw of the beast began its brutal path. She lacked the strength to further force her off hand into action, and so she simply made a deft stab towards the creature. As its eyes caught the scarlet blade it hesitated, seeming to have associated the warm hue with the pain she'd caused it. The beast retreated for a moment, only long enough for Kahla to turn her attention back to the Jedi. She had fallen. Confusion once again captured Kahla. She hadn't sensed the death of this warrior's spirit, though she laid so seemingly lifeless. Had she fallen unconscious? Perhaps the pain of the near severed shoulder had pushed her beyond her limit. The Sith turned once more to the screeching acklay, staring it down as it paced forward and back, advancing as it ached for a chance to get to the duo, but receding in fear of the looming figure. Kahla knew she couldn't continue the fight, too exhausted and injured to resist the creature any more. The hilts of her saber clasped to her waist before she pulled the split spear to her hands, a trophy for her to claim. Never breaking her eye contact with the monster, she retreated to the front line, Sith forces still holding the rebels occupied. They seemed mostly unconcerned with the withdrawing Sith. A shuttle had set down in the opening before her, the ramp hissing as it opened to let out the next wave of troopers. They ran past her, few batting an eye, never to question the dealings of their betters. Though a medic halted, choosing to follow Kahla back to the shuttle. She would have time soon enough to revel in her victory, for now her health was her top concern.

Kahla grinned widely as her saber met the flesh of her enemy. Finally it was time for the Jedi to feel the pain that she had known. The statistic satisfaction of contorted empathy she felt poured through her being as she made ready for the defense she'd have to put up. As the beast to her back encroached the Jedi began a quick succession of stabs. Kahla gripped the force around her, molding it to her will. As if in slow motion she watched the bright blue blade pierce the air towards her. She ducked her body down and leaned her head to the left. The molten plasma ricocheted of the right of her faceplate, just below her cheekbone. The heat seared and burned beneath the mask, as the steel, while durable, was nearly as effective as placebo against a lightsaber of any form. Kahla could feel the ground quake as the creature behind her continued to approach. As it did, the Knight reared for the next stab, this one coming for her shoulder. Kahla had to quickly reverse her momentum, swaying herself out of harms way as she twisted and leaned away from the blades path. While not making contact, she could once again feel the warmth of the blade bleed through the armor on her chest. At first it was almost comforting, but quickly grew to a cooking heat just as the spear was once again retracted. She could nearly feel the breath from the animal on her neck as it reared for its next attack. The Jedi's weapon came once more, this time in a lower blow. This time Kahla had prepared herself, pushing through the natural instinct to run from the beast behind her and instead focusing her entire being on the spear aimed at her. With her right hand, she flicked her saber to catch the Knights and divert it from its path, redirecting the blade further right. As she did so she turned her body to the right, and with a tense grip brought her left hand saber down towards the shaft of the spear, hoping to split the weapon. She'd placed everything on this gamble, that if she could manage to disarm the Jedi, even for a moment, she could deal with this pet once and for all. Kahla continued her spin, coming face to face with the Acklay as its massive claws came down toward her. She called upon all her strength, both in the muscle of her body and the steel in her arm as she swung to catch the creature's left claw head on. She could hope to wound, or even disable the weapon-like appendage, but at the very least she'd knocked it from its fetal course. As she continued the turn off the heavy strike, the other claw caught the larger left shoulder pad, yanking on her shoulder and tearing it from its place. The serrated claw sliced against her flesh, and ripped into the muscle of her shoulder. The pain was unlike what she'd experienced before, sharp, yet dull, and anything but a clean slice. Kahla roared as the pain gripped her being. But she had practiced, she took the pain, using it to power her hatred like a great war machine. The roar she cried was not just of pain, but of warning as she continued her spin, ending in a lunging stab towards the center of the Jedi, one that channeled her hatred to a fine point and aimed like a weapon of its own. As blood splashed into the mud, blending with the brown muck, Kahla focused her fury on the Jedi for turning such a creature loose on her like hounds to an escaped prisoner. She would prove herself no such prisoner, that she now wielded the power that once oppressed her. ((Defensive Actions/Damage Taken)) ((Attacks made)) ((3))

Kahla’s boot slammed into the ground, cratering into the soil to kill her momentum when the Jedi slipped past. Her upper body lurched forward as it tried to comply with the command. Quickly she turned the momentum into a duck, barely avoiding the hilt of the knight’s spear, which glanced off the back of her helmet. Kahla pivoted, planting her right foot behind her to brace, while her left stayed cemented in the dirt. In that instant an all too familiar scorch slashed through the armour on her knee, while the blade didn’t contact the skin directly, her flesh seared and boiled under the blade’s path. As the pain shot across her body Kahla grinned under her helm, embracing the burn once again. Just as the pain brought adrenaline into her veins, so too it brought strength in the force. As she delved into her connection in the force the insect-like creature reared, it’s carapace claws rose. Knowing the pain in her knee, Kahla snapped her left arm out, once again releasing her saber at the creature. The pain the Jedi inflicted on her, she would reflect on the Acklay as she guided the carmine blade through the force towards the middle left leg’s joint. Again, she charged the woman as the sharpened claws came down toward her. They clamped down on the cloth of her shoulder, anchoring it to the ground. Kahla's shoulder snapped back, halting for only a second. She forced herself through the snag, and the cloth tore loudly as she was released into an empowered lunge. Each step was supplemented with the force, she'd lost momentum, which meant more time for the Jedi to prepare. Her knee ached with each step, begging Kahla to stop, but no halt would come as she thrusted her saber in an aimed stab towards the right side of the Jedi’s chest. As she did so her offhand saber whirred back to her. She twisted left from her stab to charge behind her and brought a wide slash across the back and shoulders of the self-righteous woman, the blade steered from upper left shoulder to lower shoulder blade of her right side. It was a pity that the Jedi would bring this creature to fight for her; to subject it to the horrors of the battlefield like this. Leave it to the mercy, or lack thereof, of any Sith that crossed their path. To blind it with attachment the way she likely had, Kahla knew that should the Jedi fall, the creature would stop at nothing to destroy her killer. And so, it too would have to fall. ((Defensive Actions/Damage Taken)) ((Attacks made)) ((2))

As the crustacean let out its deafening roar Kahla's attention shifted to the Jedi that stood before it. She let out a deep breath, stalking forward in protest to the Jedi's request. "How about No." She grinned beneath the mask of her helm. The girl was only a little taller than the Sith, though the mountain of armour Kahla wore brought them more or less eye to eye. From the distance she couldn't make out most of the woman's features, though she was decently good looking, despite being warn from battle. There was no use in waiting any longer, her body ached for it's chance to purge these people from this planet. Both of her lightsabers were lit and ready, the crimson blades humming in anticipation. With a tight flick of her right wrist she let loose her saber, guiding it with sinister intent towards the Acklay's face. In that moment Kahla lunged, dipping to the left as her metal boots kicked the dirt free from the ground in her wake. As she approached the Jedi she guided the saber she'd thrown back around, pulling it in behind the girl as she raised her left saber up, bringing it down with practiced efficiency at her shoulder. She pulled the flung blade into her grasp and swung from low to high, conserving what momentum the hilt still had upon reaching her as she continued her charge. Kahla's speed and aggression stayed true to her training, her heart pounded with the adrenal rush of breaking her anticipation. ((1))

The shuttle shook and rocked as it burned through the atmosphere. The uneasy tension brought by the dark enclosed bay twisted around Kahla. Being unable to see and experience the outside world, pulling away her control over it, had set her in an anxiety almost unfamiliar to her. Her armour clattered as she steadied herself against the violent shake of the craft. They must have been flying through flak, it had to be, The soft blue of the dim interior light gave Kahla a cold and damp chill down her spine. The waiting drove at her mind as she stared at the indicator light. She allowed her heart to race, for the uncomfortable tightness of the hull to close her in. With pain as her ally, comfort would be unattainable in the time of battle. The light flickered as the craft slammed down, the door hissed open and sith troopers stormed to pull security. The shuttle had taken small arms fire from the ground, the rebel holdout was dedicated, it seemed. With her shoulders rolled back and her chin high, Kahla marched forth from the darkened shuttle, the loose cloth over her shoulder and hips bellowed as the shuttle took off. Her saber hissed to life in her right hand. As she stretched out her arm she growled "Wipe the filth from this planet." Without another word the troopers stormed towards a possible breach in the defenses, outlined by ISR. There was no doubt the Jedi present would try to secure it, and so Kahla would once again play the huntress. As soon as she laid eyes on the entrenched forces surrounding the temple grounds she came under fire. There was no easy way to mask her silhouette, and so she started sprinting at the enemy. Her hatred of their resistance fueled her body like a great war machine. She made the Force submit to her will, guiding her blade as she deflected blaster bolts. Those that made it through her own defenses ricocheted uselessly off her thick armour. There was a group of maybe twelve in the 'breach', their fortifications partially destroyed in an explosion of some sort. In her left hand she pulled her offhand saber, infighting its luminous red glow. She swung a wide underhand arc before releasing the hilt into the air. With the force bent before her, she guided the blade as it sang an unholy screech, spinning through the air. It caught the abdomen of the first, and then the chest of a second before plunging into the center of a third. As she pulled the saber back towards herself she could hear the shouting of the rebels. There was surprisingly little fear in their ranks, and it was only a moment before she understood why. Not far behind their ranks stood tall a massive beast. Attention was turned away from her and towards the troops she brought with her. leaving a perfect line for a greater engagement. Her head shook as her heart sank at the realization. She let out an irritated grunt as she spoke to herself. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Perhaps she really was here for a hunt.

Her flagship was once again split off from the greater force, though in this instance she forgave the necessity. The Sith Home world was seeing action, and Kahla felt quite honoured to send the ship of her pride their way. While she'd wished she had accompanied them, she herself had a greater purpose. The Sith at Lehon were showing promise, but needed reinforcement, that was her purpose. Perhaps today she would earn in her own mind, the title bestowed upon her. Shortly after being dragged from the lakes of Naboo, and once she could stand on her own again, she began putting the pieces in place to prepare for her next battle. Her first demand was an armor set with detailed specifications. Under a large hood she wore a helmet, the mask had a single eye slit, through which allowed no light. Though the visor didn't follow, the recognized T shape was present, through to a well defined chin. Over her left shoulder was a cape of sorts, typically seen in ceremonial uniforms. In place of the broach however was a thick shoulder pad. It was layered, and angular with its distinguished edges. Adjacent to it, the right shoulder pad was smaller and less pronounced, though it followed the same aesthetic. A diamond-shaped breastplate covered her chest and abdomen. Armored Faulds covered her hips, and held her lightsabers in place. From her hips hung a short, split tabard that cut just below the knees. Her left boot was plated in durrasteel, the shin guard protecting everything below the knee. On her right was a matching guard, and thickened armor, grafted and welded onto the prosthetic limb. She'd taken a liking to the dark crimson of her robes, and made sure the armor she wore followed in its expression. She was sluggish at first, unfamiliar with the weight of the plates she wore. It tooks weeks of practice before she could even consider sparing with her droid. But in time her familiarity grew, she learned the strengths of wearing such cumbersome armor, the limitations in her movements, and resourceful means to work around them. She had become comfortable, to the extent of spending near every waking moment in her armor. In the time that she trained and studied the interceptor she favored so much had seen much attention. Mechanics and dock hands worked day and night to bring the wreck back from the grave a second time. While seeing such a beautiful peace of history in such a state brought Kahla great sorrow, she came to understand that it was necessary to put everything on the line, play every card she had and push herself to the very edge. She'd learned this when she embraced the fires that seared her flesh. Everything, or nothing. Over time she'd began to notice a fear in her crew, they always seemed shifty, uneasy in her presence. Even just in passing they'd make sure to give her a wide berth. While she tried to put it out of her mind it still gnawed at her. Of course, she knew exactly why they were all so hesitant around her, word had spread fast of what she did in the opening moments of Naboo. To an extant she'd regretted it. The thought that her "True Sith" ideology might be wrong had crossed her mind more than once. Perhaps soon she would try to understand the modern Sith, as apposed to those from a bygone era. Kahla sat quietly in the chair that overlooked the bridge. Lehon laid before her, almost as if served on a platter. She drank in the suspense, knowing her fight was quickly approaching. Her heart began to pound with excitement. The failure that loomed over her now pushed her like a great oceanic wave, she stood from her chair, darkness seeping from her form, and began marching to the hangar. In place of her own ship, that was still undergoing repairs, an Imperial Assault Shuttle, another ship from the old Sith empire, waited for her. Victory and Failure had blended their meanings, as regardless, Kahla knew that there was only progress ahead.

Time seemed to slow with the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The metal was cold, very cold; and sharp, so sharp. It pressed gently against her skin at first, in the center of her abdomen. Then a popping sensation as her flesh split, no longer able to resist the pressure of the blade. It burned not unlike the fire roaring in her ear at first as it burrowed through her flesh. As it came to a stop it got so cold. Freezing; like a bitter spear of pure ice pierced her core. Her rage and anger faltered, giving way to fear, panic even as death loomed like a heavy storm over her. The feeling of being lifted by the blade was so strange, she wasn't just picked up, but something inside her pulled her off her feet. "You are quite the Warrior, little Sith" His breath reeked and Kahla held back her gagging. To be called little was so insulting, she'd accomplished much following the footsteps of her master, and it felt as though he completely disregarded her effort, despite complimenting her as a warrior. And that he hardly payed attention to her, distracted by the battlefield. In that moment her rage built inside, she wanted so badly to retaliate, but she was near frozen by the pain. "I expected the Great Moon to call home our souls and cleanse you, but she has decided otherwise. Pity. You are dishonored and tainted. I don't know why she chose to spare you. Perhaps there is something she can see in your soul that I cannot." She was disgusted by his religious preaching, his voice droned on about the god he followed, and how she was 'tainted'. But such was the fate of the Sith, and if Taint lead one into power, then she would have to embrace it. In a moment of recollection she understood. Perhaps failure would have to pave the path to personal glory. Interrupting her thought, the dog continued "I will leave you to your wounds. Survive, or do not. I can care less." As she felt herself flung free of the blade in her stomach Kahla understood her chance. To learn, to improve. Trial and error had gotten her this far, and with each foe she grew to better understand not just her enemy, but herself. There was a hiss as her body hit the water, blood blended in the current, the last few moments of consciousness spent hazily watching her life essence spill and disappear into the lake, like dust lost in the wind. The light was blinding; everything a bright white, surrounding her. She hated it. Medics seemed to claw at her, 'fixing' her, sewing her mangled flesh back together. Kahla let out a roar of pain before the world went dark once more.

The Phantom's Spear dropped into a familiar orbit, the sublight engines hummed and droned. The Harrower felt so at home at Korriban, with its ancient devotion to the Sith continuing in the modern era. The dedication of the vessel matched only by the crews under Harris' watchful eye. They were a little late to the party, however, being among the last few Imperial vessels to arrive. Tyra's fleet joined in the formation, though the Eye of Sagittarius hung back, the massive maelstrom cannons nearly drooling in anticipation for their chance to wreak havoc on the rebel fleet. Artillery Battery (Incendiary) Cruiser and Support Craft Melting Iron [Green: 1] Hussar Class Cruiser: Xhal's Influence (10/20} Raider II Corvette: HF-11306 (2/1) Raider II Corvette: HF-11307 (2/1) - Artillery Battery (Gravity Crusher) Cruiser and Support Craft Eye of Sagittarius [Veteran: 0] Gladiator Star Destroyer: Eye of Sagittarius (10/20} Raider II Corvette: HF-11302 (2/1) Raider II Corvette: HF-11303 (2/1) - Tactical Support Escort Cruiser and Support Craft Naïve Miscreant [Green: 1] Arquitens Class Cruiser: Wretched Litch (9/9) Kontos Class Frigate: Feared Ring (3/3) Kontos Class Frigate: Kuat's Dread (3/3) Raider Class Corvette: 11304 (2/1) Raider Class Corvette: 11305 (2/1)

Pain and hatred swirled in her head like a tornado, feeding off each other, fueling the inferno that coursed through her mind. The holes torn in her shoulder now burned, embers had found their way into the wound and festered. The pain had become intoxicating. As her nerves were seared under the older flames, there was an odd sense of euphoria. Her left shoulder still burned, but with less intense pain. The fire however still raged across her right shoulder, and had found a balance as it scorched her flesh. She sucked in the pain, internalizing it and enthralling herself in the sick pleasure she felt. There was an ear drum shattering pop in that moment of indulgence, followed almost instantly by an equal explosion. Her instinct sharp, and the force as her guide, she leapt into a long roll to her immediate left. The metal shavings plunged into the joints of her prosthetic leg. The flame on her back flickered in the roll, but had spread down her back. Her knee and ankle clicked resiliently as she stood. Something had become jarred, it hadn't rendered the leg immobile, but a great degree of force was required to move it as normal. Kahla sneered as she turned to the flea ridden mongrel. He had made the mistake of putting one of his men in her path to him. She started a maddened sprint towards them, the loose soil almost hardened to stone under the pressure of her force aided tear across the field. Pure agony and fury drove her forward, through the infuriating defiance of her metallic leg. The next two canisters of flechettes were nearly vaporized by the burning crimson plasma of her lightsaber, cut down in a wide flick of her left hand. In her right, the saber blinked away before she stowed it on her belt. With both hands she gripped her left saber tight, lifting the blade over the smoldering flames before bringing it down with the might of pure rage that had festered inside her, seeking to cleave the soldier from shoulder to hip. Lost in the reverie of the burning that tortured her back, she carried the momentum back up and into an opposite sided slice, from the other shoulder nearer to the lower chest. Her attention turned quickly to her wolfen foe, who now brandished a blade of his own, her right hand loosing its grip as she brought her saber over her right shoulder. Kahla sprung forward, her robes struggling to keep up with her as they flew in the breeze. She drew her right handed blade from its rest, holding the inert hilt outstretched as she brought her first blade down in a wide, arching slash; the force pulled at her arm like a rope tied it to a speeder. At the apex of the swing her second blade whirred back to life, quickly following the firsts path with equal speed and precision. The scarlet hues danced and blended with the bright oranges and yellows of the fire that roared across her back. Her mind was almost trapped under the seething and boiling of her exterior, the fire itself became the nourishment of her rage and she embraced the pain like a loving mother would her child. ((Offensive Actions)) ((Defensive Actions/Damage Taken)) ((3)) ((This was a great duel, I had an absolute blast writing it!))