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  • A stream of surveillance channeled itself across the width of the embellished bacta-tank, waves of information eagerly digested piece by piece as the Spider watched from within. The medicinal broth sank deep into his pores and drove itself to mend the powerful conqueror, reconditioning the wear and tear that burdened him both mentally and physically. The locks of his natural and wild hair crowded most of his face as he remained afloat, almost camouflaging the oxygen duct that funneled air directly through him. His sharp eyes remained fastened however, focused on the screen with a strange fascination. This lasted hours maybe, the translation of time disregarded completely inside of his mind.
     
     
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Three knocks echoed hard across the frame of the vat, and then the sound of a motor spurring loudly alive. The bacta, and the unique bacteria that had been mixed in, began to drain with comfortable force. The Dark Lord awakened suddenly, emerald irises expanded, feeding on the light that now poured into them. A dream had taken him, smears of the visions the Grey Warden had shown him earlier. Infinitude challenging the Spider, daring him to grasp an inescapable truth. Exodus pulled the respirator from his mouth, tossing it to the basin of the tank, while pushing the redoubled glass door free. His powerful physique brimmed vivaciously, each breath he took filling him with spirit, rallying a deeper purpose than the one previously had. “Hephae..” Lord Exodus hemmed from the hydration caught in his throat. Clearing it, he stepped forward and took the cotton towel that hung from the hands of a silent maid, wiping the wet from his face. She did not move an inch, and could just as easily pass as an uninteresting mannequin in how she carried herself. “The Maker, Lord Hephaestus. Tell him it is time. The droids posted outside of this room, use them to relay the message.” The droids he spoke of were the abominable Deimos X-20s. They had easily risen to worth with their unforgiving and resolute demeanour, heavily-equipped powerhouses that unerringly heeded the call of the Sith King. "..This Dark Metal, in the hands of a master craftsman.. We will see what our old friend has to offer." The maidservant bowed courteously, and made for the exit, while Exodus turned his attention to the bizarre chest laid next to the tank. Leaning over the strange metal box, eerily reminiscent of an ancient sarcophagus, he lifted the cover.

 

 

 

<< Coded message to Master Hephaestus sent >>

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Kath hounds, those terrible beasts bred long ago for war and mayhem pounced upon the Jedi Master, the fear of a lightsabre or whip long bred out of them over thousands of generations. Telperiën watched, her amethyst eyes taking in the scene and her lower lip slightly clenched between her teeth in concern. THough she had cared little for the older female, there were other destinies awaiting her than to be eaten by stupid insentient beasts. With precise and long practised hands, Telperiën unslung her bow from her back. She removed the long yew stave from its leather sheathing and removed a hempen cord from the leather pouch at her belt with quick, nail bitten fingers. The leather kept the bowcord safe from the clinging damp of both Dathomiri and Onderonian forests, which would cause the cord to lose its spring and thus the bow its power. With one hand she looped the cord around the lowest Ryrr horn tipped end and then set the tip against a bole of a tree at her foot. Stepping across the long wooden stave, she placed her hip in the midsection of the long yew bow and grabbed both the cord and the furthest end of the bow. She took a single breath and the muscles on her arms rippled under the black leather and scale maille. With application of force from her hip acting as a lever she looped the other end of the cord around the bow then stepped back.

 

Her master’s poison was having due effect and the Jedi was a terrified mess of sobbing tears. The corner of Telperiën’s pretty mouth twitched down in a frown that amplified the tiny scar that etched her lower lip. It was the only blemish that showed on this beautiful stolen flesh. And it now showed white against her full lips as they were pulled further into a grimace. Panic and terror boiled into the force with krakatoan power from this Jedi Master and that scared her. For if there was something a person did not want to do in the untamed wilds of Onderon, it was broadcast fear and hurt on all frequencies. There was a reason that the only settlement on this cursed world was the high walled fortress of Iziz. For those creatures that stirred in the dusks of the demon moon ventured oft through the perimeters of the atmospheric passage of Onderon and Dxun. And Telperiën could feel them beginning their hunt.

 

The Kath Hounds had been vanquished by the Sword of the Jedi when next the daughter of Ar-Pharazon turned to the clearing, and it appeared whatever inner demons the woman had been fighting had fled as well. But Jaina had been horribly slashed by the hounds and her lifeblood spread into the grass and dirt around her in an enveloping pool of muddy crimson. Telperiën cursed under her breath and gave up the last pretense of hiding. This was not her mission, she was not supposed to protect or help her. She had been bidden to take her to the gates and cast her out. But here she was, with an enemy, and Telperiën knew that Jaina’s death would not serve. It would not serve the Sith to lose such an opponent to such a death, nor would such a death serve the force. For though its tides often did not speak to the daughter of the Golden God the force spoke now in such urgent clarity. Rescue would come soon for this Jedi, but she did not have the strength to last.

 

Telperiën stood over the woman and forced the bunch of razor sharp arrows in her bag down into the dirt beside her for easy drawing. Purple eyes calmly observed the bleeding woman, the dead Kath hounds, and finally settled on a little pup that was groveling next to its fallen mother. She strode forward and scooped up the young beast who mewed in terror as it was brought back to the woman that had killed its mother. Nightsister healing was always a bloody affair and perhaps the Kath pup could sense its coming fate as it struggled valiantly against its captor as Telperiën began the ritual. Seeping her spare hand in the blood of the fallen jedi master she pulled back the robes of the Jedi and drew a bloody circle around the wound and the ground on which she lay. Telperiën’s soft and gravel-like voice began to chant as she finished the intricate pattern of crooked lines and sweeping runes.

 

Eru völur allar frá Dathomi….

 

The Kath pup had ceased its struggle and now just attempted to nuzzle into the crook of Telperiën’s arm. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps for the warmth that came from her bare skin. Distant specks of black showed through the clouds and Telperiën knew they had very little time left. She continued her chant as she took the pup into both hands, letting the bow fall into the grass at her side.

 

….Vaki, Ar-Phara! Vekr þik Telperi, eingadóttir ykkr Qaelai….

 

The force moved for the Dathomiri girl, and she seized the pup harshly, stooping down over the jedi and the runes of her people. She bit through the neck of the Kath hound with a rending of her jaw. It yelped and Telperiën let its warm blood course down her chin to splatter the dying jedi. She let the Kath pup kick out the last of its strength as Telperiën basked in its death. She pulled the energy from the blood, from the grass, and from the dying pup and channeled it through the bloody runes.

 

….Eru völur….

It was not what the Jedi would be used to, it was no peaceful trance of the room of a thousand fountains. This was the healing of the nightsisters, the dark children of Dathomir, and every fluid ounce of blood and platelet was drawn from the marrow by force. The collagen and platelets pulled like threads on a tapestry to stitch the initial patch to stop the blood from pumping inexorably into the mud. It was not a permanent solution to stop the death of the jedi, but merely a kickstart to keep her from death, The ritual was messy and painful, and it sapped the strength from Telperiën, and she blinked tired eyes as she watched the skies. Then she saw the first speck turn into a Drexl, a flying beast from Dxun, and a demon larger than five men. She picked up the discarded bow then and flexed her back muscles. Knowing that they would soon ache from the exertion of using the longbow.

 

Telperiën let the ritual end, withdrawing herself from the force enough to begin to recover her own strength as she pulled a bodkin tipped shaft from where she had stuck it and stringing it to her bow. She pulled and loosed without thinking to aim, her arms long trained to aim where her sight wanted the arrow to be, and willed on by the force. The ash shaft sped from the bow with a snap and accelerated into the diving drexl’s armoured breast. A second and third shaft joined their brother, in the space of several seconds as they hammered into vital organs. The drexl faltered in its dive and plowed into the forest ten meters in front of the Sith apprentice and her Jedi charge. And Telperiën turned her bow to the next diving beast.

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The sky had a million tiny gashes in it, all splattering the stratosphere’s iridescent blood across her face. Jaina struggled to open her eyes, but they were somehow crudely sewn shut, and all her straining against the sutures would not admit a shred of light. Her neck was immobile, screws stabbing through the left side and roughly woven into her tendons and bones. Spindle-legged spiders crawled up her legs, but her limbs were dipped in hardened lead and she was not strong enough to lift them. Dozens of them sank fangs into her skin, as if in choreographed procedure, and Jaina found herself wondering if she was destined to mutate into a spider herself.

 

Tremors ran through her flesh like an electrical current, but she was certain she did not feel an ounce of cold. Her right hand was the only extremity that seemed to be operable, and it was shaking so uncontrollably that she wasn’t sure if it could even move in a linear enough fashion to locate her face. Excruciatingly, with more focus than such a task ought to have required, clammy and trembling fingers found her eyes. The crude sutures she expected to feel vanished, and gave way to the soft flesh surrounding her eyes--necrotizing, most likely--but she peeled their lids apart anyways.

 

A forest of bioluminescent vines had erupted surrounding her while she slept, and the longest ones hung down far enough from the canopy overhead to tickle her skin. The weight of the dead beast across her abdomen constricted her breathing, and when she managed to lift her head far enough to lay eyes on the creature, horror twisted in her gut. Maggots and other larvae crawled across every discernable surface of the kath hound, gathered so thickly that the beast seemed to be moving of its own accord.

 

Visceral repulsion seized her. With a heavy gasp, she sat upright. Whimpering in disgust and desperation, she pushed at the beast with her right hand, wretchedly scrambling to get out from underneath it. But her legs refused to cooperate and her left arm was limp and useless at her side.

 

But the Force was not so silent now. Instinctively, Jaina thrust the heel of her hand toward the corpse of the beast. The bloodied mass of pale fur flew through the surrounding vines, blinding her with the phosphorescence the movement awakened in the darkness, but she was able to move to sitting.

 

Her head pounded, and a fresh wave of hot, sticky blood washed down her arm. Looking sideways at the deep puncture wounds on her arm, easily visible through the mangled remains of her pilot’s jumpsuit, her nausea got the better of her and Jaina lurched forward, retching uselessly. Not a single ounce of the poison would let go its hold on her system, and dimly, she realized she could not remember the last time she had eaten. Pressing the remains of a tattered sleeve to her lips, Jaina turned her attention to her legs, as though willing them to gain circulation.

 

“You need help,” the soft voice came from the darkness. It was a statement of fact, and there was no pity, no urgency in the girlish voice.

 

Standing there, mere meters away from her, was Jaina’s daughter. Tirzah’s curls hung lank and limp as raindrops followed them like miniature highways, dripping rhythmically to her shoulders or the ground below. The cadaverous hollows of her eyes did little to mask the girl’s obsidian-black irises. She was horrifically emaciated. The wide-eyed preteen had vanished into this haggard, gaunt urchin with murder in her gaze.

 

“Tirzah?” Jaina began, her voice hoarse and rasping. Blood seeped between the fingers of her right hand as she pressed it as firmly as she could into her injured shoulder, but she knew it did little to stem the blood loss. “Are you all right? How did you get here?”

 

“Why did you come here, to the Heart of Rage?” she said without mercy or recognition, ignoring Jaina’s question entirely. Her head tilted quizzically--but too far for comfort, giving her the appearance of a zombified marionette.

 

“Tirzah, I was coming here, coming for you--how did you get--” her voice trailed off uselessly as the girl’s question sank in.

 

And she finally saw it. Behind Tirzah, in the distance on the far side of the clearing, through the brilliance of the vines, she saw it. A massive orb of crimson and steel, pulsing with the heartbeat of the jungle, bolstered by the necromancy of the Sith Sorcerers whose marks were made here. The poison coursing through her blood seemed to call out to it.

 

This. This was the thing that Darex had called upon her to destroy. This was the reason the Sith advancement had to stop.

 

Some crepuscular hand seized her heart and tightened its grip, and Jaina found herself short of breath. What was this power that had the Jedi terrified enough to mobilize an offense force alongside a provincial government? Curiosity eked out of her marrow itself. She had dropped everything at the call of the Jedi Master, telling herself that she was doing her family a service by throwing in her lot with the forces that had come to oppose the Sith expansion.

 

You’re not paying attention, the slithering whisper arrived in her mind in the voice of the Dark Lord Exodus.

 

The knife’s edge had tilted toward darkness, and she had plunged headlong into it without a moment’s thought, lest she be accused of inaction.

 

Maybe it was the poison talking, but the nexus of dark power felt uncomfortably like home. Like a moth to a flame, she found herself drawn inexorably toward it. It promised more power than she could contain, a strength with which she could extend her hand into the aether and recall her daughter. It alluded to new depths of understanding, a control in the Force that would leave her no longer at the whim of the tides of the mysterious energy. Praying no longer to gods benevelent or cruel, her fate in her own hands at last. Forming the current of the future to her will, at last securing safety for her family. At last, carving out a world in which she could have all that she wanted.

 

All that she wanted.

 

It could start here, it could start now. She could reach out and take it, grasp the beating rage that surged through the veins of the very earth she stood upon. The air around her vibrated with the hum of its power. With quivering lungs, she breathed it in, electricity snapping and crackling between her fingertips.

 

Weakly, she stood to her feet, and took a cautious step toward Tirzah, testing her balance. The hooded teenager stepped back to mirror her. She lunged with a hand outstretched to seize the girl before she could disappear entirely into the darkness of the Onderon jungle. As her hand found Tirzah’s arm, the girl’s face turned into a wicked sneer, her lips peeling back from her jaw in a flourish of oozing ichor to expose massive fangs as long as her fingers, spines sprouting from her hooded skull like Twi’lek head-tails. Her flesh turned a sickly green, her eyes hardening into red jewels. The twitching body of the drexl before her sprouted three intricately crafted arrows from its bosom, masterfully aimed to bring down a monster.

 

Staggering back in horror, she pressed a hand to her lips. The scent of her blood had invited them. The taste of her fear had lured them. The tantalizing allure of her conquests had promised the beasts a meal worth their time. The drexls had come.

 

Pressing her back into the hide of the fallen creature, she kept unsteady feet beneath her long enough to spy some other creature dressed in the form of the Spider’s apprentice, scanning the skies with an arrow at the ready.

 

It was only then that Jaina realized the throbbing in her shoulder had quieted. The girl must have followed her out here, trailed her into the wilderness, and it had been she who brought down the creature from the sky.

 

Unless she, too, was an illusion of the darkness.

 

A growing fury rose like a flash flood in her mind, until Jaina’s eyes contained only fire. With a sudden clench of her fist and accompanying growl, she snapped her dislocated shoulder back into place. The tangle of vines disappeared as the wide berth of drexl wings cut swaths through them as easily as if they were made of smoke. The pulsing of the Heart of the Jungle was loud in her ears, and instinctively, she reached into the inner sanctum in the place within her where she knew she would find the Sith Warrior, that place that would amplify the battle rage gathering within her skin.

 

But he was gone.

 

Frantically, she looked back and forth between her hands, the crackling energy of the Force passing between them. No, the Force was no longer silent. Distantly, she could sense that he was alive, and even nearby. She had assumed that the familiar connection would return once the Force whispered to her again...

 

...but in that place where their lives had been knit together on the other side of mortality, that central artery that kept them both alive had fallen still.

 

Heart sinking, Jaina reached for the only hope she had left. For years, she had floated in the resentment of solitude. From the first moments of her rebirth, her heart had roamed the galaxy crying out his name, a shout into the void, culminating in the shattering of glass in her adoptive brother’s library as her ultimate pain would no longer be silent. With the least satisfying farewell, she had at last seen the glimmer of emotion in his eyes as he spoke of her to Emily. It was the only promise of his love she had to cling to, the only memory save the very existence of her daughter that testified to the everlasting love he had promised to her. In her greatest need, he had been silent, beyond her reach, severed from her sight and from her heart.

 

So used she had become to knocking on a door that wouldn’t open, pinging a channel that would never respond, that up until now Jaina had refused to even approach the door. Even his return had been too good to be true, a phantom that might evaporate if she let go for even an instant. So she had tried not to hold on. She had become a Jedi Master, a servant, a general.

 

Because clinging too tightly to the hope of being a wife and a mother had cost her everything.

 

But as she allowed herself, at last, to shout her need to Andon, she knew.

 

With ecstatic joy like the dawning of a sunrise over the water, she knew.

 

With the crushing vacuum of pain, a gravity well forming within her heart, she knew.

 

He had been there, in every moment, straining against the walls of eternity to carve his way back to her. He had made the natural order of the galaxy bow in order that he would find himself at her side once more. And like a fool, she had seen only his absence, only her grief. Only now did she understand the pain that hid behind the earnest affection in his eyes. Only now, that he was beyond her sight or recall, only now that the vows that they made to one another had been cloven by a force beyond her control, all her bonds shattered, did she truly understand.

 

Andon had seen it all, and endured the fires of death and eternal torment in order to create a galaxy in which they might be reunited.

 

And now she had lost him.

 

Relief and bereavement mingled in the tears that rushed down her face, washing wide-open eyes that were fixated on something in an unseen world. Eternities away, the crystal that contained the color of her eyes burned white-hot and shattered.

 

The Dark Lord had created her anew, a pariah without family or ties to be trapped by, an endless wellspring of power, a conduit of the Force absent responsibility.

 

 

Hatefully, painfully, she had gotten her most silent and secret wish.

 

 

Surrounded though she was by the teeming life of the forest and the nimble fingers of the Spider’s apprentice, Jaina’s heart was at last utterly free and utterly alone.

 

With a primal scream that rivaled the ferocity of the encroaching beasts, Jaina unleashed a lightning storm into the heavens. Ozone burnt as her rage spiraled across the night sky, illuminating the bones of the nearest creature as she stopped its great heart from beating. Clouds gathered overhead, and the rain increased, as though Jaina’s sudden shock had defibrillated the heart of a storm overhead. The heavy beat of wings was illuminated by intermittent flashes of lightning, as the spirits of the trees came to life about her and the clearing was filled with the taunts and brays of her own demons.

 

As the corpse of her first kill fell to the undulating earth below, Jaina’s saber found her hand and snapped into venomous action. She plunged the sword into the softest point of the beast, in the skin beneath its wing, to ensure her rage had done its work. A screech behind her alerted her to the presence of another, and she spun to face it. Method and precision were left behind her as the stifling heat of the jungle breeze pushed her hair back from her face. Slashing at the beast, she caused it to rear up on its haunches. It took a swipe at her with a massive claw that she severed at the elbow, carving through its armored flesh like durasteel and eliciting a howl of pain from the creature.

 

Diving into a roll that sent needles of pain spiking through her already injured shoulder, Jaina brought her saber up within the belly of the drexl. The sizzle of cauterized flesh met her ears, and the screech of pain from the collapsing behemoth faltered into nothingness as she punctured its diaphragm.

 

It is yet undone, the familiar hiss of the Heart of Rage whispered to her. Free yourself and live.

 

Freedom. That is why she had come to Onderon, the fight she had taken up, the mantle on her shoulders. For the sake of freedom, she had put herself in chains.

 

At long last, she would cut herself free from every bond, and forge anew only what served the hope of freedom.

 

Slicing one of the massive tusks off of the drexl’s slack jaw, Jaina drove it into her abdomen as her storm continued overhead, driving the hungry beasts to ground. A nauseated laugh erupted from her lips as she drew it from the wound, red and dripping with her own blood, and reached her hand into the crevasse she had created. Within her, something gave way as she fell to her knees, her own blood reddening her exposed arm, and her hand slid out from the surgical opening she had made, clutching a small dark red object, irreparably bruised by her iron grip. A dozen surgeons on Corellia would have been heartbroken to see what had become of all their efforts to save her life with the organ the girl Raia had created within her adopted father.

 

As the storm quieted above her, Jaina lay once more in the grass, the damaged kidney clutched in her hand as she attempted to push it into the dirt beside her, a seed that would never germinate. All of Onderon might have heard her, but Jaina’s steady laughter, that forced wave after wave of blood through her wound, was for herself alone.

 

The Dark Lord’s poison had done its work.

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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When Raynuk had commissioned the Ravenhammer to serve as his new personal ship, the SIth had spared very little expense in ensuring that it was near bleeding edge in as many ways as possible. Luxury, weaponry, design, armor plating, anti-personal defense, engines, sensors; all had been pushed above normal levels simply by Raynuk throwing credits at the issue. And now it was the sensor’s turn to earn their keep and justify the money spent.

 

Normally a fast ship, the Ravenhammer was using a much more leisurely speed as it soared barely ten meters above the top of the jungles of Onderon that lay outside the city of Iziz, scanning the jungle below with its sensor array. Movement, heat signatures, electromagnetic disruptions, even spikes of sound were being scanned for and monitored as the ship soared through the night sky.

 

2-VSH had connected himself to the main computer of the Ravenhammer as he piloted the ship, adding his own central processes and computing power to tag team decrypting the sensor data as it streamed in real-time, and as more data came in, consistent readings were beginning to be ignored as soon as they presented themselves. One of the first to be excluded was the echo of the Ravenhammer’s engines bouncing off the walls of Iziz, as well as reverbing back from the ground and jungle itself. Next came the mating calls of Onderon’s various indigenous species from below, which lead to identifying the heat signatures of those creatures as well. Despite all the effort and processing power devoted to such a tactical and precision search pattern however, it was not one of the sensors that brought the Ravenhammer the break it was searching for.

 

No, instead the break came from the sudden, unexpected, and scientifically nearly impossible eruption of lightning from the jungle a kilometer north-west of the Ravenhammer. 2V’s photoreceptors registered the sight of a massive, forked spike of lightning burst through the trees, finding purchase in the seemingly innocuous clouds that were hovering higher in the atmosphere. Seconds later the sensors themselves went ballistic, seeing spikes in electromagnetic energy, and even a drop in barometric pressure that would have send any humanoid’s stomach into their throat.

 

2V did not even wait for confirmation or double checking the readings before twisting the Ravenhammer in that direction, and pushing full power back into the engines to close the gap. By the time the Ravenhammer arrived at the location of the lightning spike, those same innocuous clouds had grown as dark as space above them, and heavy with rain that had begun to be unleashed. Visually, the clearing was obscured by the heavy rain pouring over the cockpit of the ship, and the sensors of the ship were being affected too.

 

2V flipped on the landing and marker lights, flooding the clearing with comparatively blinding light that was far more consistent than the flickers of lighting that had been triggered by whatever 2V had spotted. With a mind to keep moving and not present the Ravenhammer as too much of a delicious target -- whether it be from below or from the growing lightning storm -- 2V floated the ship in a slow arc around the clearing, focusing and even magnifying his photoreceptors below to gauge the situation. Between 2V and the sensors, the Ravenhammer identified two humanoids in the clearing, numerous dead kath hounds, and an entire swarm of drexls that had momentarily scattered from the sudden influx of bright light from the Ravenhammer. But they recovered quickly, and apparently, did not like this new bright arrival, as a majority turned and began to attempt to swarm the ship.

 

<> 2V vocalized. The droid had been completely silent previously; being connected to the ship’s computer directly and having no one else aboard, there had been no need for the droid to speak. But the word did not serve as a distraction, as 2V nearly instantly switched over to the weapon controls, calculating a targeting pattern for the approaching drexls.

 

From the clearing below, 2V expected it was quite a show as the Ravenhammer roared into arrival over the clearing, lit up like a Life Day tree, bathing the entire area in light, and then with the heavy, screeching thumps of non-stop blaster cannon fire, began eviscerating the drexls from the sky, leaving neigh but burnt ozone and ash behind, all the while circling lazily around the clearing.

 

Three times before the drexls were dissuaded from their attack of the Ravenhammer, the growing storm decided to strike as well. As the ship floated close enough to a jungle tree that the storm sent an arc of lightning that jumped from cloud, to the ship, to the tree and the ground below. Lightning rocked the ship, but did not otherwise affect its operation; an unforeseen bonus to having the electro-shock plating that had first been implemented on the Ogariv II decades before also be installed on the Ravenhammer. The first time, the tree below drew the brunt of nature’s pure power, its bark exploding outward as the tree and its limbs erupted into flame from within.

 

The second strike rocked the ship harder, knocking the cannon off its trajectory to kill a drexl, but the bolt instead jumped to another of the creatures that had flown under the ship, killing it instantly before its smoldering carcass fell to the jungle below. By the time the third strike came, 2V had predicted it and adjusted the targeting accordingly so that when the Ravenhammer jostled, the rapid fire burst of cannons caught three different drexls.

 

The Ravenhammer continued to circle, dodging and taking the brunt of lightning strikes as needed until the drexls grew smart enough to give up and leave the ship alone. Only then did the movement of the ship change, as it slowly began to come in to land in the clearing itself. But just for good measure, 2V blasted another of the drexls out of the air as a show of force as it descended.

 

The ship kicked up what dirt had remained dry in the face of the storm, momentarily obscuring the light it emitted as well. But not long after, the ramp of the ship opened to the ground below, revealing a singular figure, its two meter plus form draped in a black hooded cloak as it stepped forward with heavy footfalls on the ramp itself. Once it emerged from under the shadow of the ship, it stood wordlessly, hood up as a defense against the rain that persisted.

 

(EDITED PER RULING)

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I ate a hippo. It was delicious.

May the Forth therve you well...

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The jungle was a dark husk of everything life should contain. Its weight hung heavy across Andon’s shoulders, once again finding himself treading a world he had no intention of visiting. Perhaps it was only a dream or a fragment of his own desire. Jaina had called for him and his heart had answered, tapping into the Wellspring and bringing him here before her. Another dream within another day, he looked behind himself and the burning skies of Coruscant remained, outlined by the threads of hyperdrives stealing away into the dark for any refuge from the satellite that would bring irreversible doom.

 

His body shivered with irreconcilable doubt as he looked upon his wife’s ravaged and desolate form, the haunt of her hazel-green eyes fracturing something deep within his being. Something awful had woven its web into her and cast a terrible venom into all that she was. He watched as she tore through hoards of mindless beasts, his face silhouetted by the amethyst fire her blade cast into the deep of night in this fervor of nightmare. Andon wondered if she could see him here at her side, for Jaina’s perceptions had… changed. There was a clarity in her, even lost to this madness, one that can only be gleaned by gazing into the Wellspring of Infinity.

 

She had now graced its waters, but to what depth, he did not know.

 

He mirrored her struggle, the Ghost in the Night that stood gallant at her side. For as the beasts tore into her flesh and the poison dragged her mind into the depths of unrelenting cruelty, he was the voice that carried in the undertone of her rage. The insatiable drive to survive and overcome was the echo in their heartbeats exchanged in the starless fury that had become of this world.

 

The Traveler looked upon the palm of his hand and remembered the sensation of her chestnut hair grazing his skin, the electric current of wonder from the bond forged between husband and wife. A bond that could not be defeated by time, nor death, nor destiny. An immolation of smoldering pain burst forth from his chest, sweltering his skin with the light of Jaina’s eyes and her damnation. The place on his form that had called her wedding gift home had pierced a hole directly through his core. The bond that had survived the weight of eternity had torn asunder the most intimate place of his identity. Whatever choleric ichor had poisoned her, it had completely shattered everything that held Jaina and Andon together, deconstructing all that he had gained in destroying Creation to make his way back to her.

 

There was no Andon without Jaina.

 

The spectre reeled backward, retching in existential agony over the wound within his being that no tenderness or time could possibly stitch back together. He reached for her mind, but even his abilities were deemed powerless in this moment, for she tore into her own flesh and ripped out an organ from within. Andon could not sense his wife as he could before. His thumb absently traced the silver band on his left ring finger and the warmth of her love was clouded. He could taste the heat of its spark, but it was worlds away, in the depth of whatever home her mind now dwelled within.

 

He fell to his knees beside her in the dirt, reaching for Jaina’s hand only to have his fingers pass through her as a phantom touch. Had he always been a ghost to her? Andon gazed behind him, to the city-planet on the verge of annihilation. He couldn’t stay, the longer he remained, the harder it was to hold back the Wellspring. If he lost control of all it contained, a terrible path of destruction would lay in the wake of all worlds between the city-planet and Onderon. He had to choose, for he could not save both the planet and Jaina. Whatever had happened to his love, she was the only one that could write the story of what she becomes now. He would find her again.

 

His fractured heart pieced itself back together and limped forward unto what waited for him worlds away, for he had a task to finish. Coruscant needed him tonight… he lamented, Jaina did not. Andon’s lips found the unfeeling skin of his wife’s forehead, and the ghost in the night dissipated back into the dark that drew him forth, banishing him into her oblivion.

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Upon a crack of thunder the ship that bore the Lord of Artifice arrived above Onderon, a place that had never before borne his presence.

 

This was not the Helios; Darth Angelia had taken that vessel on some other errand. But marked as it was with the symbols of Lemnos Industries and combined with his own announcement of intent, there was no doubt that it was helmed by Haphaestus himself.

 

His ship berthed, he was received by the very Deimos droids that to the Dark Lord he had once gifted. Creations he had assembled himself, with care and thoughtfulness placing every part and rivet. He spoke not a word, but inclined his head toward them and allowed himself to be led unto whatever sanctum Exodus had for their audience chosen.

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Concerning Raynuk Montar's last post --

 

I've been asked to take a look at this one-post rescue and escape that has gained some notoriety in the last 24 hours. I think this is a definite case of doing a bit too much in one post and decidedly not the best form considering it denied other present PCs the opportunity to interact with the events when they might realistically have.

 

I think flying in, fighting off the drexels, and landing next to Jaina is reasonable for one post, if even that on the upper end.

 

Everything after the following is nulled:

 

The ship kicked up what dirt had remained dry in the face of the storm, momentarily obscuring the light it emitted as well. But not long after, the ramp of the ship opened to the ground below, revealing a singular figure, its two meter plus form draped in a black hooded cloak as it stepped forward with heavy footfalls on the ramp itself. Once it emerged from under the shadow of the ship, it stood wordlessly, hood up as a defense against the rain that persisted.

 

I'll be interested to see what happens with Telperiën and the others.

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Bodkins, those horribly sharp, long bladed arrows whipped out of the Dathomiri’s bow at speeds that made the air crack with the discharge of kinetic energy. Telperiën’s back ached with every draw and and the callous along the inside of her left forearm was weeping bright red blood that sprayed a crimson mist every time the arrows flew. The long, thin, thin bladed arrows’ bodkin tip was about three inches in length and the shaft behind it was of heavy ash. They were made for piercing armour and devastating the internal cavities behind. The next drexl died directly after the first, a long, black feathered arrow sticking out of its breast. Its growl of rage never finished as it plowed into the dirt several meters in front of the daughter of Ar-Pharazon, kicking up a huge plume of brown loam, twisted roots, and shattered scales.

 

Then, late as they ever were, the cavalry arrived. This time in the form of a force storm from the lady jedi and a small ship that both began to pick the Drexl from the sky. The lightning crackled from behind Telperiën and the girl had to duck to avoid a lance of the sithborne lightning. Strange to see from a Jedi, but perhaps that was why Telperiën’s master had let her go. This Jedi woman was only a few degrees away from the embrace of the darkside and her flesh was...beautiful.

 

Telperiën hissed as she dodged the wing spike of the last Drexl before Jaina finished it off with her lightsabre. Only then did Telperiën let the muscles in her back relax. Her scale maille was torn and bloodied from the fight, and her arm dripped blood onto the ground which was kicked back up at her by the repulsorlift engines of the Ravenhammer. She closed her eyes against the spray of blood and dirt that spattered across her in the engine wash and she turned away from the landing ship to see the Jedi butchering herself like the older nightsisters used to butcher imported nerfs. Telperiën watched the jedi’s deepening madness with a mixture of concern, delight, and avid curiosity as she tore apart all the work that had been done by nightsister ritual. Telperiën could feel her rage peak at the sight of the mad jedi tearing herself apart. She was suffering and bleeding into the dirt.

 

Telperiën stepped backwards away from the Ravenhammer as the mighty ship descended into the clearing, she intended to cover the Jedi until the owner of the ship decided what he would do. She did not draw her bow but kept a black feathered bodkin notched in the bowstring as the rain began to quicken its fall around her. The ship was Quietus’s, she knew that from Korriban and Kashyyyk, and if he was here to hunt the Jedi there was little she could do to stop it. The woman was dying and there was no honour in killing a dying opponent. She would die soon despite her hopes and Telperiën’s amethyst eyes searched the skies for more Drexls that would disturb the woman’s last moments. There were other carrion of course, a white breasted dartwing which bounded around the wooden boughs of the trees, its razor sharp tongue looking to taste fresh blood.

 

Telperiën reached out in the force to the bird, stilling its lust for the Jedi’s blood and bidding it to find a closer and more delicious meal. For though the woman had torn herself heavily, upon inspection, the pentagram drawn in blood still masked her lithe stomach and would serve its purpose. Stepping the last few steps to Jaina’s side, Telperiën continued her chant from before. Willing the bleeding to at least slow as she waited for the landing ramp to descend. But as the ship settled into its joints and the hissing of compression seals began to fill the clearing, her chanting stopped and she straitened up to her full hieght, setting the bow before her with the arrow held lightly against its string.The dartwing joined her and perched upon the horn tip of her long bow, its bright red eyes staring down at the daughter of Ar-Pharazon with eager eyes. But it did not eat yet, it had not been invited.

 

When the ramp last descended, the last heir of the Golden God stared unflinching at the White Wolf of the Sith. The only sounds that filled the meadow, the wheezing breath of the Jedi and patter of blood falling from Telperiën’s left arm. But the question persisted in the mind of the Sith apprentice. What was the Wolf doing here? She stepped to the side so that the man could clearly see the woman and her soon to be fate, but kept her bow in hand. She would not intervene in the Wolf's kill, nor did she wish to be defenseless should the Wolf turn its fangs upon her.

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  • =======================
    // Onderon, Iziz City.
    //// The Glass Spire
    =======================

 

 

 

M A K E R

 

 

 

A worldly wonder, the Glass Spire was intricately and ostentatiously designed by the finest architects of the Sith Empire, festooned in great extravagance, as learned nobles are apt to do. It is nearly what one would honor as a palace and home of some of the most powerful Krath in Sith Space. Under rule, the Glass Spire specializes in the study of otherworldly planes and things, communication to realms beyond ours, and forbidden or restricted applications of the force or dark magics. Though admirers are permitted to roam some of the house grounds, most sections are prohibited and kept under strict guard. Priests of the oldest Order hail now to this place, some the heirs of the original Sith that surfaced many years ago. It is a crude and unyielding structure from within, built in the dark face of Iziz that overlooks the city. The purists that reside here serve the Sith only as historians and keepers of knowledge, never as tutors to outsiders, and are entirely impassive to the affairs of the outside world, even through the war and strife that have plagued them from here to Korriban. Certain doors within the Glass Spire are sealed -- only opening to permit the chosen. It is unknown who currently presides this new relic of truth. It is said that the rarest scrolls and texts have been imparted here and are kept in the catacombs beneath their grounds, most of which predates what some would call the Golden Age, but is kept secret from the rest of the world. It is unfathomable what mysteries could be discovered with the evidence that now rests here.

 

 

 

  • “Sith'ari, Lord Hephaestus has arrived.”

 

 

The Dark Lord campaigned a brutish magnetism about him. The dark trim of a cardinal quilled robe shouldered about his entire form, which was thoroughly weaponized from his binded boots, to the sharp canines lining his herculean jaw. A crude facial carving of animal bone fastened to the top of his left arm, the skinned skull of a familiar creature nestled tightly to his body, and fixed with a cursed locus of rage. The sheen of a powerful dark metal blade composed itself down the spine of the Spider, while his other instruments of war dangled securely by his side. His name alone carried a heavier flourish of power than that in which he possessed, and that would be a lesson his enemies would learn quickly. Unfolding from his meditative stance, recalling himself from an exponentially unnatural sight, Exodus awakened and returned to his own present. He gathered himself methodically before exiting the sealed chambers, leaving no words spoken of what he had just witnessed. "..I will meet with him then."

 

 

The doors to the Glass Spire lurched open, wider yet to allow the natural eventide light to crawl inside, just enough to die at the feet of the Spider. "Your diligence is recognized, Master Hephasestus. It is a pleasure to see you alive and well." Exodus nodded to the distinguished Sith Master, one of the few left that had truly aged well. The magnitude of the extraordinary machines that escorted his ally, drew an interesting parallel between themselves and their maker, standing side-by-side.

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Haphaestus stood tall before the Dark Lord, no crookedness to his stature nor any perceivable flaw to his presentation; countless nights and days of toil over his forge had not upon his form exacted any detectable cost. He was clad in robes of pitch black, sweeping back from mantled shoulders vast and dark as he moved with purpose. Embroidered on the hems of his garment in silver were glyphs whose meaning to many had been lost to time, ancient Tionese and Sith characters of ages long past but to which he had borne witness. His hood was raised, behind it his face enclosed within a darkmetal mask as ornate as his finest creations, patterned in common with the gauntlets, greaves, and sabatons of the same material that made themselves visible as his great cloak shifted.

 

But most striking perhaps was the black staff he bore as one might carry for support in arduous journeys by foot. He did not rest upon it, however, though he bore it not in vain: it was permeated with the blood of his enemies fallen.

 

"I trust your endeavors have been met with victory," Haphaestus intoned. "But let us speak of why it was I have been summoned. You seek the boon of my sacred craft of darkmetal." That which Rivan had entrusted to him, that no other hand among those living could work.

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“Victory.” The Scarab loomed over the atmosphere of Onderon hauntingly, repaired and replenished at last, after effortlessly overwhelming the combined offensive of the Jedi Order and the Galactic Alliance. Truth be told, he hadn't dubbed the nature of these events as victorious, but failings for what they were worth and what they amounted too. Worse than that, he began to see the holes show in the ranks of those that compiled his Empire, questionable motives plagued a great many of them. Exodus acknowledged the compliment with a convincing nod, but understood that these triumphs held taller convictions behind them, layers that only he spent the time to see.

 

 

"..Precisely. There is another who claims such a craft, an Alcazarin no less. He was there, with us, a time long on Vjun. What do you know of all this?" Curiosity channeled through the repose of his voice, wondering if these old connections to a time long lost, held a higher promise before his very eyes.

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Truthfully Haphaestus had not believed any other Alcazarin to have yet persisted. His Master, Dominus, was certainly no longer. Vastor, unlikely. Lavell and Shiri he had not in darkmetal's craft instructed. But there was one other who had before surprised him, and fate may yet have deigned to cross his path with that of the new Sith Empire.

 

"Oni," the artificer spoke. "The demon, though a man he once was." Though at times dangerous and unpredictable, Oni had been steadfast in duties of brotherhood, and Haphaestus bore him no ill will. "Our last meeting has been years past. But he does indeed know the craft inasmuch as it suits a being like himself."

 

Beyond his mask obsidian Haphaestus' eyes did with faint amber light glow. "Has he come before you?"

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“He has, old friend. He too, pledges himself to the cause.” The voice of the Dark Lord came off as chimeric; worn with the heavy weight of the darkness wielded inside of him, balanced graciously by an unyielding will. All over Onderon laid evidence of his purpose, signs that the dawn of the Sith Empire would not be quieted. This Oni, baptized as a Demon of the Sith, was just another face to be cognizant of. Standing at the steps of the Glass Spire, Exodus could see into the distance, the sprawling energy of Iziz just beyond this restricted district of the city, and release filled his mind for a brief moment. Returning his focus to the cabalistic mask that covered the face of Hephaestus, measuring the blaze hidden beneath, Exodus wondered what scale of secrets remained between the two warhorses. "It would seem the descendants of Dominus find affinity alongside," He paused, considering the many epithets that had now befallen him. "...the Spider." Lord Exodus smiled with fangs of perfection, understanding the eccentricity of the name.

 

 

  • "..And now I move towards the necessary evils, Lord Hephaestus. Preparation has never been more key."

 

What was understood but unspoken was War, yet what Exodus inferred was far more sinister. The emerald haunt of his irises peeked from beneath his tethered sanguine raiment, scanning the atmosphere as if he could see it just beyond the clouds. The rolling storm beneath the apathetic persona he carried would soon rise to surface, and only his eyes could illustrate what pain awaited those that would now stand in his way.

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"And so you have requested my presence," spoke Haphaestus.

 

Once Nurgle's battlefield general and in days following the Imperial Inquisitor, to war preparation Haphaestus was no stranger. Great dejarik matches with pieces innumerable had once been his chief pursuit, armies once his craft. He had studied long the value of each part in forces mixed, and an officer who did issue commands with full knowledge of the strength of his units was one that victory did readily follow. The quality of an army was built from keystone to highest tower -- would not a flagstone crumble if in a foundation placed? But even the strongest ranks would waver if not inspired by a leader of competence to command them.

 

"Your ranks shall with Lemnos droids continue to be supplemented," said the Sith Master. "But it is your own trappings which most keenly want for darkmetal. What desire you? A weapon immortal? Or armor, perhaps, that will unyielding remain for centuries after the conflict that commissioned it is forgotten?"

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"..Expansion is an option for you here, Hephaestus. Land is open for the Lords of the Sith. Onderon is flush with resource and a droid plantation could serve you well, if you but wished it. Consider this."

 

 

Exodus redressed the rich black linen that covered his body, composing the dark robe against the soft draft of the wind, and resting his hands on the ice-cold stone that stood carved from the Spire to the floor bottom of the stairs. Above him, the sky was mostly clear, just beginning to fade into a mournful darkness, and a fistful of stars dwindled, eclipsed by the descending light of the day. Dew now clung to everything. The balustrade was wet beneath his gauntlet, and water fell in droplets from the curvature of stone. The rise of the demon moon would surely call for a hunt, Exodus thought. He turned his face upwards, and watched the light slowly leech out of the sky. Then he looked outwards, to the ranges of the east, surreal was the feeling of expansion in such an influential sector. And then down, down towards his city, his people, and their homes. There was much to be done. Iziz City was now the mecca from which he could corner the galaxy at large. Fog slowly began to swallow up the Walled City, drowning it in waves. Only the Glass Spire rose above that obscure ocean, standing tall and proud and untouched beneath the open sky. Exodus tightened his grip on the railing. No sound arose from their isolation, tucked away from the crowds of Iziz. The fog consumed even that.

 

 

"..However, let us see what kind of armor you can assemble from this Darkmetal. The specifications of such material is of interest to me, the Demon Oni has only shared so much." Or perhaps he had shared too much, his old friend would not know the difference. The Dark Lord was more inclined to his curiosity of the craftsmanship between the two metalsmiths, what would divide them, and the caliber of labor poured into each piece. Could a difference be yielded?

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Haphaestus did not find Exodus' promise of business on Onderon yet suitable to Lemnos. Its population was both too small and too poor, and few would consider his machines affordable though they far outperformed models that on Onderon's market to date existed. A factory here would instead service directly the Sith Empire expanding, a close partnership that his other clients would not long tolerate, putting the business he had these past years built at considerable risk. But he had not come to discuss with Exodus these things.

 

"The technique to forge it is Alcazarin," said the Dark Lord of times past to the one who now the mantle bore. "And its supply limited. Finest armor for you I shall forge, but the art of my craft resides solely with Rivan and his followers now and for ever."

 

He bowed shallowly and held the pose. "I trust your forges are hot? Show me the way, and I will have my materials there delivered that I might set about my work."

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The accesses to the Spire pulled open just as the old Master uttered the last of his words. From them, a gargantuan creature heaved forth covered in the shadowy raiment of the Lords of the Sith. The sound of it's footsteps were hard and overly pronounced, hammering as hard as wounds in the force. It carried a strong width, overbearing presence, and indescribable nature about the way it bowled forward with unsuspecting grace. It must have been at least eight foot in height as the creature descended the steps of the Spire, skipping ridiculous measures in the flight of stairs as it drew closer to the Dark Lord. All of it's features were canopied by the over-sized and unthreaded robe that most Sith shielded their countenance with. The brawny powerhouse drew it's stride to an end at the hind of it's King, quickly surveying Hephaestus and the droids that surrounded him, low growls escaping from the black of it's hood.

 

 

  • "The droids will have coordinates for the Magrin Mines, just outside of the Eastern Wall. Use them, you will find what you seek there."

 

Exodus understood why General Jörmungandr had come, binarily understanding the primal nature the beast could now taste. The battle of Kuat was a meal he digested behind the scenes, dissecting prompt information from the war-front as he did for all hours of the day. He belonged to a rank of highly prestigious Sith that served directly under the Dark Lord, and kept from the general eye. He had news of a matter more personal however, one that drew on his patience. Exodus bowed his head slighty, a customary deference to those that had earned it. Turning, he placed a hand high on the shoulder of the creature, easing the primitive energy that poured off of him, but also reading the information that he carried without the exchange of words. The Deimos X-20s synchronously stomped into formation, prepared to escort the unique dark metal forger. Exodus would find his personal ship within the Spire, and make leave shortly.

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Keeping her amethyst eyes on the Ravenhammer, Telperient stooped to snatch a bodkin from on of the fallen beasts, the dartwing ever staring at her with crimson eyes as she moved. She continued her chant of healing as the Jedi woman lay in the pool of lacquered blood that mixed with the brown loam to form a mass of congealed and dark blood. Punctuated by bright jets of yellow crimson blood from the arteries that the Jedi had so foolishly severed. Every beat of Jaina’s heart pushing more blood into the dirt around her. Yet the dartwing did not dive to the dying Jedi, its eyes glittering in the light of bright Dxun overhead. Where merely days before the Jedi and Galactic Alliance had bombarded long deserted tombs of ancient Sith in a childish attempt to draw the fighting to the rings. And still the bird stared, willing Telperiën to invite it. And so the daughter of the Golden God did, and invited the bird to feast upon her stolen flesh.

 

She let her breathing still to nearly nothing, letting her chant change its tone as she parted her will to focus upon two endeavours. Healing and the ill practised art of beast mastery. She touched the birds mind, and invited it to drink from the mess of blood upon her arm. Where the bowstring had so cruelly torn the flesh after scraping away callus. The bird obeyed its command and the sharp claws of the bird bit into her upper arm as it perched there, dipping its silver head to drink. The first insertion of its tongue was agony as the sharp tongue scraped against nerves and burrowed into soft meat and flesh to sup upon the fresh blood of vien. Then as fast as the force would allow, her other hand caught around the birds neck and held it still as its razorsharp tongue darted in and out of her left arm. She let it feed as she concentrated, using the pain to amplify her desires in the force, and with every tongue stroke, she implanted more directions in it head.

 

Iziz, Darkness, Spiders, Void, Spire

 

fjölð veit ek fræða, fram sé ek lengra

 

All images that she burned into the mind of the small carrion, until she knew when she let it go it would fly with all haste to her master and his current residence. As she burned the images into its small brain, she let go of the bird and snatched up another bodkin from the ground. She held the ash shaft close to the head and with the micron sharp point began to carve upon the feasting bird. Quickly her hand moved, slicing into the flesh of its breast a single long word. The bodkin point only plunged skin deep and did no permanent damage to the bird but to perhaps make it fly faster out of fear. Once she had finished her work, she let her control of its mind drop away and with a whispered word of encouragement she let the bird depart, where it dove towards the distant walls of Iziz and to her awaiting master.

 

Only then did she hiss at the large amount of blood coursing down her arm in little streams and rivulets. But for now she embraced the pain and resumed her healing of the Jedi woman whome her adopted father cared for so deeply. It didn’t make sense for her to do this, Telperiën was no sentimental Jedi, but she had debts to repay to that clone. So she bet about the task and knelt over the Jedi.

 

In Iziz, some several minutes later, the white bird dove to perch upon her master’s waiting hand. Upon its breast, written in blood was the single word.

 

R A V E N H A M M E R

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Alone he stood, on the very edge of an exposed and private docking bay notched inconspicuously into the rib of the Spire, staring deeply into the free wilderness of Onderon. The fresh temperate breeze fermented the small cove with a natural tranquility, rushing through the fabric of his dark raiment, sweeping the mystifying tower with the emanation of the jungle planet. Lord Exodus stood with indomitable posture, searching the uncultivated stretch of natural land with a fire in his eyes that swam the trenches of his soul. It was the prophecy. His mind had slowly returned to him over the passing of time, heavily satiated by the foretoken of Aryian Darkfire, a flash of infinity that wrenched at the measures the Dark King had employed to reach this point. Out in the near distance there were ferocious creatures that thrashed their wings against the eventide for miles, unencumbered by such thoughts, and driven purely by primal instinct. He tried to resist the idle memories that came with this drawn parallel, but there existed a time when he was but a normal boy, conquering the Demon Moon with identical and thoughtless barbarism. Such remembrances served merely as a souvenir to much simpler times, since here and now stood a King of the Sith.

 

The Dark Lord unfolded his arms from his chest, and turned to see what the commotion was all about. A sudden racket from behind him stirred clamorously, the noise of exceptionally large cages rattling with utter abuse. Larval Drexl, they began to screech and brawl against their sedated docile state, for there was prey nearby. Sure enough, as soon as the realization dawned on him, he returned his gaze to the panoramic view set beside him, just in time to catch the appearance of a medium-scale dartwing sailing towards him. Exodus lifted and shielded his chest with the broadside of his gauntlet, and the bird reared to perch itself graciously upon his iron-laden arm. “What business do you have here, little creature?” Exodus smiled sharply, sensing purpose, reading the etchings upon it's body. The protest of the captured stock behind him, drew louder and more impetuous as if madness had stricken them. The Spider paid it no mind as he closed his eyes and sieved into the skull of the feral fowl, dissecting recent cognitive imagery at an alarming pace. The small creature cawed nervously several times, long beak still dried with the blood of his apprentice. "..I understand." The Dark Lord pushed off with the same arm that the feathered creature had landed on, releasing it back into the air.

 

The strange dartwing circled Exodus for a brief moment, flapping it's wings and ruffling loose pinions. The moment almost seemed picturesque, easily a product of the tranquility that had swept over the bay before the larvae had lost their minds. Yet, strangely, they were all silent now. Not a sound to be heard, except the flapping echo of the thick messenger bird. The Dark Lord could sense it now, he could smell the familiar odour of murder in the atmosphere. He took one step closer to the brink of the dock, and in that same instant, a surprising wash of force nearly took him from his feet. Power fluctuated throughout his body, and involuntarily braced the Assassin where he stood. The crude sound of a snapping crunch clapped against the hush, devouring the dartwing in the blink of an eye. It was a creature that brandished far superior wings, spanning the length of what felt like twenty meters. This was no ordinary Drexl that suspended before him, driving powerful gusts of wind into the small cove with each drum of it’s wings. The skin of this native beast ordinarily held a faded violet color against their iron-hide bodies, but this one appeared blackened by the curse of the Hjertet av Raseri. This carnivorous warbeast ran dimensions closer to that of an adult developed, but the sounds and signs of the predator hinted at adolescence.

 

 

  • “Incredible..”

 

The beast was in a strange abeyance, perhaps challenged by the perpetual stem of power that coursed through the Dark King. Exodus did not dare look away, for such an act would spell submissive defeat. Still, the vast proportions of this reptavian was fascinatingly mind-blowing. Height exceeding ten meters, length roughly fifteen, and scales dripping in black luster. Luckily, there was a font of darkness that swelled around Exodus' presence in an ungodly measure, kindred to the energy that radiated from the beast. The access doors to the rear of the dock released steams of pressure and unfastened to reveal a crowd of alarmed Krath, each of them identically wardrobed. The distraction was advantageous, and the evolutionary Drexl broke concentration and reared slowly with panic, but not before Exodus reached out and summoned a fixture of power that could shake his ancestors from death and bounded the monstrosity where it had chosen to expose itself. This would be a subjugation of the immortal kind.

 

 

 

 

  • =======================
    // I M P R I N T
    //// Onderon Wilderness
    =======================

 

The rain was ceaseless, emptying from the black skies harder than usual. The storm still roared across the land, rampaging with power across the obscure backdrop of the wilderness, but inside of this clearing another tempest brewed. It would seem an eternal stalemate loaned itself to the suspense of the events unfolded here, but there was no break in tension for what appeared to be hours. The dirt beneath them moistened into mud, and the howl of predators was drowned out by the furious squall. The pandemonium was unrefined and deafened the arrival of another. Large crushing wings soaring high above his prey, circuiting the clearing with predatory poise. This beast was nothing of the kind that had been felled here of recent, this one bore the imprint of a much darker figure that rode on the back of those blackened scales. There he stood, watching, with weapon in hand, ready for war.

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Life spilled out of her, not in droplets, but in waves. Each furious beat of her heart meant to preserve her by carrying oxygen to the farthest cells in her body speeded her demise instead. And Jaina's heart was racing out of all control as the massive ship descended, a sleek vessel of oblivion and nothingness. For indeed, even as it wreaked its vengeance on the last of the drexls overhead, Jaina could sense no sign of Raynuk aboard. As listless as she had been during her convalescence on Corellia, floating in a womb of bacta, here she was floating once more. The rivets and cables made of spirit and blood that had connected her to Raynuk, to Andon, to Tirzah had evaporated as easily as morning dew.

 

The anguish of her soul wrought the storm overhead that now washed her in sanguine mud.

 

The artery within her where her life and Raynuk's had been sewn together for their mutual survival had been ruptured. Her mind was still hazy with the fog of the Rage that pulsed through the jungle, but in a flash of icy clarity, she knew that the fight for survival had not abated with the silence of the drexls. The Dathomiri apprentice's healing was rudimentary and twisted. It had halted her from careening out of control toward imminent death, but much more was needed if she were to survive this long enough to bring a reckoning on the galaxy for what had occurred here.

 

And it would start with a simple and crude fix. Floodlights from the Ravenhammer's landing sequence disrupted the thick and oppressive cloud of darkness, and Jaina had one more light yet to add to her surroundings. The matte obsidian of her lightsaber's hilt flew like a projectile through the tumultuous dark, and as it made contact with her palm, she pressed the emitter casing against the stab wound in her abdomen. Gritting her teeth together, she activated the saber, cauterizing the ruinous hole that her abrupt nephrectomy had left behind.

 

A throaty scream was cut short by viscous blood that welled up in her throat, silencing the melody of Jaina's voice. Her hand trembled on the hilt of her saber, but held it in place long enough for Jaina to be sure she had slowed the blood loss. The aroma of her own seared flesh caught the turbulent breeze, and the nausea loosened her grip enough that the hum of her weapon hissed into silence. Rolling to her side, Jaina coughed violently, copper taste filling her senses. The pain added another layer of clarity to her sluggish thoughts, and as her eyes refocused, the first thing she could truly make out in the increased light was the violet glint of the apprentice's eyes.

 

The Heart of Rage was calling its subjects hither. Jaina had led the way, the Witness who would hold fast to her breath long enough to face the nexus that had nearly destroyed her. The apprentice who had trailed after her; Raynuk, who would always come for her; and soon approaching, the final eclipse to the light that she represented.

 

It seemed that she could not even face oblivion in peace.

 

"No," she murmured weakly to the girl who ministered to her, fussing over her injuries. Another cough expelled another mouthful of blood, and Jaina's throat was clearer. "No, child, use your strengths. More will come," she croaked, her eyes flicking to the skies.

 

And she would be ready. From the essence of the planet itself, Jaina began to draw strength, as her eyes slammed shut to focus. Gathering within her the threads that wove the very fabric of the Force, she brought the ancient might of the Jedi to bear. From the new growth of wild jungle foliage, she accelerated the repair capacity of her own cells. From the pulsing strength of the massive predators, she regained the faculty of her primal instincts. Her mind whispered to the captive planet that tolerated the existence of the aberration, trading secrets with the renewing spirit of Onderon.

 

Warmth and light came at her beck and call, filling her pores with the tingling newness of regrowth. The Sith poison that had nauseated her to her core, that which had driven her to insanity, warred with the new intrusion of cognizance: it dug its claws to her psyche, a slithering leech of the spirit. Her trembling hands stilled, her heartbeat slowed, the strains of the music of the galaxy filled her mind as the breeze rushed past her. The paralyzing fear, the panicked rage: her emptiness gave way for a new dedication, a new mission which seized her as the planet cried out for the breaking of its bonds. Strength filled her sinews as she lay, tattered and ragged, stained by blood and Onderonian soil and drexl saliva, her appearance belying the depth that she had cultivated over decades of labor and eternities in the aether. Instructed by the most skilled of Jedi healers across a generation of mystics, she washed herself in the eternal evernew of the Force.

 

When the King of the Sith arrived, he would find a Jedi Master in her place.

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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The figure seemed to survey the scene before it for a moment; the Spider’s apprentice stood before him, in the path that would lead it to the Jedi that lay wrything and cackling in the mud, vaguely pointing a primitive bow in his direction. But soon enough, the daughter of the golden god stepped to the side, clearing the path before him. The figure waited a beat longer, studying the girl in silence and then lurched forward again, heading directly towards the prone form of the Jedi Master.

 

It paused again, standing over her like an angel of death, no face visible beneath the hood it wore, which tilted slightly to the side in what could have been confusion, or amusement, or intrigue. A moment later, still wordlessly, it stooped down over her. The figure reached past her hand, seizing the kidney that Jaina was so vehemently attempting to press into the dirt, and examined it, inexorably studying it with the appearance of rapt interest in what this clump of organic matter had done to provoke such a visceral and violent response.

 

After a moment, it returned the destroyed organ to the dirt, and then the figure turned its gaze to the wound itself, so recently cauterized by the Jedi’s own weapon. Unseen eyes flickered from the wound, to the weapon, to the Jedi’s face, and back to the wound before the figure seized her hand, guiding it to her abdomen and pressing her hand against the wound she had created amd hastily attempted to fix, wordlessly commanding her to keep pressure on it. The figure’s hooded face turned unflinchingly towards the girl, with her bow in her hand, watching her for a full five seconds in silence. From beneath the hood there came a sudden visual, as two eyes burned into existence from within, flaring as red as the cannon fire from the ship before fading back out into darkness.

 

It was meant to be a clear message to the girl.

 

Still equally cloaked in silence as it was in black cloth, the figure stood, looming once again over the Jedi and eying the girl still. But there then came a sudden stop, and the hood turned skyward with uncomprehensible understanding as it seemed to fixate upon the creature with massive wings that circled against the stormy skies.

 

It seemed… Death had come after all.

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I ate a hippo. It was delicious.

May the Forth therve you well...

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When into the forge he went, and having gathered about him all manner of metals refined and unrefined, into his work Haphaestus committed himself. The furnaces burned hot, their mouths agape until the whole room sweltered in their heat as would the crater of a volcano. Then with the Force and his ancient arts he drew the heat into himself and through him to the darkmetal which began to take a new shape though under no hammer visible. Dross emerged in its working and separated itself to drift aside in orderly fashion to await disposal.

 

As this proceeded Haphaestus unmoving sat upon the floor, his only tool his mind. In the shimmering air before him the pieces formed:

 

A breastplate with hauberk attached. It was to Exodus' statuesque physique exactingly fitted as per Haphaestus' scanner-aided observations, emphasizing human form idealized. In heraldry it did the Spider evoke, stylized in a fashion with the ancient Sith and Haphaestus' own work consistent, kissed by runes in his formal script. Black as raven's feathers, the plate was graced with silver linings sparingly inlaid.

 

A single gauntlet, light but strong, to protect the Dark Lord's sword hand and forearm during duels of blades. It bore no mark of machine, but patterns and etchings intricate, deliberate and yet arcane, inspirations of a mind unknowable in origin and age, at once both calculating and creative. Each finger of the gauntlet was tailor-made, and the piece would fit Exodus' hand better than any glove it had before worn, protective without impeding dexterity.

 

Cuisses sheer and fitted, should Exodus desire their protection additional. Darkmetal was hard and so the piece could remain thin while yet remaining protective. The pieces he would attach to a belt, and to them he would affix further mounting in the form of straps to be secured around the thigh so that in battle heated they would neither shift nor rattle.

 

Banded spaulders, joined to the breastplate. Light, that under cloak or robe they could be concealed. The symbol of the Spider again marked them amidst Sith markings more traditional.

 

All these creations took shape at once, glowing red in the air around their maker. Then finally he stood, and throwing open the lid to a great vat of water chilled, he quenched them. Manually he began the process of preparing the mounting and straps necessary, then requested one of his machine attendants notify the Dark Lord that the creation was for his inspection prepared.

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At the Jedi’s request the Spider’s apprentice withdrew her mind from the task of healing, ceasing her chant and allowing for a moment of respite save for the approaching figure of the Wolf, whose footfalls sounded overloud even over the howling wind. The force however was not silent. It stirred and edded like the calm before a tidal wave and she knew that her master was here. Her purple eyes did not have to look for him for she could sense the oppressive darkness fall upon the clearing like a thick blanket of icy snow. Both freezing and insulating her in its presence. It was ice cold electricity to be in his gaze and Telperiën could feel the hairs on the back of her neck as the Wolf began to move towards her to retrieve its prey. Or was it its love? Was that the motivation here? He was even applying applying pressure to her wound and he had not bowed to strike her with a lightsabre.

 

Was this some test? Everything in the Sith was a test, her mother had warned her of that back on Korriban.

 

She was about to look skyward to her waiting master when his eyes glowed red and stared into her own amethyst eyes with the intent that spelled only one thing to the daughter of the Golden God as she brought the force to build in her. Letting its tendrils snake up her, to coat her arms and steady her.

 

A threat

 

A threat to not interfere in business not her own.

 

A decision had to be made, and a decision that Telperiën had not thought herself ready to make before when she had first seen the Ravenhammer settle onto its haunches like a mechanical beast, whose wings were whining engine clusters.

 

For it was her business, as he was merely the Wolf.

 

Pain seeped into her consciousness from her arm as she made her decision and she used that small pain to bolster her hold on the force. For the force was her weapon, and it was her guide. Her lips began to move again, muttering the words of a chant that stirred the force with its precision.

 

She was the envoy of the Dark Lord, his ward, and she would not be intimidated by a threat. And thus a decision was made and a smile stretched itself across her beautiful face as she struck. A twofold strike, one letting a tendril of the force wrap itself around the head of Lord Quietus to hold it fast in place as it looked skyward. Two came at the same time in the presence of a dark fletched arrow. The Heir of Ar-Pharazon, Nightsister of Dathomir, drew the bow full, feeling the yew bend and compress beneath her hand as the dark feathers of the the arrow that had etched the dartwing brushed the cheek beneath her right eye. The draw was full and fast, and her aim adjusted for the wind. With the movement of two tendons in her hand the arrow sped out of its shot guided and willed even faster by force gathered from pain and the flash of anger. The hemp cord raking across the bleeding arm as it snapped to straight, and Telperien used that pain to bolster the force already moving and guiding the arrow. Its point was Bodkin, made of long and sharp durasteel ground to a microns edge.

 

A point that would find itself in the uplifted head, at such power that could puncture most armours and skulls with ease. Drawing the shaft through skull, brain, and viscerae with ease, to wet the dark feathered fletching with a splash of crimson. A killing blow that would pass the five meters of separation in a split of a second and end the Wolf with little more than a whimper.

 

And so the Ward of the Spider struck at the Wolf as he looked towards her Master. Whose presence signaled death.

 

((Killshot upon Raynuk Montar))

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The cloaked figure still appeared to be gazing unflinchingly into the sky as Telperien made her decision to fire her bow. There was no sign of warning, or precognition from the figure, the muted thwip of the arrow leaving the string of the bow serving as the only clue as to what was coming. And there simply was not enough time between the sound and the impact for the figure to do muster anything more than a twitch of the neck that would have led to it turning around to face the girl once more.

 

THONK!

 

The figure stumbled forward, and its hooded head bowed from the impact as the arrow found purchase, now visibly imbedded through the cloth of the hood and into what lie beneath. But the impact made a sound that was simply... wrong.

 

The figure stumbled forward another step before falling to a knee, its gaze having finally been broken from the sky above. The figure did not continue to fall beyond to a knee however, but nor did it rise again right away. The only sign of its continued existence was the random jerking motion of its head, as though a tick had developed. And then, slowly, the figure moved again, rising back up to its full height, and began to turn to face Telperien once more. Its movements were slower, almost more precise and calculated, as though each held behind it an immense amount of thought. As the figure turned, its right arm began to reach up, and spindly fingers closed around the shaft of the arrow; Metallic fingers. And in the quickest and harshest movement yet, the figure snapped the shaft of the arrow away from its skull.

 

<>

 

The figure, still with the broken arrow in its hand, pulled back the hood to reveal that it was, in fact, Raynuk's droid, 2-VSH wearing the cloak. A droid who's white photo-receptors brightened once its head was revealed fully, coming back up from the dimmed state they had been in. But as the speech pattern revealed, the droid was now damaged. A spark arced from the back of it's head where the arrow had intruded itself into the cranium of the droid; a spark that also caused 2V's photoreceptors to momentarily flash that same shade of red. And perhaps amusingly, there was an outward dent on the forehead of the droid, likely from the tip of the arrow impacting the front.

 

<>

 

The droid's head twitched again, its neck momentarily spasming as another spark shot from its head and one photo-receptor flashed red. The arrow shaft dropped from its hand as the droid fell to one knee again, and pointed its right arm at Telperien.

 

A moment later, the cannons on the Ravenhammer roared to life again, spewing fire at Telperien from behind 2V, guided and controlled by the link that 2V had maintained with the ship, much as his master was capable of doing with his gauntlet. A relentless salvo of fire burned through the air with as much precision in calculations that the droid could muster in its current state.

 

<>

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I ate a hippo. It was delicious.

May the Forth therve you well...

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The hammer of rainfall hounded the territories without mercy, the racket of the thick rain hitting the underbrushes relentlessly, deafening the immediacy of other natural sound altogether. The remarkable swoosh of the dark behemoth Drexl circled the area in a few short rounds, furiously canvassing those that mingled below. The beast heaved and rattled it's massive head, trying to shake the magnetism of Dark Lord. There was an erupting shudder of his heavy scales, a thoroughly titanic resistance and a bodily violence buried deep inside of the animal that could be felt by the Spider as the two minds attempted to commune. The two spirits did not ease for more than a moment, quarreling back and forth. The wild temper of the carnivore remained oppressive and physically in defiance of the cognitive harness that now manifested onto the creature. The carnal lens that the reptavian peered through, was confused and blended between an immortal concentration and a vicious hunger to destroy. Wrathfully, the mighty Drexl spiralled in aerial form from towering heights, submitting to the chaos in it's mind, before plunging directly towards the largest target at ruinous speed. The Ravenhammer. Then, lightning lit up the entire sky, and the full horror of the tremendous beast could be seen.

 

Thunder roared in the wake of the flash, but even louder was the powerful collision that followed. The Drexl mutation hurled it's unnatural mass on top of the ship, doubling the gravity of impact with the speed and aggression with which it vaulted the exterior of the ship. Point of impact just happened to be the heavy blaster cannon turret, crippling the effectiveness of the weapon, but the creature had lost it's mind and the rampage would begin there. A wing-span that eclipsed twenty-feet balanced the vicious animal as talons clawed into the integrity of the ship, moving impulsively and at extreme speeds too dangerous for proximity. The length of it's long and armored tail punched into the ship, territorially tearing the target apart, while the weightiness of the reptavian brute dragging itself across the exterior, unhinged the accuracy of the ship's functions.

 

 

  • ".. Next time, keep your eyes on me."

 

As soon as the maniacal creature grounded into the ship, Lord Exodus had dynamically hurdled from the perch of the Drexl and spearheaded himself towards the mark with experienced precision. The grim reaper with hilt still in hand, tethered to the darkest favor of the force, unfolded in mid-air with a manifestation of unnatural power fueling his entire body. In one phenomenal stir of motion, he landed two feet from the target that stood next to the Jedi, and unleashed a brilliant beam of energy that would punch through the neck of the mysterious organism. There would be no interference in his matters, and those that defied his resolve would answer swiftly.

 

 

[Kill-shot Assist]

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Killshot request: Exodus and Telperien Ar-Pharazon vs. Raynuk Montar

 

After landing in the Onderonian wilderness, seemingly to collect Jaina Jade Skywalker, a being passing as Raynuk Montar was attacked by both Telperien Ar-Pharazon and Exodus. Despite some effort being spent to alert all parties, the attack on the Sith Master was rather simple: only a single arrow from Telperien and a close-range assault by Exodus.

 

Raynuk Montar’s retaliation against Telperien was similarly straightforward; a mixture of blaster fire from the ground and vehicle-based cannons from the Ravenhammer.

 

 

Telpherien Ar-Pharazon / Exodus vs. Raynuk Montar: Killshot fails.

 

Carefully reading Raynuk’s previous posts will make it clear that Raynuk Montar is not present in this environment, and was never written to be present in this environment. The droid that was deployed to retrieve Jaina Jade Skywalker, 2-VSH, is incapacitated. Its fate can be decided by Ar-Pharazon and Exodus. In addition, the ravaging that Exodus’ drexl mount has inflicted on the Ravenhammer has damaged the ship and has disabled at least the Quad Heavy Blaster Cannon turret, but the vessel is still flyable.

 

Raynuk Montar vs Telperien Ar-Pharazon: Killshot Counter fails.

 

Without preparation, a simple blaster attack from a tactical NPC is insufficient to slay an active and alert PC. The cannons from the Ravenhammer might have tipped the scales in Raynuk’s favor, but the timely intervention by Exodus is more than sufficient to disrupt their effectiveness.

 

The same posting order continues: Telperien Ar-Pharazon, then Raynuk Montar, then Exodus.

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The arrow flew true but found a skull that was not bone and flesh covering a grey brain of spongy meat, but instead found a head that was made of metal and molded circuitry. The bodkin still found purchase and damaged much of the functionality that was stored in the droid’s central computer before grinding to a halt with its black feathered fletching sticking out of both head and cloak. It was not a Sith Lord, but he retribution was still intended to be swift as Telperiën stood her ground, the blood dripping from her arm in rivulets of crimson.

 

She simply plucked another arrow from the ground where she had planted them earlier and prepared to fire again when the droid spoke. It warned of its master’s retribution to which the daughter of the Golden God merely laughed. The laugh was drowned by the sound of blaster fire that droned out from the ship as her master made his own attack upon both the ship and the droid controlling it. The droid was mercilessly destroyed by the assault, cut down from where the damage from Telperiën had left it. The blaster fire choked in the canons of the Ravenhammer and died, a few bolts whizzing by the head of Telperiën herself, hot enough that she could feel the burn of plasma against her fair cheeks.

 

Telperiën’s harsh laughter pierced the silence that came after the attacks had ceased and the grin that etched across her face was all teeth and carried no joy. The Spider had come and she inclined her head in his direction as she drew her bow again reaching into the force for its strength.

 

For if Montar was not here, then where was he?

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The iconic blade of Transcendance tempered into metal, cleaving through the cervix of the objective in one sweep. He maneuvered the weapon with effortless execution and speed, chaining his first right-handed swing with another in reverse before his full extension. The blade drew backwards and peeled through a quarter of the upper half that remained of the prey, dissecting and disarming further motor function that could be produced from desperation. The movement was blindingly fast, and found his open left palm with a shovel of a raw telekinetic push, blowing apart the remainder of the scraps that stood before him. The odds and ends of the circuited creature was violently heaved eastward from where the Spider stood, crumbling against the bark of a rotted herculean mahogany. Then, the world around Exodus slowed. The laughter of his apprentice birthed into the silent air, crude and awakening. The Dark Lord understood the thrill of the hunt, the intoxication it could fill the senses with, but his focus remained unbroken.

 

The Ravenhammer had suffered a brutal thrashing as it now stood; the sheer monstrosity and aggressiveness of the unnatural beast showering the vessel with hostility. The most basic of functionalities would be arrested with the volume of damage that bosomed from the beast. Odorous salivation spilled from the maw of the Drexl uncontrollably, illustrating the craze of territorial panic that it suffered. The laughter however, the sound of scorn and the energy of a threat distracted the horror from it’s chew-toy. The Drexl reared it’s ugly head, and the three humanoids that remained became the new focus. The crown of horns that decorated the facial bone structure of the creature flared a little more as it sniffed towards the others, evaluating the danger sense of the situation.

 

Exodus looked towards his apprentice, and then towards the wearied Jedi. The amount of blood spilled, the series of death that laid all around them, and the liveliness of the unfledged Sithspawn behind him were telling. This dance would come to a close, for he had the answers he had been searching for. “..It is time to leave.” Exodus divided his stern posture between the two before him, and the beast behind him. His look met that of the Drexl, and his words of departure were spoken softly for both women to consider.

 

The black-scaled Drexl clawed itself forward and slid from the ship in a similar motion that a Hutt would gather itself. Grotesquely muscular arms pitched into the earth below it, gouging the land as it pulled itself closer and closer to the man that had antagonized the creature before. Talons under the beast’s extremities opened up like a toothful jaw every second of the way, and clenched into the mud-trodden dirt. Exodus closed his eyes, and a sheet of sweat or rain, could be seen on his face from the peek of the moonshine above as the storm cleared. He positioned his footing a little sturdier beneath him, and outstretched his free hand towards the colossal beast, clearly drawing on an incredible measure of focus. The robes that fell from his remarkable physique remained unsoured from all the filth that surrounded him, dangling and taunting the creature that approached. For the size of the Drexl, it took seconds for it to close the distance, slowly and cautiously before it came to a complete halt. The look of obsession hadn’t left the eyes of the beast, the maddening aggression still painted over it’s face. The stench of it’s open maw poured forward like a blanket of fog, spittle still running down it’s skin in impressive volume. Exodus remained unflinching, a muted expression staring back daringly. His other hand hooked his weapon back to his belt slowly, and reached out to help the Jedi woman to her feet.

 

 

  • “Get on.”

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Telperiën smiled warmly at her master as he beckoned the two females to light upon the dragonlike creature. It was a passing thought, perhaps from her own past, or the past of the woman she now inhabited but dragon riding had always been a dream. A dream of a young girl on Kesh, looking at papier-mâché kites as the wheeled through the amber coloured sunset, imagining herself flying, gliding on those gusts of wind. Away from cities made of glass, and masters harsh as obsidian. The mâché kile with its wide sails bent in the shape of carrion wings, only tied to the earth by a thin cord of waxed twine. The mâché itself made from kesslrig root, stripped and laid bare to the sun, then torn again and boiled, before being pressed into its form on a lightweight skeleton of wood. The smell of those boiling vats of papier was earthy, and to take a lungful of it was to dive into a culture that had lasted a thousand generations.

 

A culture not her own. A past belonging to the stolen flesh of a woman she had never known. This sudden dive into memory gave the Daughter of Ar-Pharazon pause, and she hesitated a moment before she set herself to the task of boarding the beast.

 

With practise that stretched back to Dathomir, not Kesh, she placed the bow of yew against the a rock that jutted from the wet earth. The bone covered tip pressing against the stone, and with a heaving of her arms the Dathomiri bent the bow until she could unstring it. It would not do for the bow to follow its cord and be bent from long hours being strung. And so the girl wound the cord, drying it against her tunic before placing it back into the leather pouch at her hip. The bow she placed into its six foot long leather sheath that she slung over her back with a leather thong. Next came the scattered arrows, which with some effort from the force she gathered into a durasteel rain which she collected and placed into another leather bag the was slung over her other shoulder. There was no quiver, she was not some vain woman who used the bow because she had seen it in holos, she was an archer.

 

But the memories still beckoned at her as she hauled herself up behind her master where she gripped its scaly back with her knees. She stooped forward to look at her cuticles and saw at their base the hint of corruption. A small black line that traced the beginning of her nail, and she knew it would likely soon appear as ulcerations in her mouth next. The memories then were the last attempts of a dying body to return itself to the normal. But it would not, for she was living it now. And she had things to do.

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  • 2 weeks later...

The roar of the massive beast woke Jaina from a slumber that traversed the tale of her memories. The healing trance was too short to render her capable to continue her fight, but when the focus of her eyes centered on the outstretched hand of the Dark Lord, the stubbornness of the Jedi Master won out over her wounds.

 

"Come to gloat, have you?" she said, closing her eyes once more and tracing the dominating figure of the massive beast with her senses. Pushing herself to her feet, Jaina winced against the throbbing pain in her abdomen and the thick red color that infringed on her eyesight. The Dark Lord's mount was unstable at best, a creature as turbulent and untamable as the Spider himself. It was simply an unsuspecting victim that had fallen into the Spider's web, and, just like every other puppet that he held tightly by a string, the mutant drexl would do its own version of Exodus' dance.

 

Taking the gauntleted proffered hand in hers, Jaina hoisted herself atop the massive beast, attempting to downplay the shooting pain that ran through her freshly healed wounds as she saddled herself in front of her mortal enemy. Obsessively, she shielded her thoughts as much as she could manage, but even so, it seemed a futile exercise given the temporary insanity she had just experienced.

 

As she ground her teeth together and gripped the beast with her knees, attempting to manage the pain that was sure to erupt as she was jostled during the drexl's flight, Jaina added in a soft quip over her shoulder with a hoarse voice that required clearing her throat several times before it would even consent to produce sound, "You know, if you're planning a second round, I'd prefer you stab me in the back and get it over with."

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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