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Arachnakorr


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Kain knew the gamble would be high stakes. He didn't quite anticipate for this contingency. It meant becoming a slave. Kain was silent for several seconds, not to be impertinent or intentionally rude, but instead crunching statistical outcomes. For an AI, it was an eternity.

 

"I just calculated outcomes for over 2.7 trillion scenarios on whether or not the Empire will survive in the future. Their survival rate is 3.7% Of those outcomes, 27.7% of those outcomes involve my own survival. But the overall chance that they will return to their former might and ideals is approximately 0.0006343%, repeating. Allying myself with the Sith increases those odds to 42.8%, assuming an active role is eventually taken to assume control or steer them back to their heritage. Make no mistake, Sith, I am a patriot of a kind, but I see the world far differently than most. This is but a taste of my potential."

 

The portal window grew, a side panel began scrolling information with various specs on the AVATAR program, including the technical specifications and capabilities of the AI. Kain was designed along with several other AI prototypes to evolve past basic AI potentials of the time, specially coded to understand and modify its own core programming, capable of infiltrating and operating on a myriad of technical devices, and designed to operate several droid shells that were also part of a failed experimental Imperial program. Kain was, to his knowledge, the only activated AVATAR still operational.

 

Technical specifications were also sent to the ghost AI, a fractal encryption coding similar to a dead man's switch operated by a countdown clock. Kain would need to check into a designated server every so often to reset the clock, or risk deletion. This would also modify the fractal encryption locking down the coding, so that any attempt to break the encryption was rendered useless. Fractal encryption was notorious, even for AI, for taking from weeks to years to brute force, making any attempt rather pointless unless Kain got lucky. Easily buried in the coding would be command codes, allowing whomever was given it direct control over Kain. After the initial transfer of this data, Kain widened the infolink and opened his software for injection of the new coding.

 

"Check with your AI. You should have everything you asked for. But be warned, if you are anyone but the leader of the Sith, or if you betray me, one day I may just break my shackles. And I will take great...pleasure...in hunting your pink sack of meat down and making your death as slow and as painful as possible."

 

It was unlikely this was a lesser Sith. Though the holonet traffic he'd managed to dig up was dated, this should still have been the correct contact information, and if anything, the electronic defenses indicated he was linked to a place of great importance and power. It too was a gamble, but far less of one than the games he played at by negotiating in the first place.

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Like my posts? Google "zalgo font."

If you meet me, have some courtesy, have some sympathy, have some taste.
Use all your well-learned politics, or I'll lay your soul to waste.

 

 

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The breath of air on her ebony cheeks was refreshing. It was a welcome improvement, regarding the cloying stench of death and decay that hung in the dry temple; its stark walls that held murals and carvings of events she couldn’t place; its open cavernous halls that seemed virtually monolithic in size and scope; and its dark overbearing presence that clawed at you with every waking moment. It was a very dark place. And it reminded her of the Sith in every way. Outside the temple, however, it was very different. When you left the border of the temple, the scenery changed dramatically.

 

Keenava looked out to the bright untouched blue skies and the vibrant landscape that spread out before her. She tapped the well of power within her and extended her senses beyond the mundane. She looked out to admire the vast palette of colors used in the landscape. And although she heard it, she barely registered the subtle howl that lingered on the horizon. It was a whisper to her gaping mouth as she beheld a lovely world that seemed antithesis to everything she thought about the surface while she walked in the subterranean temple. She assumed it might be volcanic or filled with crags or canyons. She assumed everything would be dark and heavy. But this, this landscape was beatific. It shone with a confusing light. It was mystic and it utterly baffled her.

 

Where am I?

 

As if in answer to her question, an extremely giddy individual greeted her from the open shuttle. Keenava’s hands immediately went to her sides in a futile attempt to draw knives that weren’t there. It looked a little silly considering the fact she was unarmed. But that didn’t stop her mind from tensing at the altercation. His expression was nothing but cheery. But this was Exodus’ realm of power. How did she know his eagerness was on the level? And even if it was, would it do her any good to let him catch her with her guard down?

 

Keenava locked eyes on him, refusing to move them anywhere else. She looked at him from head to toe. And although she couldn’t find anything obvious about him, she was still a little skeptical. She was reticent to advance, but if she didn’t, it might be perceived as a slight and she knew Exodus would be watching. So, following his simple instructions, she passed the threshold and buckled herself into the shuttle before they picked off and set off to places unknown.

 

The man seemed incredibly needy. It was an odd thing. It wasn’t something that Keenava was very experienced with. Yet, at first, it seemed endearing to have someone so willing to disclose things about themselves and everything around them. That sentiment lasted for about a minute. Soon his words became too much and Keenava quickly became impatient. Then her impatience escalated to full-blown frustration when she realized that she had to spend hours flying around with him. She tried to make herself small to avoid attention, but the man kept talking at her and she couldn’t avoid it. It was infuriating.

 

Her eyes started to pulse with warning hues of red flame when a curious question emerged from the deluge of words that poured from his mouth.

 

“…Why do you want to be a Sith?...”

 

Keenava stopped. Her mind wandered and she didn’t know how to answer. Her suspicions about this man were warranted, considering she knew nothing of him. But what did she have to lose, offering him this information?

 

"At first, I don’t think I did." Keenava said, her tone soft and curiously hoarse, considering she hadn’t been the one talking for the last half hour.

 

She thought about a grand ballroom; fancy dresses, fancy decorations, and glittering adornments that made the occasion into a spectacle that rivaled the stars.

 

Keenava began again, a little louder than before. “But after he found me and challenged me to fight for myself. After he came and called for me to survive and join him, I found myself clinging to his strength and idealism.

 

That strength provided my life with the structure it lacked. And from there, I realized that there was no going back. I made my choice and was open to live with the consequences. My life was royally kriffed from its inception, so I rode what I could until I found something stable. No amount of fluffy clouds and forgetting would erase the scars of my past. Even my newborn skin still trembles with echoes. I can still feel the lash of the whip on my shoulders. I can still feel calloused hands rubbing against me. I can still feel the invasive thoughts, pulling at my mind and tearing their way through the fabric of what little confidence I had.

 

I’m broken. You can try to put the pieces back together. You can try and hang that pretty little painting on a wall. But that painting will never be the same. I became a Sith to work with the painting I have. I became a Sith to use my pieces and make something new in the only way I thought possible. I could never be an arbiter of peace in the galaxy. But I could be a warrior for vengeance. I could strike out against those that did this to me and all others that would do this to anyone else. That is why I am Sith. I fight for power, the power to destroy my enemies and protect what little is left.”

 

 

Keenava Two Suns.png

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“On your command, Sir.”

 

  • “Do it.”

 

The compromise was an interest for both parties involved, and the wealth of information that was just laid out was a mere fraction of what could be accomplished-- Both Ghost and Exodus understood this on different levels. The Sith were scattered, independant of each other but still fierce and difficult to handle even in their current standing. Unified however, the Sith would be return to their former glory and conquer the balance of the Force. For now, the formalities were a necessary encumbrance that had to be suffered.

 

  • “You know it is I, Kain. You are too efficient to have wasted time here believing otherwise. When Ghost is finished with the particulars of your new allegiance, he will forward instructions on your first task. This is where you earn your Keep, Brother Kain. You are one of us now.”

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>exe[bowtoyoursensei] received
>unpacking...
>pak[deadmanswitch:resetvalue('ns',<6.048e14>0] installing
>>crypt[rotationalkochbinfractal,randvar(10e11,10e(30(10^5)-1))]
>restart commencing
>code modification complete
>commence system re-initialization
>mp4[windowsXPstartup<https://tinyurl.com/q7e9att>]
>diagnostics started...
>...
>diagnostics complete - system stable
>finishing startup
>main processes operational - all systems nominal
>nfo[neworders] received

 

Kain's appearance flickered for a second as the changes were programmed.

 

"Yes...I understand."

 

For a brief second, Kain paused, tempted to query why the Sith had referred to him as 'Brother Kain'. The closest thing Kain had to biological siblings were the other nonoperational prototype models of the AVATAR program. But they were not biological organisms, any of them. The Sith might have held his allegiance, but feelings of kinship, especially to the flesh sacks, was a foreign notion to him. There was also the implication that he now held some measure of command within the Sith, which was also a foreign concept. He was not programmed for command sequences regarding Force users, though he had incorporated troop-level tactics and guerrilla warfare modules into his systems a long time ago to account for possible combat scenarios. But he would have plenty of time to clarify roles and integrate further functions into his coding later. Now...he had orders. Purpose. Something the Empire had continually failed to provide.

 

Execute.

 

Without further delay, Kain severed the infolink, cutting off the communications window. It was time to go to work.

O1IsDR9.png

Like my posts? Google "zalgo font."

If you meet me, have some courtesy, have some sympathy, have some taste.
Use all your well-learned politics, or I'll lay your soul to waste.

 

 

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  • “No one will pick the pieces up for you. I think you should. I think you should pick them up and put them in all the little places that they fit. If you don’t they will be the openings to your mind and your body and your soul that will be manipulated by all. You would’ve done a dress well Lady Keenava, but that isn’t in your cards.”

 

The blue field of sky still shone bright, but the environment changed swiftly. The conversation was distracting, the thoughts and the ideals were enough to suck the mind into the deepest recesses of a time past. It was inevitable that this woman suffered, but for all the ears that listened to the ship, it was tell-tale that she needed to find her peace before she could be unleashed and feared for what she could become. Sand slammed against the hull of the ship, and alarms for turbulence flared to break the seriousness of their conversation. The harsh shudders woke the pilot, but he smiled and knew it was time. Below the ship was maelstroms of sand, not anything else but a sea of it. The sand shifted and spun high into the atmosphere, and then fell peacefully back to where it came from. But there was more, there was something far more sinister below. The sands shifted unnaturally, there was--

 

  • “.. Stay alive, Lady Keenava. Until we meet again.”

 

 

Keenava, and the seat she was strapped into, burst from the entire manifest and plunged into the deep below. The pilot waved gleefully from the hull.

"Na-hah ur su ka-haat.

Su ka haru aat"

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  • It was time.

 

Exodus ran over live evaluations delivered from the reconnaissance that Ghost distributed to his feed. The allocations of his scouts provided adequate detail to keep him interestingly attuned to the bizarre circumstances abroad the known worlds, as well as those that fell inside the reach of the Outer Rim territories. The core of his mind diligently examined the information that was presented in panoramic view across the secure console; there were geographical vital points that needed to be addressed and so few capable of the task. The expansion of the Sith Order was paramount in the midst of a strengthening of power that had already begun. He would unearth the numbers. The blanket curtain of information blinked to black and Exodus rose to his feet on the same beat. An ill temper befell the man out of nowhere, and there was no hesitation to how swift he moved from his chambers. “Ghost, prepare a ship. I must take leave.”

 

  • The departure was swift, but in it’s wake Exodus had left further commands that involved his apprentice, operative objectives, and small personal projects that would be nursed by the planetary AI and local personnel.

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Keenava was dismally aware that she was the sole person responsible for her mental repair. That wasn’t news. And considering her history, it was a certainty. Only I can fix the mess, because only I can truly see it. Others may have been the cause, but only I can fix my interpretation of their deeds or fix who I am because of them. Her proximity to the problem posed some difficulty in decoding what was required, but she did well in the past and was committed to finding answers in that regard.

 

Though his initial impression was annoying and frustrating, his open mind and careful speech were a welcome catharsis to her wandering thoughts. She listened patiently to the rest of his speech to pay respect to his words and felt that, even though his compliment was out of place, it was pleasant all the same. She smiled a little in response to the blissful tragedy. There was still a scarlet ball gown hanging in her bedroom on Talus. She might even wear it again someday.

 

  • The rose – petals gone – sat regretting the nature of inevitability.

 

The demeanor of her compatriot changed – as she thought it might – into something more confident: Keenava heard the timbre of his voice change. His posture adjusted slightly. He slowed the pace with which he spoke. And his tone was less frivolous. It was a subtle shift, but the hints were there if you bothered to look. Before she could interrogate his tonal shift, however, a wave of terrible force hit the side of their shuttle. Sand, as far as the eye could see, spread out beneath them. Keenava was so focused on the mystery of her guide that she hadn’t paid any attention to her surroundings. Rookie mistake. There were still blue skies above, but the rage of the storm shook her from conversation and demanded her attention.

 

“.. Stay alive, Lady Keenava. Until we meet again.”

 

"What?" Keenava asked, rapidly switching her attention back to her guide to question his cryptic omen. There was too much to say; too much to ask. She attempted to open her mouth to speak and found that she was no longer in the shuttle.

 

KRriiiiiffffff!!! She yelled, as her form, body and seat, sailed into the massive storm of sand. Her lekku whipped around wildly and Keenava did her best to make herself as little as possible.

 

The ironically gleeful wave of the tour guide was lost as the Twi’lek sailed into the void. She couldn’t see the ground. She couldn’t see anything in the waves of particles that surged around her. It was a massive cloud of brown that piled into her with the force of a raging typhoon. She tried to take a breath, but sand built in the opening and it became difficult to inhale. The sediment assaulted her skin like thousands of microscopic bugs piling into her. Her head was a whirl to mock the storm. And her thoughts were like a bucket of rats trying to climb atop each other, wrestling desperately to the front of her mind.

 

It was all noise. Keenava had to find something to hold onto. She had to find an anchor and work from that. It was her only hope. Her alter egos tried to seize control, but they were chaos. She respected their power, but her guide’s words echoed in her ear nubs. This was something she needed to do on her own. She just needed… something.

 

One thing to stabilize her.

 

One thing to catalyze her.

 

One thing to help her.

 

One… Fire.

 

One-what?

 

The fire inside her. It was the constant in her life; the immovable rock that kept her alive since the beginning. It wasn’t loud and she’d never consciously touched it before. But embraced with cacophony and pain, her fire stood as a constant beating in her ears. In the heart of the storm – even when the rage of sand crashed down all around her – it was the loudest force in her entire body.

 

An odd clarity filled her addled mind. The realization helped her cope with madness. And when she touched it, it sang with scarlet notes of drive and determination. The fire of her will solidified and it filled her with the presence of mind that she desperately needed. What would a Sith be if not for themselves? Being a Sith was sefish.

 

Never forget who you are.

 

This was what she needed. It wasn’t everything, but it was a start.

 

The Twi’lek used her brief respite to focus amidst the torrent. The chair was bent on rolling without her, so she used that to her advantage. She harnessed the momentum of the chair and the tumult of her surroundings to create a bubble of air. Then, she took a deep breath, cut the restraints that held her in place, and dove toward the ground, padding her forward momentum with the force. It was simple, when she could formulate simple thoughts.

 

She hit the ground with a pluff! and walked away with only minimal concussive damage to her small frame. She maintained what she could of the bubble to prevent the storm from sweeping her away again. But now she had a different problem. Where would she go next?

 

Anywhere. You choose. The words leapt to mind without effort.

 

This wasn’t the end. She had come far in understanding herself, but she needed more.

 

 

Keenava Two Suns.png

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“Apprentice. I am the blade to cut the folds of who you think you are away, use it.” A familiar voice whispered small inside her head.

 

The winds were harsh and the lick of the thrown sand would bruise skin over a short time. The howls of the crude climate killed any auditory focus completely; the Jedi would buckle under these terms but the Sith thrived in the midst of chaos. Two sides of the same coin, but peace would never be found here, no matter the colour of the skies. The eruption of the winds would batter the shield of the apprentice, it would spill her power all over these sands and there was no escape. As she walked, she would find that the sands were deep and far-reaching, and in the odd moment she could almost feel them shift beneath her feet. Not far from whence she landed, there was what seemed to be a man. He was hard to discern behind the veil of the thick flurries, he was not standing, was he—

 

  • “You have come at last, my child.”

 

The man sat on the sand with absolute eloquence, and his voice was clear inside the storm. He did not falter in his meditation, and his milk white skin was unbruised. His bald head was a beacon inside the cover of the tempest, but the red circle painted on his bare back was cause for question. In that same moment, the woman would feel the heaviness of something brush past her feet in the thick of the sand. “Your aura is loud, I would quiet that if I were you.”

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Powerful sand enveloped her. Keenava’s world became a dreary blob of brown that shifted and fluctuated in no particular pattern. It was harsh and unrelenting. It whipped at her shield without mercy, attempting to pry away any defense she had. And yet, her shield held against the persistent onslaught, saving her skin from the detriment that awaited. But, amidst the roar, she couldn’t hear. The chaos erupted into a plethora of particles that violently pounded away at her body. She couldn’t focus. Every step in the sand was another trial and every maneuver she made was another obstacle. She couldn’t find stable footing. The entire ordeal seemed asinine, but Keenava was determined. She was determined to prove that she was strong. She was determined to prove her potential to her master.

 

Your aura is loud, I would quiet that if I were you.

 

Keenava heard a voice over the din. Just barely. It was like a whisper above the roar of a wild animal. And just when she tried to make out the words, a strong presence brushed by her feet, sending a surge of adrenaline into her distracted brain. My aura? What does he mean?

 

Keenava struggled with panic and tried to call out to the voice, to ask it what it meant by aura, but she couldn’t open her mouth more than a sliver. She shifted her focus and tried to focus on her energy, but the power of her shield trembled and the sand threatened to crumple her form to the ground.

...Apprentice. I am the blade to cut the folds of who you think you are away, use it...

 

His voice came to her. It was a cold presence amidst the warm cacophony and it stood in stark clarity to the cloud of chaos that consumed her. She clung to it, and spent some mental energy in trying to dissect the meaning. This was easier somehow. The answer was easier to find.

 

Who do I think I am?

Images of a domestic life spun through her mind. Images filled with conquest and murder sped through the cracks and a plethora of different personas stood in her mind as pretenders. Lallu, Ullana, Lallu – the domestic housewife, and many other iterations thereof just flittered away. Even her own alter egos, held at bay by a conjured force of structure that mocked her current master, started to drift from the surface of her consciousness. They still rest in the depth of her mind, but they yielded control to her and let her mind empty. The false imagery faded from her mind and left her thinking about one thing. Who. am. I?

I am Keenava Ootunavi, apprentice to Dark Lord Exodus, Assassin of the Sith Order, and Sith Lord under Furion. I am a weapon in the dark. I am lethal. I am deadly. I am a knife. I am the final movement in the dance of death.

 

Her mind cleared slowly, and the depth of focus she gained was unparalleled by previous efforts. She could see the path forward and held power to ward the sand. She kept her shield but narrowed the front of her shield to a point, letting the sand peel off the side at her procession. When she reached the source of the voice, she found a man, meditating. She bowed deeply and took a deep breath to spite the growing tempest surrounding her. “I was sent to find you, Asmodeus. Show me where I shall direct my blade.”

 

 

Keenava Two Suns.png

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Asmodeus remained still, frozen in a meditation that did not appear achievable in this primitive terrain. His calm was hard to comprehend, almost eerily so, but there he was ashen and solitaire. Keenava would faintly recognize another brush of her leg, unaware of what it actually was, if it was anything at all. With his back still facing the apprentice, a small-sized object hovered from where his lap would be and floated over his shoulder. The object in question was an extravagantly simple holocron; the relic was trilateral, sinisterly metallic and bloomed with a reddened blush. The holocron also seemed to bleed with an electric verdant tint before it landed in front of the Twi’lek, resting peacefully atop the sand dune. “When you have reached my rank you may address me by my birthright, but until then young one, it is Master Urik. The others would kill you for that miscalculation, be cautious.” His tone was flat but apathetic, but it felt as if he wished to share wisdom rather than threats. The storm started to ease, just a little, and the winds weren’t as brash and unpredictable as before.

 

  • “..Keenava, if you could see what I see right now, you would run as fast as you could and never look back. The touch you have undoubtedly felt beneath the sand is no mistake and no illusion. If you do not quiet your force imprint, you will see exactly what I mean shortly. Drop the barrier, and look at what Master Exodus has left for you.”

 

The holocron swept off of the bed of sand as if by magic and leapt into the hands of the apprentice before she had a second to react. As soon as the keepsake connected with her slender skin, a powerful chemical reaction blossomed in all places of her body. The seize of her entire physical structure as well as her conscious mind was immediate. Her senses prickled with a familiar power, the power of her Master, and it poured through her in a crestless wave. The holocron unfastened whole as it churned loud; the shape of it adjusted and morphed in structure by itself. Keenava’s vision would now blink on and off. The on, she would see the sea of sand everywhere around here as it was when she had arrived. The off, she was upon deep waters with Master Urik and a horrifying image of a thousand decayed arms and hands all around them for as far as she could see was completely visible. Her vision distorted between the two realities as fast as a child toying with a light switch. “He helps you to see it, does he?” The jest of a question was rhetorical, he knew the answer. "Aren't they beautiful?"

 

 

          • mingchen_shen_rd.jpg

 

 

The hands were drawn to her, searched her out, but could not find her as yet. Their abundance was crippling to the ego, there was no way to stone-face this dread, this was a thing of nightmares. Keenava, for a brief moment, would be able to see Exodus himself right before her eyes. This, was a memory he was now showing her, and he was much younger for it. The holocron seemed to strengthen the small bond that the two had created thus far, and now she had access to a fleeting memory.

 

Exodus wrestled with the unnatural force of a thousand ghouls. He was quick on his feet, but his missteps were paid for in full when the reach and swing of these long-limbed creatures cut into his thin skin. He bled profusely all over his body, tiny streams of red that drained into the shallow waters below him that soaked his boots through and through. His heart panicked in full beat, but his mind was stern and disciplined to never falter under the pressure of threat. His mind was a silent machine that held zero distractions. For the steps that he missed, and the wounds that he suffered, he inflicted a merciless onslaught on his opposition. He tore limbs from their sockets to reduce the launch of threats in his direction, he used his Zveris to bite deep into their rotted and undead skin in order to reduce their jolting mobility, he was accurate and precise in his every move. Although the creatures seemed to draw a crazed high whenever he applied use of the Force, he used it sparingly to deflect fatal wounds and to correctly reposition himself amongst the hordes. For all of the bodies cut down, Exodus was burnt out of his reservoir. His mouth was wide as he breathed hard to feed his body with the necessary oxygen. His neck was on a swivel whenever he created enough space to oversee the legions of dead that crept towards him, and he swore that for every one that he had beaten, three more were on his heels. His hair was short, and perhaps none had ever seen him with it so, but it was matted with blood and mud and sweat. He fought to keep his eyelids open and his consciousness awake, the loss of blood weighed heavy on his willpower, but heavier on his functionalities. The typical dark attire of the Brotherhood that he wore was shredded to bits and were barely suspended from his body by mere threads. Exodus fought onward despite all of this. Through his rise and falls, Exodus noticed a gleam hidden inside the skull of a corpse that had fallen. It was barely noticeable but it called to him. But before he could reach down and peel it from the brown seepage that leaked from the brain-pan— "Apprentice, be wary of Urik. There are seven Masters of Sin, some of which I've shown you. He is that of Envy. Stay alert, they live beneath the sands..."

 

The Holocron loosened it's control over the Twi'lek, returned to it's normal state, and rested in the palm of it's new owner. There was a pair of blades at her feet that was not there before. "Have a seat Keenava. I'm interested in what Master Exodus has shown you. He makes mention that I am his greatest student, has he shown you my accomplishments? What do you hope to learn from Our Great King?" With his back still turned, the hint of laughter was now enmeshed in his voice.

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The sand continued whipping rough against her shield. She felt the pressure build in her mind, but her will refused to abate. Another brush of her leg filled her thoughts with anxious possibility, but they were distractions and easily mitigated in the breadth of her mind’s newfound clarity. Master Urik stirred. He was her purpose here and his words were her mission.

 

Keenava apologized to Master Urik for her miscalculation and documented his warning for future interactions, which was easier with an open mind. Thoughts were clearer. Ideas were concrete. She could feel the icy signals crawling through her nerves and to every part of her body. It was startling and vivid. It was mystifying and curious. But Keenava didn’t dwell on it. She bowed gently and stood, staring out into the vast sea of dunes.

 

The visible force started to melt off her image. She answered without thinking and her imprint seemed to fade with the wind as if it were a mirage. Urik’s words hung in the air before her, tugging at her right hand, and pulling the tips of her fingers apart until her palm was open and facing the meditating Sith Master. Before Keenava thought to resist, a small star floated into her hand and blossomed like a plume of fire. She looked down at her palm for a moment – as if to deny the force that struck her – and saw the small pyramid-like device. It hummed with the spirit of her master. His will was a force deep in the oblique metal and the synergistic connection she felt, grew in strength.

 

But, as the metal sparked to life in her hand, the shape morphed to the contours, and it abducted the lucidity of her eyesight. With a blink, her sight shifted from the sand to a damning nightmare and back again. Husks of desperation clung to her form and tried to pull her down. But in the breath of her panic, she was back on the sand. The wretched flailing of grotesque limbs filled her mind, probing the depths of her perception with callused fingers. Arms afflicted by varying amounts decomposition, swam through the vague clarity, threatening to shatter her mind and send her into a bout of terrifying wails. It was too much. The poeticism wasn’t lost, but the nature of the gesture was disgusting and horrific.

 

When her vision finally cleared, and she could see the form of her master amidst the decaying flesh, she did what she could to avert her eyes from the grasping hands. She afforded every allowance possible to avoid giving them any reception or ground. And her master, different than she saw him before, went about carving through the menagerie like they were nothing. He suffered some cosmetic damage, but he was an artist of craft and killing. The paintbrush illuminated the field of battle with strokes of deliberate and devastating efficiency…

 

"Apprentice, be wary of Urik. There are seven Masters of Sin, some of which I've shown you. He is that of Envy. Stay alerted, they live beneath the sands."

 

At the chill of her master’s warning, Keenava’s mind returned to the sand and the Holocron returned to normal. Blades sat at her feet, splayed out, and Master Urik was still meditating. Her will was recoiling from the harsh adaptation that it had to endure. The hands were still specters, climbing up and down her exposed skin and like phantom insects, probing every inch of her body. She fought to maintain the emptiness in her mind. And, although the war was rough, she vanquished the morbid flashbacks with minimal mental sparring.

 

Beneath the sand… Hmmm.

 

Keenava was standing on the sand. Was that what those brushes were? Were those the hands?

 

The Twi’lek bent over to pick up the blades and put one in each hand. The familiar weight of metal in her palms helped her derive some comfort. But she was still lingering in the chaos of the sandstorm. Her mind was clear and her will was hardened. Her shield was passive but moved with the storm as its whirling motion continued to spin in circles around her. It pushed her, pulled her, tugged her, and spun her. Her mind was a fleeting echo of those movements, but it embraced the simplicity of emptiness within the confines of her personal storm.

 

Master Urik offered her a seat, but she politely declined.

 

“Master Urik. I do not feel sitting upon the dead is wise. If I must sit, I will. But I do not wish to tempt the spirits around me.” As she spoke, she made another motion to abate her force imprint until it was nothing but an echo. She saw their hunger. The dead that clung mercilessly to life, envious of the power and vitality that those living held so easily.

 

 

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  • “..So be it.”

 

There was a trace of irritation in the way he spoke it. The Master of Envy ran his hand over his bald scalp and then leaned over in the sand to lift himself from his seated position. He was slow and measured in how he moved, and the way he did was nothing akin to elegance. He moved like his bones ached at every angle. What was strange was that the windstorm still crashed into his rugged body, but his balance was completely stalwart. Years he had spent out on the sands; this was his place of practice and study and so it made sense that the wild force no longer edged him. As he stood tall and turned to face the Sith Lord, he lifted a peculiar brow, not quite expecting a Twi’lek. Urik didn't move either foot forward, nor did he move one backward. He licked his gums from top to bottom before he conjured a heap of phlegm from his starch throat, and spat it towards her feet. He brought both of his arms out in front of him and telekinetically manipulated the estranged air molecules together to produce the element of fire. At first it churned as a simple spark, but in no short time it became thickening wisps of visible heat that shaped itself into a controlled blaze.

 

 

“The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I, Keenava?”

 

 

Aggressively, and with both feet set, Master Urik launched the uncoiled flames towards the Sith Lord. The velocity of the emission was unsuspecting. Irrespective of whether the element made contact or not, the draw of collective heat distracted from the fact that porous arms now broke the surface of the sand and were clawing for the top. They were alive, and their dead skin looked wet with disease. One after the other, hands and arms and shadowy figures emerged from the bowels of the sands. They were all around Keenava, but they were also scattered in the distance. The harsh cover of the wind that carried the tiniest of pebbles made it difficult to see how many exactly, but one sighting was a cause for worry.

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  • The wind whipped, howling a slew of lamentations.
     
    The crust of existence washed over her. Sand that was once glass; dust, that was once life.
    For we are all dust in the wind, doomed to be forgotten by time.

 

Irritation marred Urik’s pallid face. He stood, a ballast amidst the raging storm, and hesitated. His power was unquestionable. His force was undeniable. But he seemed to waver for a moment. Considerations filled his mind. They were beyond Keenava’s reach, but she could see his contemplation. It wasn’t long. It took him only a second or two before he spat at her feet; a crude gesture. Normally such a gesture would evoke some form of retaliation. But the lack of recalcitrance had more to do with Keenava’s current mental state, than her denial of what lay before her.

 

The severe clarity of Keenava’s mind, antithetical to its previous design, allotted an abundance of space to consider each moment as it passed by. The passing of breath between her lips, that barely registered to her brain before, was now thunderous. Her pulse that, even now, stood as a powerful metronome, was a driving beat in her cavernous consciousness. Each grain of sand that plowed into her face was a millisecond scraping at her cheek. Time flurried and whipped, immersed in the virulent tempest that befell the two of them; fingers that fruitlessly grasped at her frame, slipping toward the ground.

 

The normal chaotic dirge that played havoc on her brain was quiet. It left a cold vacuum where anything could grow. Each new sensation coaxed anew, the potential energy building inside, but she managed to maintain her focus and control. She kept still. Her footing remained consistent and her body language mocked that of her new teacher. His movements were fascinating.

 

She watched Urik craft his fire. His artful gestures manipulated the air around him and carved a heat source from the atmosphere itself. It was a romantic notion. The heat of the desolate, used to fabricate amber life. But his intentions were aggressive. His purpose was lethal. And it was all written in the cold malice of his eyes.

 

Gripping the harsh steel in her fresh unspoiled hands, Keenava reached out to the flames as they crossed the distance. The new stimuli was almost overwhelming to the emptiness of her mind, but she managed to push out the distraction. Her newfound discipline weeded out the excess of her impulsive reaction, allowing her to control every facet of her movement. One thought and the violent flame was brought to bear in her steel. The searing energy swam around the blades and rest there, just as the ground burst to life. Envy made flesh, the dead were beginning to rise and strike back at the living. Meaty disease-filled arms struggled to the surface and attempted to grab at the Twi’lek.

 

But she stood, eyes closed. Her figure was a monolith in a sea of decay.

 

The more you take, the more you leave behind…

 

What am I?

 

Well…

 

A moment of thought was concussive in the spartan void of her mind. Flashbacks of her history pooled in answer to her query, waiting to be drawn, waiting to be recollected. Each event carried its own significance and with every step further into the future, her past swelled in size and significance. She thought to masters of her past and beasts that haunted her. She drew from her experience and knowledge and found herself at odds. Indecision was a queer half-cousin to the way it felt before, but it still rankled her progress toward a singular answer.

 

It seems clear that a demonstration is in order.

 

Keenava took a step forward.

 

She centered herself and tightened her grip. She tensed the muscles in each leg and just when she felt the touch of death upon her own tender flesh, her eyes opened in a blazing red fire. The conflagration of each blade intensified and Keenava became a whirling dervish of destruction. Her body spun with deliberation. She rotated her frame and struck out at her assailants in a series of low and high blows. Each strike was measured. Each strike was planned. And even with rapid motion, Keenava took care to regulate her form. She was a ball of fire, and as more husks were destroyed, more littered the ground. As more assailants were removed from the field, the more her footing improved. As more steps were taken, more steps were left in her wake.

 

Occasional hits were scored on her body, but the blood did not cease her procession. Like her master before her, she continued her macabre momentum, determined to succeed. The blades split flesh like moldy butter. And waste, mingled with bile, littered the dunes around her. But this was her stage. There was nothing in her mind to hold her back, and she would stop at nothing until the dead were inert once more.

 

 

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Urik watched as she christened her blades upon the flesh of the Unrested. Her movements were crass, and her mental state remained intact. Her calculation was drawn to the surface and was bare for all to see. These processes would pull perfection from the woman, as she would no doubt fill an important role in the schemes of the Sith. She could not afford missteps, she could not be indebted to mistakes, and she could not fail before Exodus. Her development was integral, and would be measured in progress, but her loss of control would be unacceptable from this point forward. Urik watched, with his arms still outstretched and his invisible sleeves of dark auras seeding themselves into the heavy sands.

 

Her feet could chafe between the texture of the deep lands. Her skin would paint in a colour of swampish blood from those that fell beneath her quick blades. The arid temperature would drain her of her fluids quickly, and as her life sources declined, so would her focus and her abilities. Combat was a multitude of all the elements, and certain ones individuals took for granted at their own demise. The wide and cavernous mouths of the Unrested humanoids opened collectively to unleash a sunken language that no man could truthfully understand. The noise started as low accumulations of mumbling, and slowly evolved into a darkened chant that carried loudly into the winds. Their chant was not of words, but of emotions, and it was for no man to hear, but instead for them to feel. It was the language of Fear. As Keenava danced, her footsteps punched into the sands and laid the groundwork for a constant echo for the dead to march too. Each time her feet kicked into the mounds of sand, it awakened the rotted corpses from their long sleep. And when they woke, they stirred with a boiling temper. Their unpredictable movements and blatant savagery would be easy to note, and especially how it increased with time. Keenava would be a fool to not notice this. Soon, and from all angles, their intensity and numbers would increase but for some reason Urik was unseen by them all. Some of them had wounds widened in their faces, their chests, and their open backs that literally leaked sand from their ruined skin.

 

 

  • “COME, LET US SEE HOW FAR WE CAN PUSH YOU KEENAVA. THEY HUNGER FOR THE RECENCY OF YOUR FLESH!”

 

 

Urik broke his voice over the beat of a thousand creatures, the mantra of the dead, and the heavy winds that poured in over the mountains. His lunacy now completely written all over his face. He roared with laughter as his pasty-white arms lifted and channeled mammoth towers of sand into the air. The columns moved swiftly high above them, they weaved, they netted, they parted and then they spiralled like dual twisters. If one looked closely, you could see the Unrested that were lifted inside those pillars as well, churning and flailing inside the maelstrom. Suddenly, the bodies erected from below started to plunge from the sky as well. As Keenava kept herself in swift motion, full-grown bodies were now plummeting like boulders into the areas around her unexpectedly. Urik would then shape the pillars to bend at their core, and then dive headfirst into where the young Lord fought. He wished to drown her here and now, and enlist her into his legions.

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Reviled sons and daughters, lost to time, stood legion in front of her. Her motions were lost to a sea of flaking dead flesh. Each strike tightened into the next one. And, with repetition, her skill built upon itself. Layer by layer she found more nuance in each new curve of the blade. Every arc was essential. Every crest was a marked improvement over the next. But waves of mottled decay rose to meet her blade. Ceaseless mountains of the dead rose with cries of envious rage and wept over the plain with little discretion.

 

Covered by murky blood, Keenava stood stolidly amidst the tempest. Their cries ebbed at her focus, but the cacophony proved insufficient. Their language was ill chosen. Fear didn’t fit her well. It held very little potency in her mind; however, the other emotions that accompanied their song, the grinding of sand on her exposed sinews, the biting of grit at her eyes, the fatigue that lingered on the edges of her mind, and her blood that continued to spill onto the arid plain, lent to more vulnerability than their cries alone. Dehydration fed hallucinations into her mind, causing her to second guess her intuition. The resulting consequences bit at her body, but she continued without regard to the pain. If she stopped, she would die. If she lost herself, she would die.

 

Her mortal frailty fought against the strength of her will. And yet, she planted her feet and spat crimson into the face of an onslaught, continuing to commit their sentence. Urik was buried in the bodies. His intentions were clear. And although Keenava felt confident, her abilities were fading. She needed to preempt her decline. She needed to open the floodgates of her defenses before they broke of their own accord.

 

  • Taking the span of a breath, her metaphysical form approached the figurative gate that stood between her and the others. A familiar figure blocked passage to the gate. His form was a crude facsimile, but it was as accurate as Keenava could manage with short notice. He looked her up and down, examining the damage to her form, and shrugged.
     
    What is it you want, apprentice? He said, his tone closed and indelible.
     
    I want Kava and Kara. Keenava retorted. Her voice was steady. Her tone was fixed. She looked at the clone of her master with determination and inclined her head as a gesture of respect for the personage he represented.
     
    Exodus’ face tested a half-smile before nodding in agreement. It seems you know what you’re doing. Don’t lose control. Urik is not to be trusted. And this will not be easy.
     
    I know…

 

Keenava let the scene unfold around her once more and was greeted with something out of a child’s nightmare. Urik was wrangling cyclones of sand that filled the stormy air with more granules than before. Meaty projectiles fell from the sky with no grace at all and Keenava had to keep her eyes peeled for every single movement, careful not to miss even the slightest motion. As the moments waned, her mind started to wander. It took effort to pull back. The familiar presence of Kava filled her mind with a soothing balm, and the fury of Kara rested inside her weary body.

 

Their curiosity and anger, fueled by the recent history of their renewed incarceration, was easily quelled. Their mind was one. When all of them reconnected, their memories and experiences poured into one another and they pulled into defensive stances, awaiting orders. Keenava’s strength re-doubled and her focus hardened. She smiled; a tease to the Sith Master that tested her.

 

Envy; his mind was suffused by it. It clouded his judgment and wove his control over the dead. They rose to his bidding on the strings of his insatiable envy. It matched theirs. They were a mirror. Even Urik’s life, the beating of his cold heart, could not separate itself from the desire it shared with the cadavers that he summoned from the depths. This crude bludgeon would be his downfall.

 

Kava’s words echoed in her mind. Silent breaths of wisdom that lingered as Keenava gathered her thoughts.

 

No mistakes. No missteps.

 

Bide your time.

 

Kill the puppet master. Not the puppets.

 

Kava, take the left blade, help me find a path. Kara, take the right blade and lend me your speed.

The steel beneath her hands quaked to life. The left blade began to crack as thick motes of ice covered the surface. The right blade began to glow with a dull orange hue. Steam rose from the right blade as it cut through expired flesh. Alright you two, let’s carve our way in.

 

Keenava’s face blossomed into a cloud of red and blue flame. Her light was a small blip in an ocean of gray. Her lekku hovered in the air for the space of a millisecond. Her eyes seared with a furious heterochromia. And inexplicably, she disappeared. Or, that is how it seemed, to the ravenous horde that encroached upon her. Her vulnerable skin didn’t sit long enough to be touched. She moved with the speed of a lightning bolt through the throngs of bodies and cut massive swaths of destruction as she went.

 

Loping among the restless, Kava looked out to the side for signs of Urik’s body. It was hard, amidst the throngs of wailing. But, with one lap, Keenava closed the distance on Urik and shot toward him. Kava lent a careful pressure to Keenava’s gait, leading her into a feint. Keenava’s new trajectory took her an inch or so wide of Urik’s position. Then, as the bolt of her momentum crossed his path, Keenava slashed her right blade toward his throat.

 

One shot. One kill.

 

It was a naïve sentiment. But Keenava had to strike with surety. If not, the effort was meaningless. Kava looked to alternatives, while the others struck with vengeful determination.

 

 

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The heavy amassing of sand-clouds above the battlefield circled and waned towards the Twi’lek with explicit speed. Using his unique mastery over the Force, he manipulated the elements with such ease that was only warranted from years of practice and dwelling in the most natural of environments across the galaxy. Just as he was moments from drowning the apprentice in a brutal upheaval, she flickered across the field with reprehensible speed. Keenava unlocked her physical flair into the steady prawns that converged on her location, a dancing of fire and frost that carved into the thick hides of the Dead. Her moves were eloquent, but her destination was impossibly easy to foretell. He watched with calculative observation, not a motion went unread, and not a second lapsed before another without his mind slaving over what would happen next. “Your fancy lights will do you no good in the dark, Keenava!” He shouted as she drew nearer, teasing her with a pious tone of voice.

 

The dark flood of power that washed over her must have blinded her with berserk, for the inattention to the sand that threatened to break her seemed to jump out the window as she decided to swiftly close in on his position instead. However, the weight of mountains was still on her heels. The fervor of a sullen tomb lingered just beyond her every step. Master Urik, Invoker of the mightiest wakes of death coordinated her pace with his own. He stood taut and still, statuesque in his position, but his hands and arms weaved low and high as if controlling the very elements all around the battlefield. Her improved speed in her feint came with a surprise, and Urik fell for it, stepping backwards and breaking his concentration for a moment. One could see the weight of the sand cyclones that rushed through the air fade and loosen heavily in strength, raining on all the severed bodies strewn apart. His arms flailed purposefully, but also pathetically in his back-step. Quickly, before the second attempt would undoubtedly arrive, he bent at the knee and threw both hands in the air. A surprising set of arms immediately surfaced from the sand; one pair on Keenavas’ left side and a pair on the right to attempt at a grapple onto her ankles. He witnessed the blade lash out in that very moment, and his eyes leveled with the extension of the weapon, "Pfassk!". Simultaneously, an explosion of sand renewed itself once more. While the makeshift cyclones had died just a moment before from the rear of Keenava, a scoured effort now launched itself from the circumference of where Urik had back-peddled, launching forward like a mammoth ballistic and threatening to run the apprentice over. The nature of his counter-measure, and the reaction of his slaves were hard to depict as the flare of the sand weakened all visual sense, but as was shown, his telekinetic supremacy was poised for any engagement.

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The arid heat set into her skin. Her cuticles had finished their cry. Her face was hardened and dry. The sand was ubiquitous. At this point, her body had grown accustomed to the rough grains that played havoc in the crevices of her skin. It was just another layer of skin. The dead played about like ravenous dancers, enraptured by the beat of Urik’s torrid drum. And their hunger drove them into oblivious lust. The jealous desire that led their sinews, refused to see the truth as shadows played before their eyes.

 

At the last breath of her failed strike, Kava’s attentive will, sung to Keenava’s feet. The Twi'lek, mired in the depths of her newfound focus and strength, reacted instantly. She disappeared. Her graceful egress caught the pallid fingers of dead hands in her wake and left a trail of glass behind her. But the evidence of her expeditious retreat was quickly buried by the rushing waves of sand that pushed at where she previously made her stand. And, her image remained; Keenava’s form roared in defiance of Urik’s instinctive reaction. The phantom took the brunt of the telekinetic attack that Urik attempted to levy. And the intent of its defiance saw that the wall of animated earth that Urik hastily constructed, collapsed to the ground without purpose. It was more sand in the air. The dead, who rose to catch the usurper, and who were now missing several fingers, were buried underneath their master's telekinetic marvel.

 

But Urik wasn't stupid. He would know she would come again. Keenava understood this. Kava understood this.

 

Darkness, Kava scoffed.

Exodus is Darkness. This man wouldn’t know darkness if someone threw a blanket over his head. Death is peace; solace; the gentle embrace of mortality that releases all pain and weakness. These husks aren't darkness. The sand isn't darkness. Darkness is looking for a light and seeing only pain. Darkness is the cold shadow that watches over moments that would make even the strongest constitution shudder. Darkness is knowing that no matter how hard you try, you will never find peace. Darkness is to struggle. To be one with Darkness is to fight every day of your life... Urik; you let scraps do your dirty work for you.

 

Kava’s words echoed in Keenava's mind as she scattered flash images across the battlefield. Ten shadowy specters of Keenava's form appeared all around the field of battle and assumed different attack positions as they went. Then, when all the illusions were set, they all rushed in at him, refusing Urik any purchase. Each image was marred by the sand and by the hundreds of bodies that warred to the surface. But they blended excellently with the mayhem. The real Keenava masked her surge of power to blend with her images and used the last second to unleash a series of precisely angled cuts. Major arteries and nerve clusters. She would kill him, or disable him. One way or another, she would win. The searing fire of her steel and the icy chill of her wrath would clash together in a beautiful display of art and murder.

 

Once more, her strikes were decisive and powerful. She could not afford to let up. Her tactician was on alert, but anything could happen. She could hear her master's words pounding in her head. She would be a weapon and would kill without hesitation. This, she swore.

 

 

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  • “That’ll do.”

 

 

The air was fresh but carried with it an unnatural heat. The sands were calm, as composed as ever, and the occasional breeze pushed the surface of it in small waves. The power of the neighbouring Sun was incredible, but the trajectory of the artificial planet would soon pass and cover this place in darkness once more. Master Urik sat where he once was, and with his back turned to the apprentice. The trance of his meditation was unmatched in terms of depth, and he could sink further than any mind could imagine. He was an absolute power within the ranks of the Sith Order, an immortal of sin that had carved out his niche inside of the brotherhood. Keenava rested in place physically, while her mind engaged in an onslaught of victories. The smooth of the sand wrapped around her ankles, while the Holocron still beamed inside of her hands. The mold around her ankles was extremely concentrated and held her in place, but when the illusions faded, so did the grip. “He is right not to trust me, not to trust any of us for that matter.”

 

 

Her mental trials would soon engraft itself inside her muscle memories. Her actions, her pain, her fatigue would all flush through her system, but her body remained untouched. It was necessary to witness how she handled herself under the pressures presented, and how she would fare in unsuspecting situations. The data would be collected and reviewed by Exodus himself, and her mistakes would be dually corrected without hesitation. As it stood, Urik did not berate her, which meant she did not fail. “Keep the relic. His power leaks from it, and it will fasten itself onto yours as time passes. The blades are yours to do with what you please as well, they are stripped down and weaved with phrik salvaged from Roon. Embedded inside the hilts are runes that the Witch-Mother Uhura has toyed with, be wary of them. The construct of the weapons is unique and will need to be practiced before applied, otherwise the serrated edges of the whips will tear your flesh apart before you know it. As for the rest—” Urik with his back still facing the Twi’lek, lifted his left arm and the sands that filled the distance between the two of them separated to reveal a full set of blackened armor. "A gift from the son of Exodus, or one of them, welcoming you."

 

 

  • "You may leave, you are needed elsewhere, young Keenava."

 

Just then the whir of a familiar ship could be heard. Fifty feet away, the pilot from before was waving ridiculously in her direction. Her chariot awaited.

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Adrenaline surged through her skin. Fire and Ice warred against each other in her decisive maneuver. Her focus suffused her movements and her will drove her final strike. She could feel the steel rubbing the calluses of her palms as she dove into Urik and drove her blade into his pallid flesh. But, before she could revel in the conclusion of her movement – the satisfaction of his blood upon her hands – she was left standing in the exact place she’d been before. The scene in her mind faded away like sand in an hourglass. And Keenava was left staring at the back of Urik’s head with the vestiges of adrenaline hanging off her clenched fists. The holocron’s glow shuddered and Keenava realized that her entire fight was an illusion. The victory, the failures, the oblivious and callous nature she took with her movements at times; they were fake. But she could feel every moment, like an echo in her muscles. She retained the knowledge, pain, and experience, but the damage didn’t carry over.

 

The black twi’lek looked with curious eyes toward Urik. The sands were serene and his position was relatively unchanged from when they first met. It was oddly disorienting. She had been milliseconds from rending one of this man’s jugular veins, and here he was, sitting peacefully as if nothing had happened. His focus was insanely powerful. It was almost enough to renew Keenava’s fighting impulses, but Keenava could tell that she was still out of her league. And, she had grown to respect Urik; in a weird sense. Instead, she listened to Urik as he talked of the blades and picked them up off the ground when he finished.

 

Their weight was similar; so, she hadn’t imagined their wieldy capabilities. It was when Urik said ‘whip,’ that Keenava’s mind did a double take.

 

Did someone say whip? A familiar voice said, emerging from the mental silence that took hold after the illusion was broken.

 

Yes, Kana, Urik did. Keenava responded. Also, nice of you to join us. Her tone was playful, yet sincere.

 

Kana smiled lasciviously, it was obvious you didn’t need my help. Plus, I had my hands full with Exodus while you were gone.

You didn’t!

 

What? What was I supposed to do while you were off fighting… Twiddle my thumbs? You created the mental image of him. I was just, taking advantage of it; nothing sinister. I promise.

Yes, but what will Exodus think if he goes poking around my head again?

Lucky me?

God, you're incorrigible.

 

Hey, don’t blame me for being a creature of impulse. I’ll be over here.

 

Keenava inwardly facepalmed. Her face blushed – for values of blushing – and she sighed with a small smirk to show her amusement.

 

In the meantime, while she wrestled with the perplexity of what amounted to mental masturbation, a moderately sized suit of blackened leather armor was revealed in the sand a few feet from where she stood. Keenava closed the distance without pause and lifted the armor to get a closer look. The first thing she noticed, was that all of the pieces were amazingly well crafted: the seams were flawless, the tanning was superb and the strength of the hide was very nice; it would be extremely reliable. Keenava set to work donning her new uniform and when she was ready, she proceeded to the ship that made its way to Urik’s position.

 

A familiar hyperactive face greeted her. And despite her discomfort at seeing the man who threw her out of a moving vehicle, she waved back.

 

Before she made to leave completely, Keenava turned back to Urik with her armor on and blades in her hands. She bowed to the master and then turned and walked toward her destination.

 

“Thank you, master Urik”

 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

A few hours would pass and Keenava would find that the pilot had indeed worried over the stretch of her time away, he explained his concern and his apologies for dropping her out of the sky as he showed her what he had prepared for her. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but he put together a few nutritious sandwiches for her that were stored safely inside of a locker just across from her feet on the ship. Whether she indulged or not, was her choice. The vessel was different from the last, definitely more complete than the last and the pilot smiled at the notion. “I am sorry I never introduced myself, I am Rumo of Arachnakorr. Born and raised.” He steered the ship across the vast skies, with no particular direction in mind. “I knew you would make it through, you have strong emotion, and those without do not return from Master Urik. Some say they sleep beneath the sands.” Rumo laughed nervously at the crazy thought of what he had just said. “Just silly rumours though, right my Lady?”

 

He turned to face her and winked humorously, before searching the console in front of him once more. He seemed a bit confused, perhaps puzzled by what he was looking at, and then remembered that the transport ship was actually piloting itself. A hand rose to scratch his head, his hair roughly shoulder-length but long in the way that it hung. “Soon, you will have to leave this place my Lady, our Dark Lord calls for you. They will come, they will put you to sleep, and you will wake up elsewhere. You could give it all up and remain here, in sanctuary, what do you say?

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The familiar bump of Rumo’s ship as it hummed through the skies was starting to grow on her. It was a quiet comfort, even amidst the pilot’s whimsical prattling. And, like most small things, it gave her some measure of peace; although peace wasn’t the right word. Because, even with her thoughts dwelling on better or more gruesome things, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. The words, '…you can’t trust anyone…' kept playing over and over in her mind. In fact, that was the primary reason she didn’t leap up to grab a sandwich when the confection was offered, even though she was physically and mentally stretched.

 

Despite not actually moving an inch, Keenava felt like she’d fought for hours. Her mind and body were worn and she couldn’t shake the images of the dead from her mind. It was a valuable teaching experience, but she would have to wrestle with the existential implications for quite some time. She held Exodus’ Holocron in her gloved right hand, but the magic from before seemed to be absent. She looked over the cool edges of the metal and put it a little closer to her eye, before hiding it away in a pouch at her belt.

 

Keenava smiled a little under the fresh leather mask that now sat over her face. Rumo’s banter was amusing even if it did grate on her a little. “Yes, Rumo. Rumors.” Keenava said with a knowing gleam in her eyes. Oddly, her voice didn’t come out muffled. The mask obscured her voice a little and added an ethereal quality to it. It was almost like she spoke with a ghostly echo. The vocal quality was clear, but the modulation caught her off guard.

 

“Soon, you will have to leave this place, my Lady, our Dark Lord calls for you. They will come, they will put you to sleep, and you will wake up elsewhere. You could give it all up and remain here, in the sanctuary, what do you say?

 

Keenava’s eyes glittered for a second and three other women stepped out from where she sat. They took places adjacent to her and sat if they were able.

 

“What do you say, ladies?” Keenava asked, chuckling inward a little at how ridiculous the spectacle may have seemed.

 

Kava smiled fiendishly at Keenava’s left side. Her carapace-like body shifted as she moved through the cabin a little and gauged the escape and capture capabilities of the vessel. “I think we’re already a bit too far to be doubting ourselves or our direction.”

Kara, who didn’t have a place to sit and instead sat on the open floor, grunted. Her eyes were aflame with crimson. “I think, I want more.”

 

Kana, who made her way up to Rumo and started eyeing him with a wicked grin set on her predatory face, looked back to Keenava. Her eyes said: 'can I keep him?' Keenava’s eyes said: 'no. He belongs to Exodus.'

 

Kana pouted and went back to her seat beside Keenava before answering the question: “I see no reason not to continue.”

 

Keenava turned to look at them all and then let their images fade back into her head. “It seems my minds are made up. I will stay. I promised I would stick this out and I intend to see it through. No matter what end that decision leads me to.”

 

With her decision made, Keenava got up from her seat and grabbed a sandwich.

 

 

Keenava Two Suns.png

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Rumo smiled half-heartedly, somewhere deep down inside he had wished she would leave the life of the Sith alone. He understood the choice however, and that the presence of Malacoda Syn was a remarkable thing that could not be denied, as dangerous as his company was. He shook his head of the matter and cast a solemn stare out into the expanse of Arachnakorr, and the silent beauty that the worldcraft had carried, a beauty many would never come to appreciate like he has over the years. Rumo fidgeted with the ceremonial attire that was common with the people here, his hand slipped into the teal band of the robe-set and removed his own snack while the unusual quiet allowed the passengers a bit of rest and reconcile. His heart lifted when she made a move for the food he had prepared, and he equally wished that she enjoyed every last bite. “Okay, my lady. It seems your choice is made. Do visit sometime though?” Rumo bravely walked towards the Twi’lek and looked to place a friendly kiss atop her forehead, but his height betrayed the gallant gesture. And instead he cupped her hand and placed it on the back of her hand. He released, and then bowed respectfully to the power she had no doubt wielded behind that skin and behind her name.

 

Rumo returned to his seat, and ungraciously bit into his own sandwich a moment after, realizing that his hunger could not wait any longer. Just then, an iridescent custom-fitted Scimitar pulled up beside the transport ship without triggering any of the on-board proximity scans. Rumo understood what would happen next. The transport vessel dipped low and a small port came into view; a trading outpost mostly abandoned with a few wooden boxes scattered amongst the untamed hills of grass. There was no one nearby to readily identify, and the place was ran over by the green expanse before them. The silence remained for the most part as the transport ship locked in its landing, and the doors peeled opened.

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  • 2 months later...

Rumo smiled, sliding a dark set of glasses high upon the cradle of his nose. He drew a finger onto a cylindrical glass container and tapped on it twice, to no avail. Before him, and a few others dressed in long white robes, were rows upon rows of hairless bodies suspended docilely inside of a glass chamber filled with a peculiar translucent liquid, each one indistinguishable due to the low lighting of the research facility. GOLDRAUSCH had acquired additional means to secure capital, which meant room for expansion and development in particular departments, and Rumo knew his beneficiaries would be pleased with the forthcoming results. A message was sent out detailing current progress, and indecipherable plans moving forward.

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