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Corellia


Darth Jade

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Hyperspace unfolded from its illuminated brilliance into a tapestry of deep black, interspersed with twinkling starlight and at its center, a jewel of the Core Worlds, the planet of Corellia, orbited by its moons. The planet was aglow with citylight, a contrast to the background of space. Close in orbit was Centerpoint station, the goal of the Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force, and the sight of countless battles. It was a vast battlefield when viewed through the cockpit window of Kyrie's TIE-Ugy, and she was glad that she would not be in direct fleet command, the job taken up by Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium in her stead. 

 

Dialing in her comlink, the Imperial Knight caught the beginning of Dyrrhachium’s broadcast on all-comms. She checked the battlemaps, watching as the fleet set into parallel with those starships belonging to Godfrey d'Outremer. Dyrrhachium’s gravelly voice cut into the silence of her ship like a vibroknife, 

 

“...Forces of the former Empire. Former Pirates. Rebels.” 


His voice almost snarled the last word, he was no great supporter of some of those in Rebel Alliance Command, and he enjoyed working without their authority. Kyrie and her Watchers set into an escorting formation, opening their scanners for enemy fighters. For now they would be on interception duty, until a Sith Lord revealed himself in the Force. Then they would destroy them with extreme prejudice. 

 

“We are here to free Corellia from the Sith. It fell without our support in great slaughter. On whom, therefore is the labor of avenging these wrongs and recovery fallen, if not upon us?

 

The Fleet commander let the words hang in the static. Kyrie wished she had the strength of tongue enough to speak like the older man, but it was not her fate. He continued gravely but with passion,

 

"We have been conferred remarkable glory in arms and courage, let us fall upon the Sith with the intent of destruction. We shall hound them until their miserable end!” 

 

As one, the all-comms alit with responses. Even the Lend-Lease forces responded resoundingly with the calls of the captains as one voice; 

 

“The Force Wills It!” 
 

____________________________________________________________________________

Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Task Force Deimos

Destroyer Group: Turbolasers 

 

Task Force Experience: Green (1xp)

  • Nova-Class Cruiser Ascalon (9/9)

    • Captain: Symeon Philomelium, Maître-Escuier of the Order of Medicine

    • Second-in-Command: Ma’arrat al-Durman, Frère-Sergeant of the Order of Medicine

    • Crew: Hapan Recruits

 

  • Nova-Class Cruiser Edessa (9/9)

    • Captain: Embriaco Jaffa, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Knights and Exorcist

    • Second-in-Command: Chanson de Geste, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Knights and Exorcist

    • Crew: Hapan Recruits

Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Task Force Phobos

Light Defensive Escort: Suppressing Fire

 

Task Force Experience: Green (1xp)

  • Star Galleon-Class Frigate Clermonte (3/3)

    • Captain: Abressa Tudebode, Connétable of the Order of Captains 

    • Second-in-Command: Manuel Boutoumites, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains

    • Crew: Former Imperial Navy

 

  • Vengeance-Class Frigate Chartres (3/3)

    • Captain: Adhemer Hautville, Connétable of the Order of Captains 

    • Second-in-Command: Curthose-de-Gauder, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains

    • Crew: Former Imperial Navy

 

  • Interceptor-Class Frigate Francorum (3/3)

    • Captain: Pelecanum Tatikios, Connétable of the Order of Captains 

    • Second-in-Command: Kilij Arslan, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains

    • Crew: Former Imperial Navy

 

  • Consular-Class Frigate Tancred (3/3)

    • Captain: Eskişehir Yibenah, Connétable of the Order of Captains 

    • Second-in-Command: Sarmin Sharazir, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains

    • Crew: Former Imperial Navy

 

  • Sphyrna-Class Corvette Guiscard (2/1)

    • Captain: Doukara Chios, Laypirate and Conrois Commander of the Hastalion Eschiell

    • Second-in-Command: Kerbogha Siyan, Laypirate

    • Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League 

 

  • Sphyrna-Class Corvette Dorylaeum (2/1)

    • Captain: Dreyfrak Chios, Laypirate

    • Second-in-Command: Alpedrai Knocazi, Laypirate

    • Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League

 

  • Paladin-Class Corvette Yağısıyan (2/1)

    • Captain: Hainut Mercurius, Laypirate

    • Second-in-Command: Demetrius Confrerai, Laypirate

    • Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League

 

  • Free Virgilla-Class Corvette Alexandretta (2/1)

    • Captain: Ridwan Harran, Laypirate

    • Second-in-Command: Soqmahn Orotoque, Laypirate

    • Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League

 

Rebel Alliance Lend-Lease: Task Force Enyo

Precision Strike: Carrier Group

 

Taskforce Experience:  Veteran (2xp) 

  • Quasar Fire-class Cruiser-Carrier Azincourt (9/9)

    • Captain: Max Pillate

    • Second-in-Command: Fleet Officer Brigzman Harrate

    • Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet

 

  • CR-90 Corvette Maelstrom (2/1)

    • Captain: Anders Rowson

    • Second-in-Command: Halparese Eltoro

    • Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet

 

  • CR-90 Corvette Languedoc (2/1)

    • Captain: Atalie Tate

    • Second-in-Command: Shaz Felltow

    • Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet

 

  • CR-90 Corvette Vivarais (2/1)

    • Captain: Shir’wer’tho Ande’thekrian

    • Second-in-Command: Snyd’an Ther’rallek

    • Crew: Chiss Ascendency Expedition

 

  • DP20 Corvette Coeur d’Lion (2/1)

    • Captain: Sev’Dence Ra’teal

    • Second-in-Command: Ald’rev Ek’rati

    • Crew: Chiss Ascendency Expedition

 

  • DP20 Corvette Augustus (2/1)

    • Captain: Mikalae Shaderna

    • Second-in-Command: Tilli Vasren

    • Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet

 

  • DP20 Corvette Hussar (2/1)

    • Captain: Kilgre Redger

    • Second-in-Command: Ongeri Fetchi

    • Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet

  • Like 1

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  • 3 weeks later...

The Force, that beautiful and haunting song that crawled through the mind of the Exorcist, broke into reverberating cries of pain. The Sith had arrived.

Kyrie steeled her psyche against the eruption of emotions that spelled the Sith’s arrival. It was as if the force itself was in mourning for what was to come. She channeled the misery into her internal flame, letting herself grow bright with fire’s touch. The cockpit of the TIE-Ugly began to glow a faint white. The Song began to return in her mind, a deep and animalistic thing, a reflection of the natural beauty of space above Corellia.

The Force moved. The Song changed its rhythm as more voices were added. Her Watchers had awakened, and they sensed the Dark Side. In the harrowing of her soul, there would be salvation. The Imperial Knight sucked in a breath from the flight helmet, letting the air fill her lungs, spreading its energy throughout her body. She let her fire grow, stoking it to life within her veins. She would need it to devour the sins of those she was to fight.

A mournful cry.

There was another song, one speaking of a dark future.

A sick intention.

Flipping the control yoke of the TIE-Ugly, she sent her starfighter into a spin towards Coronet City. The darkness would strike at the heart of the Rebellion, its citizens. Those unfortunate innocents that were always destroyed in war. The Dark Side was reaching out its hunger, telling of its desire to consume all life. Her own hunger echoed it.

Kyrie did not know what the attack would be, nor its soldiers, but while her fleet would battle above, she would fight on the ground. Her lips parted and her breath left, the words of her song forming inside the TIE-Ugly’s cockpit, transmitting to her Watchers.

A land of deepest shade, unpierced by human thought…

A crashing shook the starfighter as it ripped into the atmosphere, a sonic refrain following it. According to her readouts, the Starport was heavily fortified, but the numerous large leisure parks were undefended. She angled the starfighter toward the massive botanical garden complex that made up the centerpiece of Coronet’s Diamond District. The sudden pull of gravity set her head swimming, and the autopilot took over as she released the control yoke.

Slipping from her crash webbing, Kyrie leapt from the yawning cockpit of the TIE-Ugly, landing on the soft loam of the forest. Even through her boots, she could feel the softness of the moss and the spring of the soil beneath her. She ripped her flight-helmet from her head, shaking loose her multitude of ebony braids before sweeping them back behind her pointed ears.

The breath of the fresh air spoke to her of pollen and rotting vegetation, of mud and entropy. Of life. Her probisci reached from her cheeks, striking against the air, desiring the soup of life. A hunger rose along with disgust and she breathed it away, feeding it to the fires within. Unclipping her saber-spear, she began to walk through the trees, letting her somber song reverberate across leaf and stone.

That weary region of the dead where all things are forgot…

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As the Imperial Knight walked, the forest’s damp odor began to take on sweeter tones, floral and rich. The humidity caused sweat to bead upon her pale skin, drawing insects to swarm about her in a thick haze. The forest loam beneath her boots became more sticky, black mud clinging to every footfall.  The fallen trees about her carried fungal growths upon their bark, overcome like lepers by their sores, driven to destruction by the entropy of nature.

When from this land I go, what will become of me?

Her proboscis flicked at the air, writhing from her between her lips, filling her mind with the taste of rot and broken earth. The song that passed from her was of her own sorrow, for her future and the fate of all Sin Eaters. A fallen creature caught her eye, its matted fur half-submerged in the dark mud, surrounded by carrion.

The rich scent was coming from its rent flesh, nauseating, yet enticing to the Jedi’s appetite. A part of her mind spoke into her, reaching out for acknowledgement. It would be delicious, and she was starving. Kyrie’s eyes narrowed as she halted her footsteps towards the rotting creature, willing herself to focus. She threw her starvation into her flame, burning away as much of the feeling as she could manage. She stared at the Kath Hound, willing herself to see.

Its flesh was moving. Still alive?

Another step,

No, the carrion had started their work. The fur was moving from the wriggling of maggots beneath. Lidless eyes were swarmed by flies. The mud was strewn with unraveled viscera.

The Force began to scream about her, the reflection of her song was that of warning. There was a deeper hunger here, and it streamed from a nearby being.

The Exorcist wheeled her stance into the Hellepartan variation of Vom Tag, angling the staff of her lightsaber towards the mud at her feet, her grip on the cortosis-touched briarwood loose and wide. Her right hand touched the weighted pommel, caressing the beskar that had been inlaid into the dark wood. She extended out her locus of control, touching the world about her with fire.

Strange words streamed from the figure as it stepped through the mud, the dwindling light obscuring her full vision. It was of the basic tongue but spoken swiftly and in the bubbly form of a preteen. The little she understood spoke of hunger.

The darkness that streamed through The Song made the origins of this figure unmistakable.

Sith.

A wrapped protein bar flew from the Sith’s hand, an offering, for the creature must have sensed The Jedi’s hunger. Kyrie cast out a net within the force, capturing the offering within it. The words of the Exorcist came stumbling from an unstable tongue, filled with a reserved malice. 

Tenet insanabile multos peredo cacoethes…

(The incurable desire to consume affects us all...)

The probisci flicked a challenge, and the protein bar was consumed in bright white fire. The Exorcist began to pour her own emotions into her inner fire, building up her flame for battle. Fire wreathed her exposed flesh, imbuing into the handle of the lightsaber, causing a faint glow in the twilight. The song became mournful once more,

Eternal happiness far away, must my portion be...

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Her opponent took the form of Dente di Zenghiaro or The Boar's Tusk, with a wicked looking blade of Sithmetal. The fulleration in the three-foot blade caught the fading light of the evening, giving the sword an impish gleam. On Ord Mantell, such a sword was called a Beidhänder, and it was not a weapon a woman such as the one before her would normally carry. It made the Exorcist cautious as the Sith advanced across the forest floor. She expanded her locus of control across her body, settling a portion upon her weapons.

The wind began to blow through the trees, marked by the rattling of the bare branches of a Thyassup above them, the dark-barked tree having long shed its leaves with the change of the seasons. The Song continued its mournful rhythm, and the Saber-spear reverberated with its words. The faint white glow that wreathed its long shaft became a firestorm of light, flowing from the Exorcist’s hands. She sang with the rhythm, letting the words of the Force flow through her.

Cor mundum crea in me, deorum et flamme rectum innova in visceribus meis.

With her own blackened boots making almost no sound, Kyrie modified her Hellepartan stance into Posta di Fenestra Destra, her saber-spear igniting into an orange glow, sparking with bolts of silver fire. The stance was one seldom used in the treatise of Vom Tag, but it allowed for balance and control in the defense. Her forest-green kama whipped with the wind as she moved.

The Exorcist’s left foot came forward, but a larger portion of her weight she held over the right. Her left hand caressed the cortosis-enweaved briar-wood two handsbreadths above the base of the spear, while the right held the wood loosely and close to the balance which she brought up, close to her pointed ear.

Starvation… and… Wrath

Such an amplification of emotions was unnatural to the Exorcist. It was a wicked twisting of her own internal struggle. They began to take on their own flames within her but paled against the Holy Flame within her. It blazed far greater, an unstoppable inferno of righteousness, which consumed all before it. The willpower of the Master of the Exorcists was strong.

Her probisci flicked at the air. Tasting. Hunting.

The ashes of the sin that she had consumed sat like lump of beskar upon her mind, burning but never melting away. The new fires had left a stain upon her, more weight within her soul, and it drove her to engage. The Exorcist sighed with the mournful songs of the Force as they converged about her.

Ne proiicias me a facie tua, et ignis sanctum tuum ne auferas a me.

The hunger had an external origin and she let forth a portion of the flame that had been fed by it. The Imperial Knight focused upon the Sithling before her, giving the flame life, bonding it to the wind that moved around them, and letting it go.

The brilliant white flame leapt from her saber-spear, taking the unconscious form of an all-consuming tempest, rushing to take the Sithling from her left, where the form of the Boar’s Tusk was strongest. From her locus of control, Kyrie whipped one of the six-inch fixed-blade stillettos on her belt with a simple expression of the force. It cracked as it was brought to a dizzying speed before she released it from her minds control. It was angled at the Sithling’s right shoulder in a wide arc to the right, from which the Boar’s Tusk stance was more vulnerable. Together the attacks would hit on both sides at a forward angle. 

The Exorcist pressed back into the Hunger of the Song, seeking the influence of her opponent. Now she knew from where this Assassin took a portion of her power.

((1))

Edited by Kyrie Eleison

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The Master of the Exorcists watched her opponent fly backward with the strength of Summer’s Song, listening to the Force as it moved about her. There was no change to the mournful song, no melody that marked the departure of the soul from flesh. The Sithling was not out of the fight, which… Excited her?

 

Battlelust was of the Dark Side. There was the pounding of hunger’s laughter within her. Why did it sound so much like Hayley’s tinkling laughter?

 

Kyrie took a deep breath, letting her flames surge internally while her locus of control came back to within her circle of the spear. It was a simple calming technique, to fall back upon one’s training to remove the worry of the mind. The circle of the spear was larger than the control of the sword-circle, which itself dwarfed the circle of the knife. It was how she had been taught on Ord Mantell, the longer the weapon, the greater the circle of control, and the harder the blow to be delivered. It was simple physics and geometry, the tip of a weapon that was longer than another when moved by the same hand was faster at that tip than the shorter.

 

But why did it sound like Hayley? There it was again, Rage and Hunger.

 

The Song intensified, the words flowing from her lips

 

Redde mihi laetitiam flammum tui: et spiritu principali confirma me...

 

The Imperial Knight’s violet eyes narrowed. She let her fire imbue her flesh once more, knitting into the sinew and muscle. A great intensity of strength and energy washed through her. There was something off. Kyrie’s hands gripped the shaft of the spear as she held the stance of Posta di Fenestra Destra upon the forest loam.

 

The Song of Summer had been perverted

 

This Sithling was wreathed in its own flame now, and it somehow held some of the energies of Kyrie’s attack within its armor. A curse dripped from Kyrie’s lips around the song, seeming to spit from the probisci as they whipped at the air.

 

...Maledictus magicae!

 

As if to answer her curse, the enemy’s power intensified, and the attack came. It was a great bestial thing made of the perverted flame and wind, bound with Sith magic. It was bound in smoke, which would act like a shield for the Assassin behind. Storm’s light raged in her flesh.

 

The Master of the Sin Eaters let the form of Posta di Fenestra Destra transform, falling back with her left foot, letting the force of concussive blast send her backwards, but she controlled her stance. She closed her eyes against the burning ash, trusting in the Song’s guidance.

 

Kyrie’s armor smoked, the forest-green cloth that made the sleeves of her armor burning away to ash against the Sith’s onslaught, and pain began to creep into her. Patches of the flesh on her arms turned red and black as they were scalded by the Sith's fire. Pain was a base emotion, and one that she had learned to embrace with her mastery of Crucitorn. She passed the surge of adrenaline and its spike in her fight or flight instincts into her flame. She had to sacrifice everything to fight the Sith, even her human instincts. It was what made her an Exorcist.

 

Held as it was by her head, the spear-saber’s balance point in the right hand and the left hand by its pommel, it was relatively easy to control. Her stance continued to transform, and she allowed the force of the Enemy’s attack to enhance her backstep and help her escape the centerline.

 

The Imperial Knight stepped her left foot back at an angle, as her saber-spear met the physical attack. Her saber’s orange blade embraced by its silver lightning caressed the Sith’s dark wyrmsteel that made the forge-bound Gwn Marwolaeth, and there was a shock down the briar-wood handle of her spear.

 

The Sithling’s strength was impressive, but a sword’s strength meant little to the control of the spear. Even against a Beidhänder, The Circle of the Spear was the best at defense.

 

Kyrie’s grip on the balance loosened a fraction and she guided the pommel with her left hand as her stance pivoted into a right foot forward Posta di Vera Croce, stalling her retreat. Her left foot was now carrying the majority of her weight with a bent knee while her right leg was straighter and stretched towards her opponent. She guided the Sithling’s diagonal strike down and to her left, using the Sith’s reckless strength and momentum against her. Kyrie channeled a portion of her flame into the act and the lightsaber appeared to be wreathed in silver fire as it danced.

 

Once the enemy’s attack’s momentum was passing beyond her own centerline, Kyrie flicked her left hand which still gripped near the pommel, driving the blade up and towards her opponent’s chest and unprotected armpit. It would appear as silver and orange lightning, of unnatural speed due to the circle of the spear.

 

Now that the Sith was closer, The Master of the Exorcists applied her fire in a different way. She poured her flame into a war against the wrath and hunger that drove her opponent’s connection to the Force itself, able now to apply Silence, now that she was sure of the Sithling’s source of power. The Holy Flame itself leapt between the two minds, Kyrie attempting to burn away at the Wrath and Starvation as one would set a controlled fire in a control line to defeat the rage of mighty forest fire. She would consume the fuel that gave the Sithling strength. 

 

Docebo iniquos vias tuas: et impii ad tu destrui…

 

((2))

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  • 2 weeks later...

Kyrie felt more than saw the Sithling’s sword, the wyrmsteel glistening in the fading light of Corellia’s sunset pass by her, to plunge its corruption into the forest floor. She could feel the forest’s repulsion by the blasphemous incursion as she passed her locus of control about her, feeling for any continuation of the attack. There was none, and the Sithling leapt away.

The Exorcist’s eyes fell on the quiver of black-feathered arrows on her side, wishing she had brought her barrowyew longbow with her from her ship. At least then she could have dispatched the Sithling from a distance.

The Master of the Exorcists continued to press into Silence, at that bitter wrath and hunger. The Sith was like the Maw, consuming for the sake of power but gaining no life. Such were the ways of the darkside. Eternally seeking power with no longevity. The voice of the Sithling came from the smoke and darkness of the forest, filtering as if from a thousand directions

The Sith seemed eternally able to conjure words from her mouth, even in the heat of battle where conversation was both unwanted and loathsome. The words of the Sith were dripping with poison, taunting the Exorcist of her struggle, that unending discord between her own flesh and the fires of the Force. The Azanti physiology of her form had set a profound craving within her, deep enough to touch the bedrock of her psychology. The yearning was devious and was held within her depths, but it was stirred by the Sithling’s words.

For Kyrie, the depravity of the flesh was a consuming void at the very center of her soul, and she could feel its touch within the words of the Sith.

What was strong enough to stand against that?

The Exorcist breathed in and listened, stilling her disquiet. The hunger gave off no song, no fire of life. Against that darkness there was something greater. There was the song, that ever-present heartbeat of the Force. The promise of life. It flowed around her, caressing her with its melody, drowning out the discordant tones of the Sith’s words with its rhythmic radiance.

Her locus of control moved to her belt and quiver once more as the song moved from her lips. She seized three arrows with her mind familiarizing herself with their fletching and bodkin tips as she added them to her locus, along with her remaining stillettos. She pressed the song against the Sithling’s influence, her eyes finding her opponent’s.

Asperges me incendium, et mundabor, lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor…

That was the inherent weakness of the dark side, even a small candle could hold it at bay, and to such darkness, the Master of the Exorcists was a bonfire. Kyrie’s flesh began to glow with wreathing flames of silver. There was intent to the fading evil and the Imperial Knight adjusted her stance to a more mobile Mezza Porta di Ferro, the guard of the middle gate for the circles of the spear. Pain from her burns protested, but through crucitorn she passed it into her internal flame.

With the guard of the Middle Gate, The Imperial Knight straightened her back, engaging her core and taking a step backwards with her right foot, letting her left foot lead once more as she rose to the balls of her feet. Her shoulders and arms relaxed, and she held the shaft of the spear loosely, her fingers caressing the briar-wood with anticipation. Both hands moved closer to the balance and she gripped the cortosis-inlaid wood with only the first two fingers on each hand, sacrificing grip strength for mobility.

Images cloaked in flame surrounded her, twisted abominations of her past. They felt sick within the Song, and as they approached, she discovered the source of their illness. They were birthed of perversion, warped mimicry of her own flame. To a Master of Exorcists, such aberration was an anathema. Her remaining stiletto knives whipped from her belt, hovering beside her, glowing white with her holy wrath.

As the demons closed in, she struck, channeling her power into her legs. From her mobile stance, the Imperial Knight stepped from the centerline once more, spinning and sweeping her saber-spear in a full arc, the brilliant blade of orange and silver protecting her front while the weighted pommel protected her rear. The sweep was easy to achieve from the stance, as the balance of the spear was close to her center of gravity.

The defensive arc set off an explosion of as the impure fire met with the pure, and from it, Kyrie leapt towards her opponent, her kama trailing smoke. A splash of pain echoed from her legs, a touch of the Sith's impure fire had burned her calf. She had grown weary of this pyromancer who could turn her own flame against her.

The Master of the Exorcists landed in the guard of the middle gate several yards from her opponent, and when she spoke, her voice carried a stutter but a bitter confidence. 

“Turn from your… Evil… Or be destroyed by it.”

A crack in the air indicating the remaining stiletto blades zipping from the raging inferno behind them, her locus of control bringing them up to the speed of sound, angling them for the Sith’s center of mass at converging angles before releasing them. The three arrows she had passed into her locus were used with less finesse, their steel bodkin tips glittering with translucent white fire as they spilled from their quiver, cracking to speed in a whistling swarm, released towards the Sith’s chest.

((3))

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The Song changed its rhythm and the Master of the Exorcists stared beyond the silver orange glow of the saber-spear to a now fallen opponent. She was surprised, in the rush of war she had not foreseen the fall. She had miscalculated and struck out against the Sith without first stretching to feel

There was little darkness left in the darkening Forest, and there was only a slight touch of it upon the wind. The other Darkside presence within Coronet city had been extinguished completely, while the one before her was weak to the point of non-existence.  Kyrie breathed in, listening.

The air tasted of death upon a faraway breeze, but there was something else beyond the natural smells of a forest, even one that was partially ablaze. Deeper than the aroma of boiling sap. A corruption was what the spirits spoke of.

The Song vanished as she exhaled, and the full sound of the Forest swarmed in around her. The crackling of dried underbrush ablaze. The worried calls of nightbirds. The echo of a heartbeat behind her. The Exorcist turned and stared at its source, the fallen Wyrmsteel blade of the Sith Pyromancer. She shifted her gaze to the fallen woman and saw a rise and fall of her chest.

The Sithling still lived.

The Imperial Knight extinguished her lightsaber with a satisfying snap-hiss and strode carefully to the Sword, listening. It bore a heartbeat, but one as if heard across a placid lake, echoed and formless. A name sprang to her mind as she touched its hilt

…Gwn Marwolaeth…

A burning hunger crawled up her spine as she ripped the Sith’s blade from the forest floor, and the forest itself seemed to relax. With the relief a wash of pain roared through Kyrie, as her own concentration and adrenaline began to fade. She hissed and looked to the blistered flesh on her arms, and the trickle of blood that leaked through scorch-lined cracks in her left greave.

With greater effort, the Imperial Knight hobbled to the fallen form of the Sith Assassin, watching the pained breaths come from the form, accompanied by a mewing cough. Her probisci flicked at the air, tasting and wanting.

Hunger.

The Exorcist breathed in a staggered breath, holding the sith sword up, her every instinct crying for her to strike the blade into her opponent’s flesh.

Starvation.

The probisci writhed in her vision and she breathed in another breath, this one more determined, and she spoke aloud to herself.

Ardenter, oh, that gluttonous eagerness…

The sword rose higher and the Exorcist screamed and forced her probisci to touch the Wyrmsteel

May you devour poison!

Her scream became frantic as she drew the heartbeat from the sword itself, casting it into the fires of her own heart. Pain rushed through all of her, for it was like swallowing a viper’s fangs. She hugged the Wyrmsteel to her breast and cried, collapsing beside the Sith’s broken form.

She took upon herself the sins of Gwn Marwolaeth and consumed them like they were her own. She had to consume to burn away evil. Her screams began to subside as the name was burned into her soul. The heartbeat she did not destroy but purged with her own agony. The sword’s words were of death, but they were also familiar. Long ago her father Harjav had named her sister Hayley as his inspiration in such a tongue, calling her thereafter Awenydd.

The Master of Exorcists gave the sword a new name, Llafn Tân, or The Blade of Fire and laid it on the Sith’s chest, wrapping the woman's fingers about the hilt.

Drawing from her belt the medkit, she slipped the knives from the Sith’s shoulders, packing the wounds with clotting form bacta. She only had one usable bacta spray and used it on the Sith’s wounds before she bound them with scraps from her Kama.

A Sith redeemed was far better to the Force than a dead one.

With the Sith medically stabilized, she slipped away, back to her own ship in order to meditate and heal.

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