Private A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

[Vatrës Dhalis]

what he named finished she named prelude still
a first strike only, sharpened by her will
the missing one breathed beyond her reach
a coward-step that fled cleansing speech
​

Vatrës displayed a fine command of fire and heat as the brief but bloody battle played out. Between the gene-warrior's sword and her flames, they made short work of the Six's present retinue. By the time it was over, blood had baked to the deckplates, almost like rust, and the Avatara's breath came in languid panting, from exertion and excitement rather than exhaustion. She turned her funereal gazes on Hasuras Na-Gerra and steadier her breath. "We are done when I say we are," she declared.

Pausing at the charred remains of one of the Six, she nudged it with her toe until he turned, crumbling to ash.

"You know of the Six," Vatrës observed. "Which yet lives? And where would the coward have gone to ground?"

There had to be some sign of where she had gone. And the money -- that would be accessed by computer, too, unless they kept it all stockpiled for ease of access. That would be... unwise. But the Six were bosom friends with hubris, it seemed, so she would not put it past them. "And let us not forget the treasure," Vatrës reminded Gerra. "Vahl will see her Champion rewarded. And we will require funds to work our mission. Come."

She strode purposefully towards the exit. There would have to be a command center or quarters for the Six somewhere.

they searched for ports, for routes, for favored doors
for secret friends and under-hands and stores
they broke the seals on coffers glut'nous with gain
and found rivers fat with ill-gotten stain​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

"Inanna," replied the warlord, eyeing the charred corpses appreciatively. Powerful indeed, this avatarra. He no longer doubted that she held some long dead spirit inside her, but he did not trouble with thoughts of how or why this came to pass.

"She is an adder, the most cunning of them all," Gerra tilted his head and grunted as he realized she likely planned to be absent should just such an event occur.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the deck as he followed white-haired Vatres out the exit.

"She will be awaiting in the depths of space on word from the others. When she discovers what passed she will rally others loyal to her and have retribution. But the others on this station are Vahlan. They need not die if they can be swayed."

Gerra would not slaughter his own kin down every hallway if he could be availed of another option.

"Perhaps you have been too long away from your own people. We are nomads, Vatres. The Chosen would each have brought their personal ships," Gerra shrugged, glancing at a cracked display glowing on the hallway wall showing the various hangar bays. He tapped one, drawn to it by the Dark Side and the Foresight of his kind. "This one."

They passed through the hallway until they came to another hangar, a large ship of Chandrilan design sat in the dock. Gerra chuckled when he beheld it, knowing it was newly taken from Hanna City. The Chosen certainly availed themselves of the plunder he led them to.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Inanna, the adder, clever, cold, and quick
a coil that slips the heel and does not stick
counseled he that station held more faces:
Vahlan souls in lesser ranks and places
need they die, he pressed, if turned with care?
not every throat belongs in fire's snare
​

Vatrës watched the forceful, powerful strides of the colossus, the Champion of Vahl, in fact if not in name. Where he was a dynamo of motion and energy, she allowed herself a more leisurely pace. She lowered her hood to look around, exposing her white hair. Ordinarily hair that white would have been ancient and brittle, but hers was as supple as ever, glossy, well-kempt, and untouched by the flames that she had summoned.

"You astonish me, Hasuras Na-Gerra ," said Vatrës bluntly. "Did you think that I came her to slaughter them all? Vahl demands no such retribution. There is scorn for the schemers in her command, but grace for those they led astray. All Vahl's children are also mine. I would no sooner burn them all than I would burn my own children." She shook her head, her black eyes gazing into Gerra's for a few moments, as if wishing to communicate the sincerity behind those words. They did not know each other. It would take time to learn.

But if he understood one thing about Vatrës, it should be that her way was not destruction for destruction's sake. Not where the innocent were concerned. "The Six -- this -- Inanna -- on the other hand. She will feel the full weight and heat of Our Lady's judgment, I can assure you."

Odd to be checked on that by a warlord of Gerra's renown, she thought. But this pairing would likely spawn many odd moments.

the Avatara heard word, not as meek
but as mother weighing the strong and weak
Vahl's folk were hers, not kindling for the flame
no faceless mass condemned in Her dark name
she would chastise only those who earned the brand
who sold their kin and stole with pious hand
​

She stopped at the entrance to the next hangar he led her to and folded her arms around her middle. "Are you in such a rush, Hasuras Na-Gerra?" Vatrës asked casually. "Do you feel there is nothing left to learn on this station? Or are the financial records we seek only to be found aboard this ship? I would have thought they would have some sort of database on this station if this is where they spent their time."

Her eyes traced over the contours of the ship and she frowned thoughtfully. "Champion, may I ask a boon from you? Not for Vahl's sake, but my own, so you may refuse if you wish without fear of divine retribution."

the rest she'd gather back from poisoned lies
and teach them true where duty lives and dies
and she, Avatara, needed not his charts
to know the wandering map of Vahlan hearts
she was Vahlan, she knew their salted road
the old laments, the secret signs bestowed​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Gerra, overfond of boons, glanced side long at the Avatara as they approached the slain Chosen's ship.

"Think I would aid you in slaughter and deny you?" Gerra chuckled, the sound like the rumbling of distant thunder from his enormous chest, "Ask and it shall be given."

It seemed that this Chosen had brought all of his attendants with him, for none assayed out of the ship to meet them but a perturbed protocol droid. Gerra's lips curled in distain, for he in truth misliked droids. All circuits and wires. No flame of the soul dwelled in them. He shoved the droid aside as it came down the ramp asking question after question about its master.

The droid sprawled upon the floor, limbs waggling as it struggled to rise.

He boarded the ship with the casual air of a warrior who had ravaged many star systems and taken countless ships in action. Danger might lurk here, but he held no fear of it.

"The Chosen are jealous creatures of prophecy. They would keep their secrets upon their ships, for ease of escape. Stations do not move and can be taken. But a ship is the home of the Vahla."

Surely she knew this. But then again perhaps not. If Vahl truly lurked within her, then she would be a Dark Side spirit thousands of years old who had not witnessed first hand the nomadic nature of her people who now roamed the stars in search of their lost home.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

onward still through lanes that did narrow fast
they chased the sixth, and let the die be cast
until the last is found and made to see
no man may name it end, nor call it free
so did they go, two wills in wary brace
to run the fugitive to judgment's face​

Vatrës followed, her black eyes scanning this way and that. "You are not in the habit of guarding your tongue, are you, Hasuras Na-Gerra?" she asked, her lips twitching upward at the edges, her voice rich with mirth. "Were I a greedy woman I might construe your question a promise of fealty, and let my imagination run riot of all the things I might demand if I knew you would not deny me. Don't worry. I think you will not have cause to regret agreeing. I wish to learn the sword. I have my lightsaber, as Vahl instructed me to build, but without physical form she cannot teach me martial ways. Would you?" She carefully sidestepped the droid as it skittered across the deckplates without breaking stride.

She followed Gerra up the ramp, watching the confident stride of his powerful body as he marched into what may well have been a trap. Idly, she wondered if he was brave, foolhardy, or simply careless of the danger. There was something compelling about a man that marched toward danger rather than running away from it. Hasuras Na-Gerra was a man of many contradictions, it seemed, for with every objectionable trait she discovered of his, he immediately showed another that she found admirable.

After her dark gaze swept over the hangar once more, she turned and entered the ship. No combat sounds, no whispers in the Force to suggest that there was danger afoot. In fact, Gerra's towering, smoldering presence in the Force was the only other that she felt physically in the vicinity.

Just Gerra, and Vatrës, and Vahl made three.

"The Six did not eschew creature comforts, it must be said," the Avatara observed casually as she began to peel off her gloves. "There is no wrong in it," Vatrës declared with all the moral authority of a pontifex. "If it is kept in its proper sphere and perspective. Let us see what this ship can tell us." She made her way toward the cockpit and found the ship's computer. Seating herself at the terminal, Vatrës began to examine the log. Dark eyes alit upon a recent entry, and pale finger pointed it out to the Champion. "Here. Encrypted signal. Where are these coordinates?"

and in his candor, hard as hammered ore
did she find traits she could not ignore
not kindness, no, nor softness in his gaze
but directness that refuses easy phrase
so admiration came, unwelcome, thin
a spark that burned beneath her guarded skin​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Another laugh rolled from the huge Vahlan at her words, for he was a man for whom mirth came as quickly as wroth. He made no reply at first, beyond a shrug, content to browse the contents of the ship as she settled into a chair. Gerra joined her in the cockpit when she spoke again. His eyes narrowed on the coordinates. He, who prowled the trade lanes all his life, well knew by glance such a destination.

"Deep space near the Firefist," he grunted, "The Chosen must have something out there. A carrier ship or a station, I know not."

He may have been Qhan of the Vahla, but that only meant that the other war leaders bowed to his demands. The religious cult of the Ember of Vahl acted over their own accord. Although he supposed they would have to be reformed. New priests and priestesses loyal to Vahl put in place of the Chosen Six.

"It will take some time to reach. Many days. I will train you along the way in the basics blade, though I know little of lightsaber forms."

He was a far better sorcerer than a bladesman, which many who encountered him often forgot on account of his size. They expected him to throw himself headlong into the fray, forgetting that he wielded Sith magic as well as his sword.

"I will send word to one of my destroyers. They will take this station and round up those who still remain. We should take this vessel."

It would draw no alarms when one of the Chosen's ships approached those coordinates. However... Gerra supposed they might need the droid outside. He pursed his lips in displeasure.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

they took a ship, one of the Chosen's own
and made its gilded pride Her borrowed throne
no rites were said, no leave asked of law
they claimed by right, by flame, and by claw​

The Avatara inclined her head gratefully at his agreement. "I understand. I am not so foolish as to believe that everything I encounter will respond to the flame. It would be helpful to know a little more than nothing should I need to cross swords. Should Our Lady grant me a longer life beyond this immediate work, perhaps I will engage a proper tutor." Her voice grew rich with humor at the end of this, gentle ribbing. Still it wasn't necessarily a bad idea to learn more. "Thank you, Hasuras Na-Gerra ," Vatrës said, her voice returning to its normal, earnest, genuine timbre.

If she survived this, that is.

Vatrës nodded her acquiescence to the plan he described, though with one hitch. She caught his gaze. "These people are under Vahl's protection, Hasuras Na-Gerra -- be sure that your people know it. I hope you do not take offense. You, I believe, we can trust." The royal we, again, or speaking for both herself and the goddess? Curious. But based on his suggestion that they not slaughter the population of the station suggested he was not going to order it later. "But we don't know your men. We will be interested to follow up on their status when this part of our work is done," she concluded, turning her attention back to the coordinates on the screen for a moment.

But then, when she felt a pang of dissatisfaction from him in the Force, her gaze flicked back to his face. "What troubles you, Champion? Don't tell me you're having second thoughts now."

the voyage would be tutelage and test
a harsh school set in deep, starless rest
and while hunting she who slithered free
they forged the tools for what the end would be
​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

"Nay. Not second thoughts. But we should like as not bring the droid," he grunted begrudgingly, "Blast their kind."

Sighing, he walked out of the ship, seized the fallen droid where it still lay, and hauled the protocol droid aboard while it continued to prattle with questions and comments for which he cared little. He flung it into a corner of the ship, then wiped his hands.

Soulless machine.

Turning back to Vatres, "We can depart."

He started the initiation sequence for the ship, then began typing a message to his warriors.

"My people are unruly, but they too are Vahlans. And they obey me."

Out of fear. And respect. And because he was by far the strongest among them.

"Check my work all you wish, goddess," he chuckled, "but we are reavers and plundering nomads, not bodyguards."

The ship lifted off and Gerra once more ignored a flurry of questions from the station docking authorities as he piloted the vessel out into open space, punching in the hyperspace coordinates, then activating the jump.

In an instant, the whorl of hyperspace engulfed the vessel and they lurched in their seats. Gerra grunted, satisfied that they were well away.

"Come. You wish to be trained, let us see what they have suitable."

Stalking passed the protocol droid who was just now managing to get up, Gerra shoved it back down, and continued on down the corridors of the fairly large vessel. Bigger than a light freighter, for certain, though smaller than a corvette. He did not know if they would have a training room proper. Instead, Gerra made his way first to what served as the armory of the ship, searching within he found stun batons. They would serve well enough. He took two of them, then moved to the cargo hold.

There were many crates strapped down to the deck, but measures of space which were clear enough. Gerra would explore the rest of the ship later, but his blood was still up from the fight earlier and he was remiss to let the adrenaline slip from him when there might be more to gain.

Gerra turned and tossed Vatrës Dhalis a stun baton.

"Sword. Baton. Lightsaber. All the same, in the end," he grunted.

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

no crowds to flatter, no bright courts to please
only the engine's drums and starry seas
and somewhere in that black, their purpose laid
the last escape, the debt that must needs be paid​

"Yes, yes," Vatrës said, as if bored by the concept. "You are reavers, you are plunderers. You also eat and breathe. Do you eat rock? Do you breathe poison? Not all things are made for every purpose. Vahlans who can be brought to Our Lady are to be neither reaved against nor plundered, the same way carbonite is not to be eaten and cyanide gas is not to be breathed."

The Avatara spoke and she was certain that the warlord was half-listening -- granting her words as much attention and care as he did the squawking voices from the traffic controllers and docking authorities. He had probably moved on to other things in his head. She watched him. His vivid red hair and coloring marked him as one of Vahl's people, and yet he had no feeling for the goddess, no sense of obligation to the dark lady. She puzzled over him for a few moments as the ship slipped into hyperspace.

Then he was off again, and Vatrës followed, cloak sweeping along behind her, at least until they arrived at the makeshift training area, where she reached up and unclasped it, winding it around her arm and setting the bundle on a nearby crate. She unclipped her lightsaber and set it atop the cloak before turning her attention back to the giant, just in time to catch the baton he had slung at her. The impact stung her palm, but she resisted showing it. Hasuras Na-Gerra recognized and respected strength, that much was clear. Vatrës had to show that she had it.

"Sticks to swing at one another," she observed primly, examining the baton. She shifted it between her hands, studying it, then let it settle in her right hand. Her thumb touched the switch, sending a coursing blue spark to traverse its length. "Non-lethal -- I assume?"

he set her stance where deck-plates met the light
and squared her shoulders against coming night
not with sweet praise, nor pity's clumsy art
he taught the body first, then mind, then heart​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The harsh comments went unheeded but for a bark of laughter. She'd have to refine her aim should she wish to provoke the warlord's wrath. Though it came easily when struck true.

When she shed her cloak, Gerra's eyes panned up and down her figure appreciatively, not deigning to hide his open appraisal. Nor even to disguise it as anything but what it was.

"Indeed," he replied, distracted, "Non-lethal."

His eyes moved away from her exotic figure to meet her gaze. Those black orbs were unsettling. But also...

"And a ferocious sting."

The tip of the baton crackled to life, bands of blue sparking together in tiny, angry tendrils.

With his other hand, Gerra unbuckled his sword belt and hauled it free of his pants with but a single yank. He placed the sword and belt on top of a nearby crate.

"You have a lightsaber," he sneered, "How much of the basics do you know? Or must I educate thee from the beginning. Show me your stance."

Vatrës Dhalis