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

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

his shoulders bore the memory of the forge
his arms were wrought as if by iron's gorge
for he was tall as legends liked to boast
a cubit -- more -- above her modest post​

The Vahlan watched Gerra remove his sword belt, eyes following the hard angles of his form. The sword came free and he set it aside. She lifted her chin and gaze to meet his when he spoke. "Vahl guided my hands by way of her words to build the lightsaber, but moving me through lightsaber forms proves overwhelming. I do not absorb the lessons because her physical presence is too much to bear. There is only so much seeing it back can teach. I need to do it, consciously. So the answer to your question is: very little."

She took twirled the baton carefully and then settled into a tense combat stance, one leg angled forward, the other elongated behind, poised so that she could move as she needed. Her eyes regarded Hasuras Na-Gerra with some measure of apprehension -- and perhaps a bit of clouded admiration. His physique was impressive, and could only come from discipline.

"Champion, I am not fool enough to believe that you could not flatten me if you wished. Or even if you were merely careless," the Avatara said, straightening her blade ahead of her. "May I implore you to engage in some self-control, so as to avoid you putting me through a bulkhead? Be mindful of the size and strength differential -- at least while I am learning?"

a half a man again, and then some more
as if the stars had stretched him at the core
she measured him the way a sailor might
appraise a mast and wonder at its height

no plea, yet something near it in her tone
a petition cast in granite, not in a moan:
be mindful, Qhal, thy strength is no jest
let not your earnestness undo the rest
for if your zeal breaks what would be taught
who then shall learn? who shall serve Her plot?​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

A noncommittal grunt came in answer to her knowledge of the lightsaber, then an eyebrow raised at her stance.

Not terrible.

But at her next words he shook his head and let out a bark of harsh laughter.

"Is the Avatara so frail that a mere mortal such as I could break her?" malicious mirth glowed in the furnaces of his eyes as he took slow, lumbering steps forward in a walk that echoed that of a tuk'ata's prowl. He stopped just before her, a handspan between them, his head craned down to regard her. "Very well. I shall take care not to flatten you."

His baton snapped up and he used the unlit end to prod and pull her legs into a more proper base.

"The narrow roots topple in a storm. The wide roots hold. Shoulder width. There."

Taking a step back, he spread his arms out to either side. "Now... Attack me."

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

the jest was plain: what danger could he be
if godhead's vessel stood so slight as she?
he gave the taunt a smile too dry for grace
and set the giant patience in his face
then with that same easy, insulting art
he offered his body up as the start
he bade her strike, as though to prove the game
as though her fury were mere child's brief flame​

"Mortal, perhaps," Vatrës said, like a concession, her gossamer brows furrowing slightly at his contradiction. "But mere? Look at the size of you. There is nothing mere about Vahl's Champion. And embracing her mission will give you more power still, whether you believe it or not."

The goddess whispered to her, and even if the Avatara did not pick out the words, she understood Her sentiment well. Hasuras Na-Gerra would be Hers, body and soul, if he knew what was good for him. It was treason -- worse, it was sacrilege -- to gainsay a goddess, and to do so while using her name as a banner was worse still. If Vahl had some sort of plan to bring Her Champion to heel, She had not yet shared it with Her Avatara.

But Vatrës was certain in her bones that something was to be done.

She allowed Gerra to make the adjustments, spreading her feet as he directed so that her stance was steadier. Vatrës nodded her thanks, settling into the new stance he gave her, and brought up her baton.

Her attacks were surprisingly strong for a woman of her size, drawing on the Force as she was. At first she slashed at his side from the right, driving the baton toward his ribs before changing tact to flash downward, overhead with surprising ferocity.

there was no coyness in her first assault
no half-made effort waiting for default
she meant to hit, and hit with all she had
the kind of earnest force that startles bad
for zeal, in one too often forced to yield
can turn a narrow body to a field​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Wielding the baton with only a single hand, he blocked the incoming blow. Surprise ran through him along with the finger-numbing sting of impact as the force of her blow belied her slender frame. Indeed she was powerful. The Force flowed strongly through her. And she had a ferocity to her strike that showed she was trueborn blooded Vahla.

Gerra could sense the strange presence within her as well. Possession by a spirit of the Dark Side. Exceedingly rare, but not unheard of. Yet the power behind this second presence was unrivaled, even by his own strength in the Force.

Gritting his teeth, Gerra reached out and sought to wrap his wrist around her hand which held the baton, stopping any further attack.

"You have the ferocity of the fire," he grunted, reaching out to try to tap the electrified end of his baton against her knee.

"But without cunning, you will die to stronger foe."

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

when he seized her, something in her stirred
a spark too quick to honor with any word
she hated that she felt it; hated more
that she might read the answer at the core
​

Vatrës tried not to allow herself to be tickled by the Champion's surprise, but then her black eyes widened as he seized her wrist. That was hardly a fair fight. He was enormous and his reach far exceeded her own. His grip was like warm iron -- firm and unyielding -- but covered in velvet, his grip around her wrist seeking to halt attack and restrain rather than to hurt or harm. Her lips turned down in a frown and she let her gaze flicker up to where he held her fast.

You have the ferocity of fire, he said, and the Avatara tried to ignore a squirming, heated flush of satisfaction in her core. She knew intellectually that her gifts were of the goddess, not her own virtue or value. Yet, she had honed them, polished them, trained as far as she could on her own. The Avatara tried to tell herself it was pride and nothing more.

"Cunning?" she echoed dubiously, eyes narrowing slightly. Vatrës flinched as his electrified baton touched her knee, sent a searing jolt of pain through her. "Nngh!" came her seething snarl. That leg stood down, twitching as the effects of the currents, allowing her to use the cover of pained retreat for a bit of cunning of her own. Her other knee she brought up between his thighs -- not hard, stopping just short of striking him in a way that could make him suffer, but allowing it to linger there. A demonstration that she could have -- if she chose.

"How is that for cunning, Hasuras Na-Gerra?" Vatrës taunted -- then ruined the effect entirely when she dropped the baton, hoping to have been able to collect with her free hand as it rolled down his broad back. Instead, it bounced from his shoulder and clattered to the cargo deckplate before she could call it back to her with the Force.

so up she drove her knee with splendid spite
a compact strike of targeted might
had she not checked it with final care
his line might have ended, then and there
​

Hasuras Na-Gerra ​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The Avatara's other knee snapped up, swift as leaping fire, slowing only in the heartbeat when she might have driven it fully into him. Instead of crushing him with her kneecap, he only felt the brush of her limb against him through the fabric. A dark thrill raced through him, perception crystallizing in the adrenal flow, sensations heightened. The feel of her lingering leg. The smell of her, this close. Like woodsmoke. The heat of her breath as she taunted him.

The baton slipped from her grasp, bouncing off his shoulder and clattering to the ground.

"Guile," he rumbled, approval in his tone. If she had struck with full force it might have been a crippling blow. But she need not have lingered. Need not have let the weapon slip from her grasp.

His powerful grasp on her wrist tightened and he drew her closer even as he stepped forward into her. Friction. Her knee brushed against him. Heat.

The Vahlan warlord loomed above her, a mountain of carved muscle and corded sinew.

He let his other hand drop his own baton to join hers on the deck. Calloused fingers, scarred and seared by battle and the forge slid up along her arm and across her shoulder until they clasped the side of her face. Strands of hair pale as fresh ash brushed against the back of his hand. And those unsettling obsidian eyes stared at him, reflecting the artificial light overhead.

"Would you cripple your champion with such a blow?" though his eyes shone with an intensity, a smile turned up the corner of his mouth.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

when he drew too near, when warmth and wood
rose off his skin like a shelter stood
her body answered first, betrayed her creed
a heat that rose unbidden, unagreed
she hated that response and yet it came
not sweet, not chosen, but there like flame
and deeper still, beneath that startled stir
a want she felt that was not truly her​

The Avatar felt some shift in the environment -- a thickening of the air, a tilt in the deckplates. She was suddenly aware of a scent. It must have been @Hasuras-Na Gerra, though she couldn't place it exactly. It made her remember warm spice and dry wood, the kind of scent that made her think of heat and shelter before she could name why. He was closer now, close enough that she could feel rather than see the pulse at his jugular. The Force heightened her awareness, and veil between she and the goddess seemed to thin. She could almost make out Vahl's features -- her own, mirrored back to her -- through a smoky veil in her mind's eye.

There was something else in the dark lady's visage now, something Vatrës couldn't read. Greed, perhaps -- but the word didn't feel strong enough. Avarice -- stronger, but still not quite right.

She realized that she had not answered, only adjusted, her neck craning so that she could watch his face as he loomed there. Her breath caught when she felt his hands took her face between them. For a moment she flashed unpleasantly to the sanctuary, her body being dragged to the altar by the warlord. His strength was unquestionable; she braced for something similar --

But nothing came. His calloused fingers simply settled there. Her jaw dropped minutely, lips parted, an uneasy silence.

She had still not responded.

"I have no champion," Vatrës said, her voice shaking at first. She swallowed and her voice returned with more strength. "You belong to the goddess, just as I do, and she does not command your mutilation. And you have not offended me to the point that would require it." There was a beat and she shifted her knee back, suddenly aware that his movement had closed the gap between them, such that there was a subtle heat and friction at her knee and top of her thigh. She flinched back.

"Yet," she added.

Do not linger here, Vahl hissed within her. Resume training if you must, but do not presume to meddle with my Champion, Avatar. There is important work to complete.

The Avatara took a shuddering breath, the throb of Her presence in her brain sharp but then subsiding. "Let us continue," Vatrës whispered, then cleared her throat. "We have much ground to cover." She called her dropped baton to her free hand with the Force, and gave her head a subtle shake as if to clear away the cobwebs.

not girlish curiosity, not shame
not lonely reach for comfort or for name
something more vast, possessive, cool, exact
a taking-eyed regard that turned to fact
it watched him as one watches lawful prey
as if his strength were tribute meant to pay
and Av'tar, lacking words for such a thing
could only feel the shift it seemed to bring​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Again with this division between her and the spirit possessing her. Perhaps the consuming inferno hungry for fuel he felt within her was not her at all, but Vahl. Or the spirit claiming to be Vahl. Gerra did not make a study of Sith spirits, only encountering them infrequently in his journeys through the Netherworld. And only then as opponents, foes to be overcome in order to get back to this dimension. Not beings who conversed beyond the hate fueling their attacks.

Gerra snorted as she summoned the baton back to her with the Force. Mutilation. As if she could. Then again, she had nearly seared away his flesh in their first encounter. His nostrils flared as he breathed out and stepped back, calling his own stun baton back to his hand with a yank in the Force.

"So be it."

The next hour passed in a blur as Gerra went over the basics of combat with her. He taught her only what every nomadic Vahlan learned aboard their ships as a child, instructed often by their fathers or mothers in a brutal and simple style of fighting best suited for savage corridor fights in boarding actions. Gerra had none of a Jedi's grace and technique, nor did he know the Sith arts of Juyo or darker skills suited for lightsaber combat. His people favored vibroblades and simple weapons that would not punch through the hull of a ship. What he knew of the Dark Side came from the few true Sith among the Ember of Vahl, but his teachers were long dead and they put more stock in portends than in battle.

After showing her how to stand, how block, and how to cut and thrust, Gerra declared that they were done for the moment. He was not one to train night and day. Even so, the sparring had worked up a lather and he pushed aside locks of red hair from his forehead as he grabbed a bottle of water and drained it in three swallows.

"We will train again later, I grow weary of this filth," he grunted dismissively, gesturing at himself, still caked in the aftermath of their slaughter of the Five Seers and their bodyguards. Stalking out of the cargo hold, he stomped down a corridor, "This is a Chandrilan design. The quarters will have a sanisteam," he said, though he did not turn around. Instead, he began shedding garments as he made his way to the captain's quarters.

Reaching it, and with a trail of clothes in his wake, he found the sanisteam shower and climbed inside. Closing his eyes, he activated it and hot mist poured out from directional jets, scrubbing his body clean in seconds, though he continued to stand there, the blood and soot circling the drain at his feet. Another might have wondered at why Vahl chose him, or wondered at what their next steps might be, but Gerra did not dwell in such thoughts. He flitted between mirth and melancholy, with little time spent in between.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

yet always under all her mortal strain
a second watcher watched him with disdain
not contempt for him, but for any claim
stamped against Vahl's consuming name​

Vatrës watched her would-be tutor stalk off in search of a sanisteam shower, shucking clothes as he went. Her eyes dropped from the back of his head, down the rippling muscles of his back as he dropped the clothing that covered it. Again that feeling within her, a sort of covetousness that echoed in the part of her mind that the goddess occupied, that she didn't quite understand --

-- not until it was mirrored by a pull in her gut.

A beat later, heat crept up the back of her neck, and her eyes widened. "Oh," she murmured to herself, tearing her eyes from the Champion's retreating form, following the trail of clothes back to her feet. If he was hoping that she would collect them -- much less launder them -- he was in for a lifetime of heartache.

She secured the baton and collected her lightsaber, returning it to her belt, then headed for the exit herself. Her muscles were pleasantly sore from the exertion. Training had been education as well as exercise. Rewarding. At least until he started to disrobe. There was that feeling again, that little jerk of something behind her navel, some kind of squirming in some liminal space within her. This time it did not go unnoticed. Her hand faltered on the door as the goddess' presence parted the veil within her mind -- not entering, not quite, but right on the edge. The black of her eyes trembled, swelling, contracting, unsteady.

A vessel cannot be filled by two, Vahl growled through the veil. Vatrës, in the ship, in the physical world, made a wordless sound, her mouth hanging open unintelligibly. Thou art Mine, Vatrës. Thou wilt be Mine until I decide otherwise, or until thy usefulness -- thy obedience -- extinguishes. Think carefully on that. And know that the Champion is also Mine. He is skeptical of My presence, perhaps, reluctant to acknowledge My authority over his destiny. But you, My Avatar, you are all too aware of My wrath.

Vatrës took a sharp, shaky breath as Vahl retreated back behind the veil again. The Avatara swayed, gripping the door handle to steady herself until the pain and dizziness passed. And she went to look around the ship. She followed the trail of clothing and the subtle lingering essence of something spicy and woody and pressed her ear to the door. She heard the sound of the sanisteam shower running; clearly Gerra was in there. Vatrës turned, wandered in search of another cabin, another shower, for she too had worked up a sweat during their exercises. She found a bunk -- small, attached to a 'fresher with a sink and a toilet -- near the cockpit. But no shower.

Apparently the Chandrilans didn't extend such luxuries as a sanisteam to the help. But it was good to know there was a place for her to sleep. She wandered the rest of the ship, trying to get familiar with the layout, until finally she looped back to the main quarters. Ear to the door, she heard the shower still going. She raised a hand and knocked the door, then when there was no response, she turned her hand and banged with a fist on the door. Finally, she palmed the door open and leaned in, following the trail of clothes to the translucent door to the bathroom. "Save some hot water for Vahl," she shouted, hoping her voice would carry over the sound of the ship and the shower. "The goddess demands it," she said in a sing-song to be sure he knew it was a joke, not a divine command.

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

it saw him not as lover, not as man
but as a conquest written in the plan
it liked the way he did not kneel with ease
it liked the thought: giant forced to his knees​