A Minor Hiccup

[Warchief Waddles]

Sitting in the pilot’s seat of the Talaria hands gripped tight on the steering yolk Aten looked ahead as the kaleidoscope of blues drew back, what had once been blurred white lines snapped into existence the ship jerking as it made the transition from hyperspace. Palms sweaty, arms heavy Aten’s eyes looked down to the sensor suite where there were no pings as of yet. Sighing the Jedi laid his head back against the leather seat eyes closing slightly. He’d been hounded for the past three systems by minions of the Sith, or those seeking to collect bounties on known Rebellion personnel. They said every action had an equal and opposite reaction, but Aten never imagined simply aiding the Rebellion would end up like this.

Despite the frequent and dangerous jumps through hyperspace there was one however that was able to keep up with the Jedi, that was never more than a few steps behind. Though now the Jedi was sure he’d lost them. A sudden klaxon came to life, a hyperspace disturbance. You’ve got to be chitting me. Aten thought his hands gripping the throttle once more and driving it straight down the engines roaring to life, pushed to the extremes as the Jedi made his way for the nearby planet. He’d spent no time researching where’d he’d been jumping due to the randomness of the jumps. For all the Morellian knew he could be heading straight for Kashyyyk, though if he’d spent even a split second examining the sensor suite he would’ve seen the planets name. Dathomir.

They’re back? Came the soothing voice of Kol to the jedi, one only he could hear. Kol was the name Aten had given to the Spintiri crystal housed within his saber. The one who’s life he was now bound to.

“I think so but I certainly hope not.” Aten answered aloud not willing to look at the displays showing the rear view of the ship, he’d spent enough time in Sith custody. He didn’t plan on doing so again. They’d tried to break him once and failed, Aten wasn’t sure how many times he could handle such treatment before he finally snapped. The frame of the ship jostled as the ship slammed through the planet's exosphere cutting through all the other layers of the atmosphere that followed. Aten’s viewscreen was filled by large trees that reached to the sky, the forestry stretching as far as the eye can see. The planet’s primary lighting the planet. There was no time to take in the view as the steering yolk jammed the Jedi stuck in the dive for the planet's surface.

Fighting against the yolk Aten pulled, even his cybernetic arm unable to lift it back up. Eyes closing for a fraction of a second Aten knew how close to a fiery end he was, he didn’t let that fear unsettle him, he reached to the force focusing his abilities directly onto the panel. A tendril of will seized the yolk yanking it, forcing it back to the rightful place pulling the ship out of a dive. Eyes now open Aten smiled as what had been a headlong dive straightened, that smile was instantly knocked off the Jedi’s face as right side of the ship plowed into a thick tree spinning out of control to the ground below.

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

DEEP SPACE

"Acolyte, your directive is to pursue the war criminal Aton Ramses. He is little more than a padawan, and his resolve will no doubt disintegrate before the indomitable might of the dark side."

Disintegrate had been a choice word, it seemed.

The interceptor was but a glimmer upon the black canvas of the void. From the stars' lofty view, all was harmonious in the grand vacuum- this silver-plated needle slipped between them soundlessly, with naught but a flash, a low thrum shimmering on the surface of silence. For it's pilot, however, this was proving to be quite a distinctly different situation.

Another power surge shot through the ship, a storm of broken glass ricocheting about the cockpit; one by one Vilka watched in horror as the viewscreens detonated. Her world was bathed in blinking red lights, the shriek of klaxons, and now she'd all but lost control of the ship; its engines burned like starlight in the darkness, vents melting to slag. A weightless stream of hyperfuel trailed her erratic flight-path. This thing wasn't built for two hyperspace jumps, never-mind twelve of the blasted things- it was a wonder she still had oxygen.

This Jedi had led her like a damned Bantha from system to system, cat and mouse darting along a quite frankly suicidal flight-path that had no doubt violated innumerable diplomatic agreements- and yet showed no signs of slowing. Vilka had not been built for this. For that matter, the starship hadn't been either- with a desperate hand she attempted to trace his last jump on the remains of a fractured viewscreen before it blew. Dathomir? There was no time to protest- at worst, solid ground at least meant getting away from this hyperspace-capable coffin. With a thunderclap she swung sideways through the streaking chasm of hyperspace, stars fading to pinpoints, and closed her eyes in the darkness.

A wild shriek rocked the ship as it was flung back into impulse, plunging into Dathomir's orbit with the squeal of twisted metal. Vilka's head flew back, hands scrabbling at unresponsive controls as the maelstrom flung her back and forth. Blood trickled from her nose, and yet before she could wipe it away, she felt her eyes widen, and her entire world became a burning mass of hellfire, soaring through nothingness. Perhaps she was becoming one with the Dark Side. Or, conversely, it could just be the ship, spiraling out of control over the rapidly-growing shadow of Dathomir.

Either way, Aten Ramses was in for a surprise. Hopefully the bad kind.

[member="Aten Ramses"]

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Tumbling through the air Aten’s safety harness snapped the Jedi flung from the control panel to the roof of the vessel. Smoke began to permeate the cockpit the fumes burning the Morellian’s eyes. Teeth gritting Aten’s body pressed to the ceiling all he could do was watch as the ground rose up to meet the vessel. At least Romi isn’t here to see this. If his master had been here to witness the incident she would most likely scold Aten on being more responsible, how he’d already lost two ships, and couldn’t afford to keep going out and buying others. It was true, the Jedi wasn’t made of money, his living was earned through the generosity of others and working out of a bar on Taris.

Pulling the force into himself, eyes closing Aten pulled the force to himself all around the Jedi a thin veil of energy began to form. Unseen to the naked eye, each layer thickened what began as a veil into a full-on barrier. There was a sudden impact into the ground sounding more like a turbolaser had struck home. The talaria bounced off the ground after the first impact spiraling through the air sending the Jedi held within bouncing around like a child’s toy. Each time he struck the wall the barrier Aten created would flash blue, some of the kinetic force transferring through. What felt like an eternity had been no more than a few seconds as the ship slammed one final time to the ground Aten’s back impacting the solid metal interior.

Great pilot? The words alone didn’t form a sentence but the high-pitched tone and vague sense of sarcasm said all it needed to.

“Kol… I hate you.” Aten responded rolling over every inch of his body aching, bruises already forming on his back and chest. Body protesting the Jedi’s movements Aten rose the sharp sound of his back popping audibly. Shoulder leaned against the wall for support Aten went through the vessel to simply reach the ramp, letting it down the Jedi stumbled out looking through the thick canopy above. What he saw was what appeared to be a flaming meteor… No that was a flaming hunk of metal, the remnants of what may have once been an interceptor.

Help?

“Sadly, I think we have to.” Aten answered, the last thing the Jedi wanted to do was move towards the malevolent energy that was housed within the remnants of the starfighter. A Jedi need not do what they wanted but what was right. Even if the individual wished death upon them. Tracking the falling vessel's progress Aten headed in the same direction at a leisurely jog, he wasn’t yet ready to sprint after the beating he’d taken.

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

Tree-to-tree, a vast black scar split the forest, embers still falling.

Steam slipped its way skyward, filtered through a maze of roots and ferns, punctuated by the hiss of cooling durasteel. Most of the interceptor was mangled beyond recognition, a searing mass already half-buried in a hole of its own making. A molten exhaust port spat wavering flames onto the dirt; some had begun their slow creep out toward the underbrush, whilst the rest seemed intent on burning upward, ascending towards the flattened wreck of the cockpit. The wild caws of Veeka streaked overhead, red birds circling the rising smoke. Within her metal prison, Vilka Pharro dreamed a deep and delirious dream. Air's thick. Pulling it right out of my lungs, rising with the heat. Her wild eyes lolled back with a groan, numb limbs fumbling uselessly at her knotted crash webbing. The smoke was everywhere, a dark cloud of sleep- so soft. Sleep. She fell limp for a moment. So soft.

With a pop the ship's computer burst into sparks, and her glazed eyes looked up, seeing nothing. To find the Force, it was difficult- everything felt so far away, so hot, as if the world had slipped behind a glass, and all she heard were the echoes. Her protests grew, but her body seemed useless, limp, as much as she might scream within. Ashen fingers curled into fists. The Force, it was its own fire, within Vilka. One she could control, fanning the flames with unconscious fury, seething beyond her dying brain.

Another explosion. The right kind. The Force was a wave, her spirit a storm, and with its might Vilka folded the walls about her like the petals of a flower, draining what little life she had left in her with an awful scream. The gaunt figure stepped from her craft in flaming robes, face blackened and weary. A sea of Dathomir's reptilian life skittered away into the dark as she rose, writhing storm of snakes and lizards; bleary eyes made out the figure before her. He almost looked as bad as her- Oh no. Her throat strained for the smoke.

"You!?" Her knees gave out, and she fell to the forest floor in a cloud of charred robes. The happiest of landings.

[member="Aten Ramses"]

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Crossing the final hill Aten was too late to witness the crash, instead, the jedi witnessed the aftermath. Mere moments before the impact of the interceptor felt as though it shook the earth itself. The thought of any surviving such a collision seemed impossible, but this was a Sith, they specialized in making the inconceivable possible. A long furrow of upturned sediment led the path to the remains of the fighter, dirt blackened from the steaming hunk of metal that had scraped against it. Bark from trees had been stripped a few even had fallen. “And you said I was a bad pilot.” Aten shot to Kol trying to make light of the situation. Smoke rose high into the air, it stank of the vessels fuel fumes, and charred metal a slight undercurrent of scorched flesh.

Each step brought Aten closer to the twisted chunk of metal, he could still feel it though. The presence of another, living, though weak. That presence grew stronger in the moments Aten drew close. It started as a small flame that grew into an inferno an explosion tearing the metal asunder the Sith exiting. A specter come to claim the soul of the Jedi. At least she would’ve been if she hadn’t collapsed to the ground the instant she saw him. Dead?

“No, I think not Kol. Perhaps exhausted or injured.” Moving closer to the body Aten gave it a slight telekinetic shove to ensure that the individual was unconscious. The sun was quickly descending, darkness washing over the forest as the thick canopy above blocked out what bits of light could shine through. The forest around them came alive, the chirps of insignificant creatures and in the far distance mighty roars. “We can’t leave her here.” Aten said aloud, kneeling he’d police the Sith of her weapons first. Despite her being unconscious one could never let their guard down. Her first instinct upon waking could be to strike the Jedi down.

The woman was not only shorter than himself but also lighter by a large margin making it far easier for Aten to throw the Sith over his shoulder, heading back to the Talaria There would be a medkit to treat the worst of the burns and possibly something to keep the woman sedated if need be. A chill crept up the Morellian’s spine, his head swiveling but there was nothing. Not even the sound of a retreating creatures steps.

Scared…

“Me too Kol. Any clue where we are?” It was a foolish question to ask the crystal, it had only known one true location its entire existence and that was the cave Romi had retrieved it from. Right hand resting on his saber hilt Aten finished the hike to the Talaria where he’d lay the woman across one of the cheap pieces of furniture and retrieving the medkit. Giving the acolyte a once over Aten took note of the ashen grey skin, how unnatural it was. Was she even human or some offshoot?

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

The wind upon her skin, smoke in the air. All a distant memory.

Vilka's burning eyes shot open. She wasn't dead. And yet for a moment, there was nothing but light; the shadow of the forest; light again. The wind was gone- perhaps she truly was dead. For a time she was blind, eyes screaming in pain. The smoke had done more than she thought, orange irises unresponsive. The rest of her body was still little more than dead weight, covered in searing burns for good measure; she felt the cold air on her limbs. Still no wind- something artificial, someplace man-made... There was little civilization on Dathomir. For all her uncertainties, that was not one of them.

Bony fingers gently stroked the ground- durasteel. A building? A ship? But there was a bigger question still unanswered. Who had brought her here? The Jedi? Unlikely, surely. Anyone with half a brain would have executed her on the spot. Then again; Jedi with a brain... oxymoronic at best. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a shadow of a whisper came. No. She would have to see without eyes. Her head fell back to the deck, teeth gritted. Dathomir was no more a stranger to the force than it was to rainfall, or a sunrise; signatures were not spikes in the Force, but little more than the peaks of waves, the apogees of an orbit. Even proximally, she felt its humming near-unbroken. The key, then, was not the magnitude of signatures, no- it was their nature.

Darkness gripped this world, a string of aberrant seizures in the force. It was the place of the Dark Side to deviate from the natural order, but a Jedi... therein lay the eye of the storm. A place of harmony, an oasis in the desert. And there it was, the placid island, shimmering amidst a sea of convulsions. The padawan, it had to be. And he was strong, that much was evident, or at least what he bore with him, that held great energy. Better so, he was right here. So he was her foolish savior, after all. Vilka smiled. She had seen all she would see, for now.

"You should have killed me while I was out." An awful whisper of a cackle made its way through the burns. "The burned Sith and the idiot Jedi. We're a fairy-tale couple, by the looks of it. I suppose we're at the point of courtesies now." She laid one hand to her throat, coughing violently.

"Tell me, does the idiot have a name? I've forgotten."

[member="Aten Ramses"]

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Aten set to work on the treatment of the Sith the ramp remained down so the Jedi could keep peering out as the dark finally set in. The light from the panels above enough for him to continue his work in. Digging through one of the cabinets he felt a slight stirring from behind. She’s alive! The excited, childish chirp of Kol speaking the words Aten didn’t say. The crystal had spent enough time with Aten to pick up his admiration for life, his hatred for when it was loss. The compassion for others even those that wished to see the Jedi’s demise.

The dark swam around the two, not just from the Sith, but from outside. From deep within the core of the planet, the darkside permeated the world, with it an unnatural current of death. The portal to the nether far across the horizon still able to be felt at such a distance caused the Morellian to shiver. It was his harmonious resonance with Kol that allowed the Jedi to remain steady in his faith, to not let the fear or despair sink in. Casting a single glance over his shoulder looking to the prone figure Aten offered a smile unsure whether the acolyte could see it or not.

“Despite what you may think of me, I’m not a killer.” Reaching deeper into the cabinet and seizing the first aid kit Aten turned to kneel somewhat near the woman taking note of the orbs that adorned her skull. Unnatural, perhaps a result of the dark? Reaching into the box Aten drew a thin needle, pulling off the white cap he tested it for good measure. A bacta syringe. “Don’t flatter yourself mistress, I’m only interested in those that don’t want to serve my head on a platter.” Chuckling Aten lined the syringe up with the Sith’s arm neck, a spot many thought was sensitive to pain but was the complete opposite.

The needle would embed itself just enough to penetrate the skin, Aten pushing down the dispenser, a slight hiss filling the air as bacta was injected into the acolyte. The Sith seemed too weak to fight off the Jedi at the moment, of course looks were deceiving. “I don’t know an idiot, do you Kol?”

Yes…

“Shut up.” Pulling out a bacta patch Aten would place one over a set of burns on the acolyte’s face. “I go by many names to Sith, Imbecile, fool, rebel scum, you name it I’ve probably been called it. You can call me Aten.”

Rising Aten took in his handy work, it wasn’t much but the bacta syringe would do a majority of the work. “I’d suggest you not waste too much of your energy trying to fight me. You’ll need it if we’re going to get off this ball of rock.”

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

“That’s your problem, Jedi. Never killers,” Ouch. She grimaced as the bacta entered her blood, cold surge through her veins. She knew what she’d said was, if nothing else, a very hopeful lie. Some Jedi were just as practiced as the Sith they proclaimed monsters; the trick was in just having enough doe-eyed fools like this padawan around them to give the appearance of morality, if nothing else. “Have you ever thought why these Jedi Orders seem to rise and fall so often? It’s because you won’t finish what you start.”

She picked herself up with a groan, one hand holding the bacta patch flat to her face. “Not that I have any complaints.” She grinned weakly through pointed teeth. The muscles in her arm began to twitch as the bacta made its way from fibre to fibre, sealing veins and arteries; a part of her couldn’t help but wonder why the padawan hadn’t just used his healing powers. Maybe he was too inexperienced. More likely, she supposed, it made more sense to keep your enemy weak. This Aten mightn’t be so brainless after all. Wisdom and intelligence, she supposed, were quite seperate gifts.

“By the looks of it, backstabbing you is off the menu.” She spoke absent-mindedly, free hand searching about her belt. Lightsaber was missing. “And seeing as it wouldn’t do much good to tear myself apart in the process...” She felt the strain upon her spirit, her tether to the force, ready to shatter like glass. “My options really are quite limited.” She slumped back against the wall of the Talaria. “As comfy as we are here, this bucket doesn’t look very spaceworthy right now.” Her free hand rapped the durasteel. “So, Aten, what’s the plan, my honourable knight?”

She extended a skeletal hand.”Now that we’re so close, call me Vilka.” She smiled with unchanging eyes.

[member=“Aten Ramses”]

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Simply smiling at the Sith’s words Aten turned away from the woman, her words falling upon deaf ears. She spoke about the Rise and Fall of the jedi but all throughout history that’s all the Sith had done as well. When one fell the other rose. Despite their claims of independence from the other, the numerous wars waged, and the lives extinguished the Jedi and Sith were naught but mirror opposites of each other. A truth Aten had come to face during his investigation of Mirial. An atrocity caused by the light. It wasn’t that the Sith or the Dark were more powerful, its just they were more reckless and willing to use the power offered. Mirial was an example of what happened when a Jedi used the force in the same way.

Rifling through the cabin space Aten searched for the survival pack, one that would carry spare food, clothes, and a few stims in case of another incident such as this one. The Morellian wasn’t the most organized individual nor the most orthodox of Jedi. “Stabbing me in the back would do nothing for you, nor I. Plus, in the state you’re in I doubt you could even muster the strength to do that effectively.”

The way in which the Sith spoke was different from others, yes it carried the condescending tone Aten was all too familiar with. Yes, she spoke hate of the Jedi, but it was far more formal. An individual from a different time it seemed, at least a more civilized age despite her inclination to violence. Though when she spoke bad about his ship Aten spun on his heels that smirk a wide grin. “Oh? It held up far better than that heap of metal you were in now didn’t it?”

Chuckling the Jedi moved close squatting in front of the Sith eyeing her, staring into those orange eyes his own lavender ones hardening. “I am no knight, nor am I yours. The Sith have taken much from me, I shall never belong to none. If my original master were still here he’d instruct me to strike you down where you lay. Alas I am not that type of Jedi.” The tension in the air grew thick as Aten’s voice remained steady the force humming around him.

Glancing down to the skeletal hand extended, Aten returned the favor grasping the Sith’s own hand. “A pleasure Vilka. Though I suggest you rest, in the morning we set out to the nearest outpost. I saw one out in the distance during my crash. Considering this is Mandalorian territory and their neutrality between our kind we should both be fine. You’ll get a flight off this planet and me the parts I need to repair this vessel.”

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

Vilka scowled at the padawan. "That interceptor wasn’t built for more than three hyperspace jumps, never-mind twelve. Your reckless flying put us both here.” Perhaps he wasn’t as foolish as he looked. All said and done, she had allowed herself to be so vulnerable. Underestimation, pride’s oldest ally. "Then I’m glad your master had the good sense to depart.” She sensed an opening here. No man was invulnerable. ”Where is he then, your master? Tired of your presence? Swept away by some plague? Cut down by a worthy foe?” Her eyes were cold.

"If you expect me to sleep, you’re mistaken. Delirium, pain; they are my allies. With every second-“ She shrieked through gritted teeth, one finger prodding her wound. "“-I grow stronger.” She didn’t quite believe it herself, but Dun Möch was a powerful technique. Make your enemy charge like a bull, and he loses all reason.

She shuffled the length of the hold, leg dragging behind her. "Where to, then? The Mandalorians might not be our enemies, but they’re hardly likely to hand out repairs for free. You don’t quite look like the wealthy sort.” She gave Aten a dubious look. "You say you aren’t the sort of Jedi to cut down a Sith in cold blood. What, then, does that make you? War criminal, my brethren would say. I’d have called you a fool, but perhaps that’s just your wide eyes. Who is Aten tonhimself? Lover, fighter, peacekeeper?” Her own grin wavered.

Why breach the walls, after all, when your enemy could open them by his own choosing?

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Of course, the Sith shifted the blame onto the Morellian, it was the Sith way of course. Never seeing the folly in their own actions, they were of course supposed to be superior to everyone else weren’t they? Her words were meant to poke, prod, peel back the defensive layer that Aten had built up over his years of training. To find his weakness, that was the only reason one would bring up his past master. The Sith didn’t care about the Jedi less it offered them some advantage. “He went into exile to reevaluate his own methods, so he entrusted me to another. Nothing as depressing as you’d wish, right?”

There the Sith lay her words more of that posturing that they were all so fond of. How many times had Aten heard such lines? Or something along the lines of how their pain gave them strength? Too many for his liking. “Yea yea, strength from pain, peace is a lie. All that chit you say I’ve heard before. Here it means nothing. I don’t see you growing stronger nor do I see you unleashing some unholy storm of lightning to strike me down. Just accept that right now you’re weak and healing. The force is infinite, our ability to use it is not.”

The faint shuffling of one foot, the other dragging against the durasteel floor Aten raised a brow. Here she was defying the orders, to show dominance? Show that she was strong? For what reason Aten didn’t know nor was it too concerning. “What?! Have you not seen this magnificence you stand within? This mechanical beast that transported me through hyperspace?” Sarcasm dripped in each of the Morellian’s words his eyes rolling as he set to work filling the pack with a last few items they may require.

On Aten’s right hand the index and middle fingers curled in, thumb placing itself over the nails. Two pinpricks of energy formed before the Sith pointed directly at her eyes. “I don’t think we quite know each other enough for that. I may be willing to work with you, that doesn’t mean I’ll confide in you.” Even after giving up Aten the last Sith Aten had battled he’d sent into unconsciousness, Sith couldn’t be trusted till they proved themselves to him, this one had yet to prove herself in his own eyes. “If you would, please sit down.” Flicking his fingers out the pinpricks of energy turned to blunt flicks across the Sith’s forehead. Not hard, it would be just as though Aten had thumped her forehead with his own fingers.

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

”All the more depressing, to my eyes. Didn’t even have the guts to die.” A hint of savage desperation hung upon her words. This talk was getting her nowhere, but in all truth, she had to admit to herself she didn’t have an awful lot left; bide your time. If nothing else, this is what has kept the Sith alive for ten-thousand years.

”Perhaps these things are not infinite because you do not let them be; shying away from true power. No one is more vulnerable to the Dark Side than she who believes herself incorruptible. Not you, of course. No master could ever abandon such a paragon as yourself.” She cackled, limping to the hold door to look upon Dathomir for a moment- thump. Her head jumped back suddenly. A trick of the Force? Rudimentary. The Jedi’s work. She turned to Aten with a frown. ”That was rather improper of you.” She gathered her robes and dropped quickly into a cross-legged squat.

“You’ll get further with a polite word than such antics in the company of a lady, I should think.” Vilka giggled, pale fingers tracing circles on the floor. ”A lame Sith I may be, but not so boorish.” Her tone mocked him, her harsh laughter spiralling louder. Sometimes, indeed, madness and vision were but a thin line apart.

“I must note that you didn’t answer my question.” Vilka spoke, abrupt. ”What’s the plan? I assume there’s a polite reason you’re keeping me here. Bait, target practice, mockery; what is that I can do for you that a Mandolorian warlord, or a Dathomirian savage, can’t?” Vilka glanced back out to the darkness of the jungle for a moment. She felt herself slip back into those shimmering waves, carried upon the grand tides of the Force past Aten’s pale gleam, to the edge, the shoreline; the dark and thunderous pulse of the forest. The darkness of Dathomir.

Her tongue slid over canines, filed to points; blood by the droplet, taste of iron. Yes, she felt it. This was a dark place indeed.

She met Aten with a warm smile.

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Vilka never gave up trying to get beneath Aten’s skin. Skin that he had to toughen throughout his encounters with others of her kind. The insults thrown, the personal jabs at what and whom he loved. To let these words provoke himself would’ve been folly. One Aten wouldn’t fall for. “Is that why you’re where you are now? You embraced true power and now are so mighty that you had to be saved and treated by a Jedi? Is that true power?” scoffing and rolling his eyes Aten walked over to a panel built into the wall, pressing it in the ramp drew in the door hissing shut separating the Jedi and Sith from the wild outside.

“Call it what you will, I don’t seek to impress, nor court you. I simply intend to see that we both make it off this planet alive.” The laughter of the sith left something within Aten feeling off, sick, twisted. That wasn’t the laugh of a normal person. He’d never even heard the Sith he’d fought laugh in such a way… Shivering Aten pulled out a spare placement mat throwing it on the ground next to Vilka. Eyes boring into the woman Aten couldn’t help but wondered if he’d made a mistake by saving her? Should he have followed his old teacher's lessons and left the Sith to die, leave them to be claimed by the forest?

Shaking his head and fighting off the dark thoughts that crept within his mind, Aten answered the next few questions his back turning on Vilka as he headed down the hall to his own private chambers. “The plan is that at dawn we set out, we’ll be forging through this forest to the Mandalorian base and the reason I have you is that I won’t abandon you to this wilderness, to this planet. That is not the way of the Jedi, plus… There’s something out there. Darkness, you are familiar with it more so than I so I’ll need your knowledge and possibly your skills if it comes to a fight.”

Standing outside the door a few more seconds to give the Sith a few final words Aten would enter the room, the door sealing itself behind him where the Jedi would lay on the bed his eyes focused on the ceiling till sleep finally came to him. All around the dark crept, it was outside the ship clinging to it. Multiple presences that were just close enough for Aten to sense but far enough away he need not worry.

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

“Mighty indeed!” Once more she shivered with amusement. ”Spat out by stars, and yet I live. Without lifting a finger, restored to health by fate’s own fool! You say the Force is not my ally, but switch our places and tell me I would not have killed you as you wept. You speak of power, yet hang from death by a single thread of fate!”

Vilka knew she was becoming delirious, adrenaline fading and reality’s sickness bleeding across her body. Breathing becoming ragged, she pressed on, leaning closer. Now darkness ruler her, spirit taking charge as both mind and body began to ache.”Fate is kingmaker here- crown yourself as you like. It holds no weight, for I live still. Do not forget these things.” At last she fell back, and what little colour her features yet retained, at last drained away.

Though she held herself straight-faced as Aten walked for his quarters, a pained groan escaped her lips as he vanished from sight. The darkness here. For an order so dedicated to quelling it, the Jedi so often seemed clueless about such things. There was no darkness on Dathomir, save that herself and a select few others might have brought along with them. Dathomir was darkness. Each branch, each bird and wild-flower, by nature corrupted by one of the Galaxy’s greatest sources of power. Of course Aten could not understand. Vilka snorted. He was but a blind man, shouting after a rainbow.

She had sworn to stay vigilant, to bear a single sleepless night, that she might at least set in motion some machinations upon the padawan, and yet…

Vilka awoke with a start, a red sky heralding early sunrise dancing in her eyes. Something was wrong. The darkness, masked; arrythmic pulses hidden beneath placid waters. ”Aten!” She called, sense at last restored over the night’s long course. A flash of pale flesh through the underbrush. She leapt to her feet, body somehow rejuvenated. Aten!

Vilka snarled. Nightsisters!”

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Hands placed behind his head Aten’s eyes closed, yet sleep did not come. The dark around the boy seemed to cling to him, drag him in, the one beacon of light and it attempted to snuff it out. In the darkest of places as shadows endeavored to destroy the light even a single candle could hold it all at bay. That candle was Aten and his saber, they held the darkness at bay, his quarters perhaps the safest place for the Jedi. No like this. Kol remarked what felt like a shiver transferred through their connection Aten also feeling it.

Hand reaching to the belt, unclipping the saber Aten raised it to his chest leaving it sitting there, close to his heart. “It’s alright Kol. We only have to go one night on this world, two at most. After this, I promise we’ll never come back.” A warmth filled Aten’s core as he brought the saber to it. If anything, Kol was still akin to a child in mentality, the crystal still young. Its power, abilities and understanding of the galaxy growing as Aten himself grew and aged in the force. Their souls intertwined into a single entity. It was this warmth, this peace of mind that allowed Aten’s eyes to close. He felt secure not only in himself but in the light.

”Aten!”

Master!

The voices of Vilka and Kol came to Aten’s ears the Morellian’s eyes darting open his hair standing on edge, a foreign weight on his chest. What he saw was a gray-skinned woman drabbed in what appeared to be torn fragments of clothing, in her hand a bone dagger poised to end the Jedi’s life. Noticing her prey awakening the woman drove the dagger down. Right arm raising saber in hand, a single thought ignited the saber, the azure plasmatic blade cutting into the path of the dagger burning through it like a hot knife through butter. Left hand lashing out in an open-palm strike Aten released a surge of energy, it radiated down his arm coming out in a powerful concussive burst that lifted the woman free of his chest and flinging her out the open doorway into the hall beyond. The doorway Aten was sure he’d closed.

Hands pressing against the mattress, legs drawing back Aten pushed off the bed the momentum building into a sprint at the assailant as she began to rise. Knee coming up, Aten caught her on the chin, the assassins head snapping back, body falling to the ground limp. Simply unconscious but whenever she did wake it would be with a massive migraine. Charging out his room into the chamber beyond where Vilka lay, the ramp down once more Aten pulled the second saber hilt from the small of his back tossing it through the air to her. “What in the chit is going on?! Weren’t you supposed to be the vigilant one?” The first thought to have come to Aten's mind was that this had all been orchestrated by Vilka but the way she'd called his name, how she hadn't been the one attempting to deal the final blow. These were what proved her innocence.

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"Vigilant? A moment ago I was a treacherous cripple!" With a savage grin her arm snapped out to grab the saber. Even for one generally unacquainted with the weapon, she couldn't deny it felt good to have one, though perhaps that was just the the thumping blood-rush, the encroaching stench of death that slipped from every darkened tree and shadow. For that matter, she also couldn't help but be taken aback by Aten's lethality- for all her jests, the fool had just dismantled a nightsister. Pity she wasn't dead. "Fancy work there, idiot; you're half-way to bringing down my secret conspiracy to kill you with illiterate, dung-coated forest dwellers." She grimaced again as a second rustle echoed from the trees. "Let's hope they don't do my work for me!"

Weak arm hanging limp, she clattered down the boarding ramp with unbounded rage. She felt as strong as a Krayt dragon, and twice as great- even the burning of her wounds, disturbed by the sudden movement, just made her feel more alive. Sometimes, after all, it was prudent to hurt oneself a little to distract from an even greater pain- sometimes it paid to hurt oneself just to bring forth fury. In like terms another pair of nightsisters shot from the trees, howling. Vilka met their screams with equal measure, swinging her lame arm forward to release a savage crash of sparks. Whilst uncontrolled, and inaccurate, it arced through the damp of the underbrush, a shivering wall of lightning that sent a blackened Dathomiri stumbling back, lifeless.

The other darted past with a deft step, silver eyes shining in the moonlight; Vilka lunged to undercut her sprint with a wild swing, and yet in a flurry of red tatters hacked only at the air, back-stepping with a rabid snarl. For a moment there was naught but the silence of the forest, and yet it was deafening. The savage drum-beat of the Force, it grew louder with each moment, jaws of the Dark Side opening with a boundless roar until- the glint of a knife, the sharp break of air; Vilka's sickly visage was a twisted death-mask as she turned, fist closing with a thunderclap.

She locked eyes with the nightsister. The wretch was pinned now, trapped in Stasis, eyes darting in unabated confusion. The acolyte merely smiled back. She sifted through the darkness, the Force now but a thousand veils, and behind... the knife. She twisted it back upon her foe, breathing deep and uneven, heart blackened in the dark fires of rage, and all the Dathomiri could do was weep silently.

With a howl she slammed her fist down, and that awful blade swung with it. The Jedi could keep his pacifism. Hate ruled on Dathomir.

[member="Aten Ramses"]

 

[Warchief Waddles]

“Oh? Now the excuses start? What was all that talk about you holding so much power last night? How pain was your ally?” Teasing the woman Aten did not draw his own saber, it would not be necessary for this fight. Charging down the landing ramp just a few seconds behind Vilka, Aten called out to her. “If they’re as bad as you at it then they shouldn’t be an issue!” A mere jest meant to tease the woman, Aten did not hold knowledge of Vilka’s own abilities in combat or the force. The Morellian wasn’t even sure if it came to bouts if he’d be victorious. If it came to such a thing perhaps they’d see. He hoped not though.

Vilka charged the two that came from ahead, Aten’s eyes noticing the underbrush to their right moving. Before he could react there was a sharp crack as a whip snapped through the air the sharpened tip slapping against Aten’s shoulder. If the Jedi wore regular clothing it would’ve torn through the blade having carved into his flesh. Unfortunately for the nightsister, Aten was wearing his combat outfit. Before the whip could draw back Aten’s hands shot up seizing it, legs bracing themselves shoulder width apart, body leaning back slightly Aten pulled his elbows pulling back. The nightsister was snatched from the underbrush pulled forward as she hadn’t let go of her weapon. Right hand releasing the whip Aten grabbed her by the neck. His metallic arm working, flexing his chest muscles Aten lifted the nightsister free of the ground before slamming her to the solid earth a solid thump. Audible, dust kicking up as the air was driven from the nightsisters lungs and she left unable to breathe.

Head turning to check on Vilka’s progress what he witnessed was one of the foul bone blades plunging towards one of the assailants their eyes wide in confusion and fear. “No!” Left hand pushing out, hand open, palm facing the ground, fingers extended and pressed together Aten projected a strike outward. Where the hilt ended and the blade began a burst of energy more akin to a javelin than a blunt strike would slam into the knife shattering it, the sharpened end falling to the dirt. We aren’t doing that… Nose sniffing the air, the sickly sweet sent turned Aten’s stomach. The scent of charred flesh. “Get off of her.”

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

The Force, rising like a wave. Vilka swung in Aten’s direction as the air itself imploded before her with all the power of a concussion rifle. The thin blade spun from her foe’s hand, a distant crack ringing through the forest as both Sith and Nightsister clattered to their knees. The Nightsisters eyes darted back and forth, wider than ever. Vilka shot Aten an infernal look.

”Fool!” With a blood-curdling battle cry the Dathomiri pounced forward, soaring flurry of bared teeth and jagged nails. The pair were sent rolling across the underbrush, eyes locked as one strained against the might of another. In the chaos, a storm of blood and broken bones, one charnal heart and its will became but a furnace for hatred, searing red cloud that now consumed them both. Vilka shrieked as the Nightsister clawed at heir owns, searching the Force amidst the pain for some psychic entry, some mental passage to set forth death itself- and yet found nothing. It all burned too much, drowning in the vast and bloodied sands of agony, fury’s hot sun at last turning against her- she felt a one hand leave hers, a talon at her throat.

Then the war of screams seemed to stop. A dull thrum was what punctuated the darkness. Rage’s heart made real- a crimson blade, clutched in Vilka’s freed hand, bursting with a crackle as it skewered her frozen foe. She rolled the wretched Dathomiri aside with a groan, rising in a hunched storm of tatters. A ruby necklace now trickled down her throat. Her eyes met Aten’s, slowly.

She spoke softly. ”Half. Measure.” Her nails cut into her own palms, shivering fists. ”Jedi.”

[member="Aten Ramses"]

 

[Warchief Waddles]

Aten met the glower with one of his own just as intense as the Sith who so pointlessly took life. They both possessed the skill and abilities necessary to apprehend the assailants without falling to lethal, depraved acts of violence. Vilka obviously didn’t see things the same way as her and the Nightsister went tumbling away the sounds of footsteps behind Aten moving. Turning the Jedi simply watched as the nightsister he’d slammed to the ground was helped to her feet by the one he’d kneed mere moments ago. Rising together they spun staring at the blonde haired Morellian. “Leave, if you know whats good for you.” Aten warned his eyes tracking the women as they slowly backed towards the underbrush, their orange eyes never leaving the Morellian.

“This isn’t over.” One hissed, their forms melding into the bushes. The sound of Vilka’s battle still going, the hum of a saber cutting through the air. The feeling of a presence winking out in the force. Head and shoulders sagging Aten shook his head. So much violence, so soon… They had said it wasn’t over, meaning they’d be back with more next time. The Jedi may not be able to hold back if such a thing occurred. The faint footsteps of Vilka drew the youth's attention, the fresh blood cascading down her pale flesh.

“Half measure?! Is that what you call it? Me? Sparing the lives of those whose home we landed upon?! We are in their land, their territory, without right, permission, or even reason! If you think it’s a half measure to not slaughter those in their own homes then it is fault of your own.” His eyes blazing with self-righteousness Aten stepped forward not fearing the saber Vilka wielded, making it all the more evident. “If we’re getting off this planet we do it my way! We have a days hike to get to the Mandalorian outpost! There will no doubt be other attacks, attempts on our life but that does not mean we kill.” Stomping off up the ramp, hand reaching in Aten summoned the survival pack he’d been prepping last night before bed.

Reaching in he tossed Vilka a bacta patch. “Clean yourself up, its time to go.” Activating the security code the ship's ramp drew in locking itself. "There will be more coming, two of them escaped."

[member="Vilka Pharro"]

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"That's a lofty vantage you stand on, Jedi, to preach such self-righteousness." The blood on Vilka's hands, both her own and the Nightsisters', was warm to the touch. "Who said I was killing for slaughter? They struck us first, without warning, and had I not retaliated with justified force, we might both be breathing a lot less." Her voice was stern again, playful mockery gone. "You call that mercy? Broken bones, brain hemorrhages, leave them to the wilderness? But because you didn't kill them on impact, it's mercy?" She picked herself up, catching the bacta patch with a scowl. Cuts and scratches were nothing, not yet, but another day on Dathomir? The odds were slimming by the second. "At least what I do is fast, and it is certain. If we'd worked my way, do you think they'd have escaped? That now, in place of killing two, we might have to fight ten?"

"No. Idiot." Vilka trudged after him, tattered mess of mud and blood. She felt as if the forest itself was growing over her, a sickness of its own, knotted roots and vines stealing her body away from her. Her head felt like Alderaan, for that matter. Crash still stung, she supposed. Some mission this had become. Hike to the Mandalorians. Renowned for their peaceful attitude, of course. Idiot. "You still refuse to tell me how you plan to reimburse the Mandalorians when we reach the encampment. They have little reputation for charity, and your silence is starting to sound more like oversight than secrecy. But I shouldn't except such things from a Jedi, should I?"

Her hatred, perhaps, did not run as deep as it seemed. Evidently Aten was part-way responsible for their survival, likely moreso than she- but he wasn't half making it difficult. Likewise, there was an even deeper fault yet remaining in their alliance. Her mission. At some point, sooner or later, she would be expected to report back, with his head or without. The consequences would be severe; but did they outweigh the challenge, or even trust? Vilka shook her head at the thought. Trust is nothing. Nothing. It didn't quite sound any more true to think about it.

Either way, she needed Aten to get off this world first. The rest was naught but distant smoke, a future unmaterialised.

[member="Aten Ramses"]