Asemir
Null Prime
OOC:
I'm not sure where I'm going with this. It's taking place on some random planet. Asemir has just been ambushed by some Sith assassins. He's seeking medical attention. I plan to continue as my muse strikes.
Even though this thread is technically open, please PM or post an OOC post to let me know if you plan to jump in, just so I can get a little bit of a feel for any character that'll join.
IC:
I'm getting old. Those were the first words scrolling through his head as Asemir looked around him. Four bodies lay sprawled across the abandoned street, none of them fully intact. Component pieces were scattered about, with streams of blood trying in vain to connect them back to their parent bodies.
The carnage around him was nothing new. Four attackers. Superbly trained Sith assassins. Uneven odds as it were, the situation was not insurmountable. The fight had lasted mere minutes. Nothing out of the ordinary.
What was new was the outcome. Sure, the assassins lay dead, but the toll had been surprising. Asemir's breath was short. His pulse elevated. And they had connected with their blows.
He tried to straighten, but that action only resulted in a gasp of pain. Grimacing, he clutched his side and found warm wetness greet his fingers. His blood oozed from the rents in his armor, and though the nanomachines were working admirably to staunch the flow, Asemir knew the wound was deep. Too deep for his armor to save him.
Not good.
Asemir Lor'kora sighed. His armor would keep him from bleeding out. The Force would begin to mend the flesh. It would keep him alive long enough to find real help. Or to get back to his ship so that he would have time to recuperate. Or so hoped.
The Forgotten sheathed his blade and took another look around him. It was never ending. Once a member of the Sith, one never left. The assassins were not the first, nor would they be the last.
He wavered at that last thought as he tasted copper in his mouth. One of them had skewered him with an alchemical blade. The wound was deep, not immediately fatal, but worrisome. Very worrisome.
As he retrieved the blade that was now coated in his blood, he was surprised to feel embarrassment. Shame even, at the realization that his defenses had been penetrated.
Not important. Need to focus.
Taking a deep breath, Asemir set off with slow, methodical steps. He needed to find a clinic. Some place with supplies. Or a doctor.
It would be far too embarrassing to die in the streets like a victim of a mugging.
That thought alone was enough to get Asemir moving.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this. It's taking place on some random planet. Asemir has just been ambushed by some Sith assassins. He's seeking medical attention. I plan to continue as my muse strikes.
Even though this thread is technically open, please PM or post an OOC post to let me know if you plan to jump in, just so I can get a little bit of a feel for any character that'll join.
IC:
I'm getting old. Those were the first words scrolling through his head as Asemir looked around him. Four bodies lay sprawled across the abandoned street, none of them fully intact. Component pieces were scattered about, with streams of blood trying in vain to connect them back to their parent bodies.
The carnage around him was nothing new. Four attackers. Superbly trained Sith assassins. Uneven odds as it were, the situation was not insurmountable. The fight had lasted mere minutes. Nothing out of the ordinary.
What was new was the outcome. Sure, the assassins lay dead, but the toll had been surprising. Asemir's breath was short. His pulse elevated. And they had connected with their blows.
He tried to straighten, but that action only resulted in a gasp of pain. Grimacing, he clutched his side and found warm wetness greet his fingers. His blood oozed from the rents in his armor, and though the nanomachines were working admirably to staunch the flow, Asemir knew the wound was deep. Too deep for his armor to save him.
Not good.
Asemir Lor'kora sighed. His armor would keep him from bleeding out. The Force would begin to mend the flesh. It would keep him alive long enough to find real help. Or to get back to his ship so that he would have time to recuperate. Or so hoped.
The Forgotten sheathed his blade and took another look around him. It was never ending. Once a member of the Sith, one never left. The assassins were not the first, nor would they be the last.
He wavered at that last thought as he tasted copper in his mouth. One of them had skewered him with an alchemical blade. The wound was deep, not immediately fatal, but worrisome. Very worrisome.
As he retrieved the blade that was now coated in his blood, he was surprised to feel embarrassment. Shame even, at the realization that his defenses had been penetrated.
Not important. Need to focus.
Taking a deep breath, Asemir set off with slow, methodical steps. He needed to find a clinic. Some place with supplies. Or a doctor.
It would be far too embarrassing to die in the streets like a victim of a mugging.
That thought alone was enough to get Asemir moving.