Cat Fight!

[Darth Imperia]

It's Good To Be Queen​

​

Darth Imperia had found herself, through her Apprenticeship and her time as an independent Sith, often in the situation of teaching those who were less experienced in the way of the Sith than she herself was - she'd never taken an Apprentice on, but she'd left little pearls of (dubious) wisdom in the heads of many an Acolyte during her career.

Today, however, was not meant to be one of those days. She had a duel scheduled, and it was indeed with an Acolyte of the Sith - but her future opponent hadn't always been so. If his own retelling of the tale was to be believed, he was once a powerful Sith Lord, cut off from the Force for a decade and forced to claw his way back to the top. Why he wanted to duel her in particular, she hadn't a clue, but his history meant that he was owed respect - and so she had accepted the challenge, at a time and place of her choosing.

But before the duel? Imperia was going to relax. She'd set up in a small cave on Rhelg, - where she planned, eventually, to build a Fortress worthy of a Sith - made it as homey as she could - there was a modest throne, sith text written on the walls, and in every corner of the room there was a small pile of books, most of which were notes taken from Imperia's time as Vitium's Apprentice. Everything about the room gave off the impression that it was your average, run-of-the-mill Sith hideout.

Well, everything except the occupants.

Imperia herself lounged casually upon the throne in the center, wearing a loose fitting and ever-so-slightly revealing robe of luxurious red silk. Accompanying (and attending to) her were a pair of, ah, 'employees,' both of whom happened to be, by total coincidence, scantily clad and fairly attractive men of the Hapan persuasion - Hapan men were so easy to order around, after all, and sometimes a girl simply needed a servant who wouldn't give her too much sass. One of the pair - she hadn't bothered to learn their names - served her wine, whilst the other gave her a much deserved pedicure; she'd just healed after slaughtering a few Jedi at Yutan, not to mention her promotion to Knighthood, and she deserved to treat herself.

And so Imperia spent her time, enjoying the silent revelry that only the truly pompous could appreciate, until he arrived. She felt his approach before she saw or heard him - a presence in the Force as powerful as her own, just as dark and twisted. With a quiet chuckle, the Sith rose from her throne, drew her lightsaber, and made her way out of her impromptu palace-grotto and into the open air of Rhelg.

It was time to see if the kitten's claws were as sharp as he claimed.

---

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[TB-705]

The Order of the Sith slithered along through existence like a great serpent, feeding upon its own tail. How it managed to worm its way forward despite scandalous infighting, bloody coups, and betrayals of the highest degree puzzled many. Jedi, Jensaarai, Matukai, Bendu Monks, and so many others all looked on the Sith askance, an aberration. Blind to their truest natures, they did not see. But Thengil saw.

Oh, he did not deny this as the Sith's greatest weakness. It was there. It existed. Yet just as it was their weakness, it was also their greatest strength. They only practiced what the Force itself taught all life since birth: the galaxy does not tolerate weakness. Every betrayal, every coup, every crimson spattered power struggle only served to separate the wheat from the chaff. And yet, drunk on power, moderation oft proved too hard a chore. The sharper the edge the more they longed to use that edge, but like an untempered blade they would eventually break.

It had happened before. It would happen again.

Thengil came to thresh.

Applied with proper pressure, the weak would be ground away and leave the Order with a sharpened edge. Applied too hard, too often and there would be little left with which to work. So unlike the sword he carried, a relic from a bygone era. It weighed heavy in his paw, a meter and a half of alchemical alloy. ​You need no stone. The blade gleamed golden in the fading light of the sun, edge forever sharp; a perfect construct of war.

The woman he came to face had risen quickly through the ranks. Let her soar any higher and he would lose the opportunity. Best to drive her to earth now and break her early. In defeat, she might prove a capable ally. In death, a message to the others. Either would serve to undermine, to displace those above him.

Dusk drew a curtain across the alpine land. Thengil waited, Sith war blade in his right hand, lanvarok mounted on the left. Twin vibroblades lay in sheathes at his waist. Golden mane braided for battle, face stained in the dye of the norris root, he stood ready in his exosuit as she strode from the grotto.

"Your master instructed you in the ritual of the Kaggath?" More statement than question, a failing if she had not. "Behold, all my power against yours."

He extended his arms to either side, as if to indicate a great host. There stood only Thengil. He gave a throaty chuckle. "Come cub, show me your mettle."

[member="Darth Imperia"]

 

[Darth Imperia]

Playing With The Big Boys

---

Kaggath. An ancient Sith tradition, a Duel of Honor involving everything the two involved Sith could bring to bear - it was something Vitium had put no emphasis on. Honor wasn't exactly something that Imperia's former Mistress had thought was very important - and to be honest, Imperia shared that sentiment. But that didn't mean that she couldn't use the fact that others cared about honor to her advantage.

The Sith Knight lit the curved hilt saber in her right hand, casually flicking the meter long blade of plasma through the air. Did she have a range disadvantage? Certainly. But what her weapon lacked in length and heft it made up for in liveliness and control - if she got in close, she'd be in her element, and it just so happened that that element was 'carving up insolent little kittens like life-day turkeys.' In all honesty, Darth Imperia felt that she could take on Thengil with solely her own skill-at-arms and the Force - but since this was a fight of all against all, why should she even make an attempt fairness?

Calmly and deliberately, the ever-so-slightly corpselike young woman lifted her left hand to the side of her head, tapping the discreet commlink in her ear. She hadn't dropped her guard, however - the Lanvarok on the cathar's wrist didn't escape her attention - even while she made a rather quick call before the duel proper began.

"Yes, sweeties? Bring the ship to my coordinates - and open fire on the kitten. Do be careful not to fire upon me, however - I'll be rather cross. Oh, and tell Mjolnir to drop by, too. Yes, that's all. Thank you bunches."

The call ended with a short arc of crimson lightning thrown at the insolent Cathar - not nearly enough to actually cause the kitten long lasting harm, however - it was more of a theatric display of power than a functional one. Besides, it might serve to distract him from, say, the roar of an engine in the background.

Or the sight of a disc-shaped freighter hovering into view behind him.

---

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]
[member="Sam Rodarch"]

 

[TB-705]

Thengil's ears twitched, as if annoyed by the buzzing of an insect. He listened and he heard, same as he would the rustling steps of a horned hopper in the savanna grass.

A sudden, obfuscating tendril of lightning crackled through the air toward Thengil only to meet his upraised sword. The crimson thread kissed against the blade with a violent hiss. The alchemical alloy glowed beneath the harsh light and swallowed the energy whole. Ri'shajirr could feel the blade thrumming with energy in the Force, waiting to be released.

He sensed something else as well? Impending danger. Whirling, Ri'shajirr caught sight of of an approaching ship coming in low and fast over the horizon, barely outlined in the dying light even as the day breathed its last and all turned to shadowed night. Thengil's eyes shone out like two glowing coals.

"Too craven to face me alone, cub?" His words came like the rumble of distant thunder, not quite a shout.

The Cathar dipped into the aphotic flow of the Force and gathered the energy into him.

[member="Darth Imperia"]
[member="Sam Rodarch"]

 

[Sam Rodarch]

If there were any upsides to being a surly-eyed half-metal monstrosity, then it was that you were very often given your own personal space. It wasn't as if she was going to start laying cybernetic fists into the rest of the crew on the freighter, but she quite enjoyed both the reputation and the distance.

Before Mjolnir lay cards, laid out to suggest a game of solitaire in progress. The cards, plain in design were half bent and pretty dog eared, the signs of a short temper and a pair of careless and bulky hands. Three card only. One card was for schuttas. Not the most dynamic hobby in the Galaxy, but it passed the the time when she was not required.

Speaking of...

Head titled upwards as the engines rumbled into action, signifying a likely end to her small game. A shame, it was looking as if it was going to be a winning one too.

“Mjolnir, Mistress requires your presence.”

A woman of few words, there was no response to this other than a curt nod as she gathered up the cards (and likely bending a few of them even further) before they flew off the table and it became a game of fifty-two card pick up.

With the boarding ramp descended the woman waited, holding on with the strength afforded by her prosthetic arms, the sleek black and unmoving jaw making her expression seem a lot more passive than it was in reality. Drop by would have to be taken literally. Still, they were going pretty damned fast. This landing was gonna suck.

There should have probably been some mathematical equations considered before jumping out of a speeding freighter, but Mjolnir was just going to have to judge it by eye, cybernetic eye at least but...oh sod it.

She dropped, coming down to land (probably not gracefully) approximately somewhere opposite her Mistress, with the over-sized cat in-between them.

---

[member="Darth Imperia"]
[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[Darth Imperia]

Darth Imperia didn't respond to her opponent's jab at her bravery. As soon as the Cathar turned his back, she threw her lightsaber forward, propelling it forward with a telekinetic Push and pulling it back with the opposite. This saber-throw, however, wasn't intended to harm her felid foe - instead, when Imperia threw the blade, she aimed for Thengil's Lanvarok, familiar enough with the weapon on a theoretical level to recognize its efficacy in the hands of a skilled wielder. Although she didn't know if Thengil qualified as such, it was better to be safe than sorry. Thus, lightsaber to the lanvarok.

Should nothing go horribly wrong during the throw, Imperia's curved hilt saber would return to her hand, and she'd twirl it casually.

---

[member="Sam Rodarch"]
[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[TB-705]

Fwhumwhumwhum.

Fur on his neck stood on end and he swiftly pivoted back toward the human female. Amber eyes widened as a crimson blur spun toward him. His wrist twisted. The sword came up, cold alchemized steel against captured plasma. Sparks sprayed from their meeting in a coruscating shower. The weightless saber spun away, back toward the wielder.

A dismissive flick of Thengil's left paw and the dirt at Imperia’s feet erupted in a violent shower. The curtain of earth only needed to obscure her vision for a few heart beats, long enough to prevent telekinetic interference.

Powerful thews bolstered by the exosuit bunched up like coiled springs as Thengil bent his knees low.

The freighter screamed in.

The cathar pushed off the ground violently, launching himself upward with frightful speed.

Rodarch came down, Ri'shajirr went up.

Clang.

He landed feet first on the extended ramp of the YT, righted himself, then strode forward. While he stalked deeper into the YT, the ramp hissed closed with a cold finality behind him.

[member="Sam Rodarch"] | [member="Darth Imperia"]

 

[Darth Imperia]

Darth Imperia had to admit - she hadn't expected Thengil to jump abord her ship. Of course, it wouldn't help him for long - a short message through her commlink, and the ramp lowered once more. The Sith Knight then jumped after Thengil, releasing a burst of telekinetic force at her feet and landing on her freighter's ramp with a moderately-painful sounding thud.

Now that the fight was in close-quarters, Imperia relaxed, ever so slightly. Her foe was still dangerous, of course - he had experience far beyond her own in the realm of combat, after all, and his weaponry was particularly devastating. But even considering all of that - she still felt more confident. This was where she belonged. Twisting caves, cramped corridors and small rooms. The interior of her ship wasn't just the interior of her ship - it was the undercity of Coruscant, the slums of Nar Shadaa. It was to her what a wide open field, littered with prey, might be to Thengil - it was home.

Maintaining a predatory grin, Imperia stalked onward, using the Force (as well as her own senses; a giant cat in an exosuit couldn't possibly be that stealthy, and Thengil didn't seem to be in the mood to play hide and seek anyway) to pinpoint her prey's location.


---

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]
[member="Sam Rodarch"]

 

[Sam Rodarch]

With the same degree of decorum and elegance than she was known for, the young woman sort of hit the ground into a roll that would have only scored a six at the gymnastic judging table. But hey, she didn't fall onto her face and that was really the most important thing of all, nobody wanted to look like a total fickhead on arrival...

...and then everybody bailed.

How sufficiently awkward.

I know I'm slow, guys, but come on!

If she still had a functioning lower jaw then the woman might have taken the opportunity to frown, but alas, Mjolnir could only glare, folding cybernetic arms across her chest like the impatient mother of two very unruly children.

Lacking the weaponry to take out a flying freighter and not possessing the powers of the magic dunk jump all that she could do was stand there like a complete pillock. Quite frustrating really, she had left her deck of cards upon the vessel. Next time perhaps they would call ahead of time and give a shred of notice, could bring cards and a fold-out table. Maybe a portable speaker for some tunes.

Well, at least there was always that weird sex cave to play in if she got too bored.

---

[member="Darth Imperia"]
[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[TB-705]

Though he felt her presence following after, Ri'shajirr forwarded ahead, intent on the task at hand. The heavy thunking of his plodding steps soon drew attention. Thengil sniffed the air and smelled fuel and stale body odor. The Cathar's lips peeled apart over yellowed fangs.

Prowling past a power lifter and a number of secured containers laying in neat rows, Thengil came to a door. He pressed the activation switch and the door slid open with a hiss. The Sith took two steps in and came face to face with a Givin. Beside the Yag'dhul native stood two seats and a table. A pistol lay on the table in plain view. Blank, empty eye sockets stared at Thengil for one long moment, then the skeletal figure made a grab for the gun.

Thengil reached out and caught him by the throat. The Givin scrabbled as Ri'shajirr hoisted him into the air and began to squeeze. It only took fourteen pounds of force to collapse the trachea, thirty-three to crush it completely, but as the Givin had a hard exoskeleton it took a bit more effort. The hapless crew mate kicked and struggled, all too futile. The stiff outer shell at last gave way, cracking inward like the chitinous shell of an insect. The Givin's scrabbling ceased and it grew limp as a rag. Thengil tossed it aside and turned slowly, back the way he had come.

"You have come so far cub, yet you cannot even protect those beneath you. Will you submit now, or must I kill them all?"

[member="Darth Imperia"] | [member="Sam Rodarch"]

 

[Darth Imperia]

The loss of the Givin in and of itself hadn't bothered Darth Imperia greatly, for while she was quite protective of her toys, simple employees were barely worth her attention - both a blessing and a curse, considering the emotional extremes Imperia could undergo. Nevertheless, the casualness with which Thengil tossed aside the limp body of her engineer sparked her ire - not that she'd let it show. She had appearances to keep up, after all.

Glancing around, Imperia made a quick list of the options at her disposal.

Attack Thengil directly? No, no, too risky. He had combat experience that outmatched hers, even if she was confident in her abilities - and she'd seen personally the sort of damage his Lanvarok could do at point blank. No thank you. A duel in the Force would be better suited to her strengths, but even there, she wasn't quite sure she'd win - the Cathar was a former Sith Lord, and that meant he had knowledge that, much like his combat experience, outstripped Imperia's.

It was starting to look like she was fighting a losing battle...and then something caught her eye. A little red symbol on one of the crates that Thengil had walked past, underscored by a bit of Aurebesh script. "Danger - Volatile Contents - Handle With Caution" A karking crate of grenades, part of a payment for the first job Binary Buddies had ever undertaken. It had, up until this point, been considered by Imperia to be the absolute worst business decision she'd ever made.

With a subtle grin and a gentle tug in the Force, Darth Imperia wordlessly lifted the crate of explosive materials up. And then, with a harsh burst of telekinetic energy, pushed the karking thing towards Thengil's chest.

---

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]
[member="Sam Rodarch"]

 

[TB-705]

Lifting a giant crate full of grenades from the cargo hold, through the doorway, and toward him would pose a terrifying and likely deadly threat to those left without the use of the Force. Thengil did not number among them.

The moment he saw the crate lift off the ground, Ri'shajirr swung his blade with great force and violence against the side of the bulkhead. Metal squealed against metal, sparks flew, and Imperia's own lightning, trapped within, now erupted from the sword. Tendrils of crackling energy cascaded through the open space between cathar and human.

The crate never made it over the door's threshold. Thousands of volts connected with the volatile materiel. It detonated.

The resulting explosion threw Thengil backward and slammed him violently into the rear bulkhead. A deluge of heat and light bathed his body in what felt like the searing kiss of a yellow star's surface. Overpressure sound rebounded throughout the enclosed area, threatening to rupture gastrointestinal tracts, sinus cavities, and other gas-filled internal organs. Fortunately, the exosuit and distance from the blast's epicenter protected him from the worst of it, though when he finally found his footing he looked down at the front of the suit: a black, charred mess. Blood dripped from his face in half-a-dozen places and he felt a throbbing in his paw.

Thengil snarled and pulled out a long sliver of metal buried in the fur and flesh of his left paw. He tossed it aside, as carelessly as he had the dead Givin, and stared through the lingering flames down the passageway. The ship's fire suppression came on, dousing everything in white foam. Thengil shook his head, trying to get the horrible ringing out. A futile gesture.

Rage blossomed inside his chest. If she wanted to lose everything he would show her what it was to feel helpless as he tore asunder what she had built: her ship, her crew, and with punishing blows enfeebled a body she had trained for war. Iron strides carried him implacably through foam and embers and blackened deck toward whatever remained of his foe.

[member="Darth Imperia"]

 

[Darth Imperia]

Shrapnel littered Imperia's body. Bones she didn't even know she had were broken. Ugly, searing burns covered most of her exposed flesh, including half of her face. And she didn't even want to think about what sort of internal damage she was facing. Worst of all, her lightsaber was destroyed - the elegant cylinder of duraplast and alusteel lay twisted and crushed by her right arm, the crimson glimmer of the blade's synthetic crystal peeking through a hole torn in the casing.

But the Sith Knight was alive. And, after running a half-second mental diagnostic test, she found that the Ssi-Ruuvi paddle-beamer in her arm was still fully operational. It was probably the only part of her body that still was, all told.

It was hard for her to hear anything, understandably, but she felt it as the Cathar Approached - the heavy, thudding weight of his footsteps and his presence in the Force. She just needed him to come a little bit closer.

Soon enough, she got her wish. Thengil Ri'Shajirr, looking none-too-pleased, strode towards her, malice and violence evident in his posture and his expression.

It took only the slightest adjustment of her right arm to get the angle just right.

With a pained grin on her battered and bloodied face, Imperia fired off a bolt from her paddle-beamer at the Cathar's head.

---

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]
[member="Sam Rodarch"]

 

[TB-705]

She looked a ruin: torn and burnt clothes studded with bits of metal pushing out from her flesh like sprouting plants; skin scorched and roasted, weeping burn wounds mottled red and black. Yet when he looked into those eyes that blazed a sulfurous yellow he saw that the fight had not gone out of her.

"Foolish cub-"

Precognitive senses tingled along his spine. Words cut off mid-sentence as she raised a prosthetic arm and fired some beam from the wrist. The silver threaded for his head. He tried to lean out of the way, only to catch the grazing beam on the left side of his cheek. Whether the poor aim of a rattled and burnt human, the norris root dye covering his face having some dampening effect on the energy weapon, the fact that it was a graze more than a direct hit, or some combination therein, the result was that rather than being knocked out, the whole side of his face went numb instantly and drooped. His head swam and the very act of thinking seemed horribly laborious. Whatever speech he had planned, or stratagem for success disappeared then and there in the face of pure primal instinct.

The Cathar stepped forward and with one boot tried to stomp on and pin her prosthetic arm to the ground. Reversing his grip on his sword, Thengil drove it down in an attempt to ram the alchemized steel through her thigh and the deck beneath.

[member="Darth Imperia"]

 

[Darth Imperia]

"I submit." The words escaped Darth Imperia's throat, coming slowly and reluctantly. She was beaten, and she knew that. It meant nothing, of course, except that she needed to train more. The Cathar was more experienced than she, even if he had been severed from the Force and only recently came to touch it once more - he had prepared, used her resources against her, easily countered everything she'd done.

Imperia could've kept fighting, but she was pinned - doing so would only invite more pain, and while that in itself wasn't a bad thing, it wasn't going to help her win.

Patience. She needed patience. Wounds would heal, scars and burns could be disguised by magic. All she had to do was wait, and eventually she could take her revenge.

"No more. I submit."

Words that held about as much meaning to the Knight as the Jedi Code did, but they were words that might end this fight.

--

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[TB-705]

Her words sank sluggishly through ringing ears and foggy brain. Before they could fully register, the Sith bent low over her and sought to seize her prosthetic arm in one paw, whilst the other curled into the fabric of her shirt. He began to pull in a heaving, yanking motion bolstered by every ounce of strength he could bring to bear: mortal, intangible, and bionic. As he pulled a primal roar snarled from between his fangs, features oddly distorted. One half of his face roiled with the impassioned rage of battle, the other drooped, slack and expressionless.

The terentatek ivory, phrik and alusteel all proved terribly difficult to break, but he did not seek to crush the arm as he had the Givin. Merely to yank it away from the simple flesh and bone, to tear it from her side like a toy stripped from a misbehaving child. All his might bent to one singular purpose: to rip that accursed arm from her body.

An alert Thengil might have justified his actions. A lesson that defeat cost as much as victory, or that subservience came with a price, how the one with power could deprive those without, or some other teaching meant to instill fear. Yet truly the Cathar only wanted to tear away the offending appendage, like stomping on an anthill merely because the bite of one proved an irritation. A reflexive action, only justified in the aftermath.

[member="Darth Imperia"]

 

[Sam Rodarch]

Bored now.

You'd think people had things or friends to do on Hogmanay.

What was she supposed to do? Play with scantily clad Hapan boys with the aptitude to take a punch like an apple in a popped-collar polo-shirt? God no, Mistress would definitely be upset with more broken toys. She had enough of them to play with as it was, and that was suggesting that playtime would actually end.

Who knew?

What could she do? They played monsters on the freighter and almost deliberately left her behind. Sure, the young woman had arms like a rancor on a bad day, but she could jump like a middle-aged white actor. Not great attributes for leaping onto moving vessels. Such were the exceptions when you were slow.

Maybe they were afraid.

The only explanation, really. Was she supposed to be offended or complimented? Mjolnir just wanted the fight. That was purpose. Blood and rage. Crimson. She fought, with fists and fury. She didn't play games with Puck and Bottom, floating about like epileptic grasshoppers.

At least punching things was simple.

Perhaps it was time to take up smoking.

 

[Darth Imperia]

Blinding, horrible pain was all that Darth Imperia could process, at least for the span of time it took for Thengil to rip her cybernetic arm from its socket, leaving a sparking mess of wire, circuitry and steel where there should've been a mess of blood and bone. The pain was short lived, too, thankfully - the cybernetic's nervous system analog wasn't designed to handle sensory input at such an extreme level, and as such, what was left of Imperia's prosthetic sent nothing by way of sensory input to her brain. A small blessing, but at least it was something.

Quite literally shaking with pain and hanging more or less limp in the Cathar's grasp, Darth Imperia did the only thing she could think to. She closed her eyes, and began thinking. As she'd deduced a few seconds earlier, there was quite literally no winning this engagement, at least not on her own.

But you're not on your own, you stupid girl.

Right. Mjolnir. The rest of her crew. Her commlink was shot straight to Chaos, but she was a telepath - sort of. She wasn't very adept at it, but all she had to do was get one message to her pilot. Easy enough, right?

Imperia dipped into the Force and sent a wordless message through the Jen'Midwan, the delivery of which sounded, to the minds of any who might hear it, less like a calm request and more like the scream of a beast in terrible pain.

Land the Karking Ship.

---

[member="Sam Rodarch"]
[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[TB-705]

A roar of triumph ripped from Thengil's throat like the sublight rumble of a Star Destroyer. He shook his head and through the grogginess at last realized she had surrendered. The ship beneath him dipped downward. The Cathar hurled the sparking appendage into the depths of the cargo hold, then wrenched his blade away from her thigh and the deck beneath.

One paw wrapped up in her shirtfront, Thengil sought to draw her up off the ground. Spittle flew from his half-paralyzed mouth. "Come. With. Me."

Each word an effort to force out.

Partially dragging her and partially simply carrying her with one hand, Thengil stormed back through the charred wreckage of the lounge. Blood dripped from a number of shallow cuts across his face. He felt more shrapnel nestled somewhere between the exosuit and his fur so that every time he moved they carved little grooves into him. The front of his armor was a mess of melted armorweave and synthetic fibers. So when the Rodian rounded opened the door to the lounge he came face-to-face with a towering Cathar whose face was a messed matting of blood and fur and whose body was encased with a charred, soot-stained exosuit.

The Rodian raised a blaster pistol. Gold blurred as Thengil swung his blade in a diagonal cut. The blow clove the crewman from collarbone to hip. The Rodian stumbled back a step before sliding into two pieces that fell with meaty thunks. Viscera spilled out and Thengil strode callously through the mess. He heard someone mewling up ahead, but in the fog of his mind the words did not fit together quite right, like a puzzle with all the corner pieces wrong. He felt the ship start to move downward in a slow, steady motion.

Six long strides carried him into the cockpit. He decapitated the co-pilot with a flat chop, then used the backswing to impale the pilot as he rose from his seat. Dragging the gurgling humanoid from the chair, Thengil tossed [member="Darth Imperia"] into it.

"Don't...mmLand. Fly."

Retrieving his sword from the fallen pilot's corpse, Thengil began pulling apart the cockpit's contents in search of a medkit. He found it and with sluggish, clumsy fingers pulled out a stim and jammed it into his neck.

Alertness flooded into him, like daylight rays burning away the fog around his thoughts. A plan beyond "don't land" started to formulate. The coppery smell of blood pervaded the cockpit, as did the stench of cooked meat. His stomach rumbled. He lifted the medkit and padded over to Mala. As he spoke, he applied bacta patches to her wounds so she would not bleed out.

His words came out with a lisp, as if he had chewed them first before spitting them out. Half his face was paralyzed and he could no longer see out of his left eye.

"Everyshing you have losht I can reshtore. You fought well. I reshpect that. But I wanth you to prove your shurrender. Deshtroy your grotto, then target that thing on the ground. Shoot it and live. Do not..." he paused his attention to her wound to stare into her eyes with his one good eye, "... and I will erase you."

[member="Darth Imperia"] | [member="Sam Rodarch"]

 

[Darth Imperia]

Flying a ship one-armed while an impressively large, sentient lion attended to the utterly crippled state of your body was not something that Imperia would've asked of even the best pilots - and she was by no means a skilled pilot. She was, in fact, the worst pilot she'd seen in her entire life, and quite frankly wouldn't have trusted herself to sit within the vicinity of a pilot's chair.

Still, Imperia wasn't going to protest, not in the position she was in - that is, until he demanded she fire on Mjolnir. Her lair? That was easy to destroy. The slaves were replaceable and the knowledge in those tomes had been transcribed multiple times. No, she could destroy her lair without the slightest hint of hesitation. It was Mjolnir she was concerned about. Not simply because the cyborg was an investment, but because Imperia had standards. Not many, and they tended to be flexible, but she had them nonetheless. And it simply didn't befit a Sith, even a lowly Knight, to so casually destroy a servant that had served faithfully and loyally.

"Mjolnir," came the pained, wheezing reply to Thengil's demand, "has proven her loyalty and usefulness to me many times. If you wish for her to be destroyed, I suggest you go down there and destroy her yourself. Unless, of course, the mighty lion is really a kitten, deep down."

---

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]
[member="Sam Rodarch"]