Define Yourself

[Placeholder 04]

She knew. Cyril had thought she did. Cazoa did not strike him as the flighty sort - no, this woman was intelligent. She'd sprung into action when the Terentatek had attacked and dealt with the beast accordingly. She'd required no urging from him, and she had, after all quite likely saved his life. He wasn't going to let her know that though. So far as she knew, he was entirely in control of the situation. He'd seen that recognition of it in her eyes; the fear was enough.

"Most people don't understand it," he chuckled as she spoke of the lightning, "And that's alright. It's a difficult concept to understand." He winced as she cleaned out the wound on his shoulder. Sith Lord though he might be, a bit of alcohol in an open wound would never feel good. At the very least, she seemed to know what she was doing. That was more than his prior apprentices had been capable of when he'd first met them.

This could be a good start.

"It doesn't need to be limited," he affirmed, shivering slightly as her cold palms drew across his flesh, "The force swirls around you in the same way it does me. You could learn to command it, if you wished."

You will.

He offered a reassuring smile that was entirely sympathetic, and complied as she told him to lay down. Breathing a quiet sigh, he sprawled out on the operating table, gray eyes meeting Cazoa's own.

"Cyril is the name I was born to. Mephirium is the name I claimed. Use whatever you like," the smile shifted to one of mischievousness, "Don't act like you're enjoying it so much." He nodded toward the bottle she cleaned his wounds with. She certainly wasn't being liberal with it.

"I came here because the force called me. It's called you as well," he continued, his gaze never leaving her own. Even there, shirtless and sprawled across the operating table like some misshapen lab experiment, Mephirium was in control. "Besides, who doesn't want to lift things with a single thought? Far more interesting than digging for old relics."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa quietly pondered Cyril’s words as he spoke. She could learn to command the force? Her mind briefly fell to the moment she had first met her adoptive father. He had been on a heist to steal custom guns from the manufacturer Cazoa had been a slave for. During his theft he had held a pistol to her master’s head and demanded he opened a safe. Cazoa’s master had become a friend to her over the years, treating her considerably better than most, and it was for this fact that Cazoa had felt a strong desire to save him. In a concoction of intense anger and desperation, she had wanted the gun to be flung from the assailant’s hands, and so it did – by means of her mind, the gun flew across the room, hit a wall, and then fell to the floor.

With her newly founded perspective, Cazoa noted that by focussing and harnessing the emotions that she had felt all those years ago, somehow in that moment she had subconsciously tapped into the force and flung the pistol using her mind because she had wanted it to happen. Is that what Cyril had meant by commanding the force? What would she be capable of if she knew how exactly to command it? Would she be able to move objects willingly? Or emit forth a sea of red lightning from her palms?

What about all the other things that she could do? Even if she was force sensitive as Cyril had said, then she felt her other abilities weren’t as extremely notable compared to the telekinesis. Though they had served her greatly over the years, her abilities were only to search the intentions of others, search their feelings for clues, and on occasion, she had been able to manipulate the weak minded. Coupled with those abilities, the natural skill to seduce trust from people had always helped her with obtaining secrets. She had also always been able detect individual life-force which had enabled her to easily dispatch lurking enemies or detect incoming danger. She had also never been caught on her heists – it was like she had an aptitude for blending into the shadows.

Cyril lay down on the makeshift operating table, allowing Cazoa to better assess the wound on his chest. It was deeper than the graze on his shoulder, and it began to bleed as she disturbed the dried blood that had crusted the slit. Her left hand rested on his collarbone. Underneath her palm she could feel the scars of the branded writing. With her right hand she pressed firmly on the wound, hoping the pressure would stop the trickle of blood.

"Cyril is the name I was born to. Mephirium is the name I claimed. Use whatever you like," his smile shifted to one of mischievousness, "Don't act like you're enjoying it so much." He nodded toward the bottle of liquid she had cleaned his shoulder with.

Indeed, she was revelling in his discomfort slightly. This man was not the simple mercenary come pilgrim he had declared himself as earlier. On some levels she felt betrayed by her intuition…or the force…whatever it was; but perhaps like he had said – she could learn to command it, and therefore if a situation such as this were to happen again, she could be better prepared…not frozen in shock, while a terentatek charged at her. Or perhaps she would be able to avoid letting such a person on board her ship in the first place.

"I came here because the force called me. It's called you as well," he continued.

Cazoa kept her hands pressed on his chest as his gaze bore deep into her. What did he see in her eyes? All her life she had been able to read people, and determine their intentions, but with him she drew up blank. It unsettled her. All Cazoa could feel was the tug to his existence.

'Besides, who doesn't want to lift things with a single thought? Far more interesting than digging for old relics,’ he said.


‘And so if I were to learn to control these things I can do,’ she humoured him. ‘Then what fate would I have besides digging for old relics?’ Her gaze faltered to the blood soaked gauze on his chest. As she swapped it for a clean piece she feared that the wound would need a few stitches, and she had never stitched someone before.

‘Have you always been able to perform that little lightning trick? What I can…do…doesn’t half compare to that. I wouldn’t know where to begin if I were to pursue all that you say,’ Cazoa pondered for a moment. ‘I don’t have a reason to chase it.’

She frowned at Cyril's wound.

‘The beast’s claw seems to have struck deep in one place,’ she commented. ‘If only you could heal yourself huh, then you could spare yourself my inexperience with stitching.’

She rolled her eyes and started to rummage through the medkit.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

There it was.

Mephirium had piqued her curiosity. Resistant though she might seem, he knew that the possibilities he spoke of would be something she thought of in the coming nights. They would have to travel together if they wished to survive. While Darth Mephirium could command great power, he would not shrug off the advantage another pair of eyes would provide him.

Then there were the more-relevant reasons. Cazoa's connection to the force was something that he could cultivate, and her mind was one that he could mold however he wished. She had her prejudices and opinions now, but all fell away in the eyes of the force. Now, he only needed to provide her with the helpful shove that would send her over the edge.

"Having others dig relics for you," Cyril snickered as she did her best to clean his wound. The shoulder had been tolerable; the midriff, less so. He fought the urge to squirm when his skin began to burn. It would not do to show weakness in front of his would-be disciple.

"I learned from my teacher," he continued, eyes falling to the hand she rested upon him. Far too easy. "As will you."

He drew within himself. His focus shifted from the physical realm into the ethereal. He would have saved is energy, but he needed to prove his capabilities to the young woman. With great care, he urged the shattered cells within the bloody gash to shrink. Those that lived multiplied far faster than they ever would naturally The sensation was no a pleasant one; it felt as if his skin had taken a life of its own and begun to crawl of its own accord.

Still, the technique did its job. Moments later, the wound was closed, naught but irritated red flesh where blood had been moments before. Mephirium said nothing, simply staring at the girl.

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

‘I learned from my teacher,’ Cyril continued, glancing down at Cazoa’s hands tending to his wound. ‘As will you.’

Cazoa noticed a change in the air at his last words, a change which felt similar to that before a storm. Energy pulsed through the atmosphere shared between them, and it began to focus around her hands resting on Cyril’s chest. She pulled them back abruptly, searching his eyes for an explanation but they were focused on something that she could not see. She felt the energy reach a peak, and watched with wide eyes as the cut on Cyril’s chest began to close. After a few moments, the once bloody slice was nothing but a faded pink line on his pale chest.

On any other day, seeing someone heal a wound like that would have made her feel frightened - as she had felt before when she had seen the lightning. But considering that incident, and all that she had seen whilst being in this man’s presence, she tried to remain calm and collected. She was in fact even a little impressed, but her reluctance to show it freely remained; the man’s words had stuck with her – did he want her to learn from him? Cazoa had been around long enough to know there would be some kind of catch, something that he wanted in return. Though she could not figure out exactly what it could be.

Cyril watched for her reaction.

‘Well,’ she said softly. ‘We won’t be needing these anymore.’ She placed the stitching materials on her lap back into the medkit. ‘Just as well - I would have done a poor job.’

Cazoa considered that she had been knocked out in the tombs, and that all of this was a result of a very strange, intense dream. The dull throb in her leg told her that as much as she hoped that was the case, she was very, very conscious.

‘It would be extremely useful to learn that at least,’ she humoured him as she wrapped her calf in a bandage. ‘It’d certainly save me all this discomfort.’

Before Cazoa’s adoptive father had died, he told her to keep what she could do hidden; to not let anybody know what she could do, because there would be people in the Galaxy that would utilize her for their gain. She got the feeling he had meant people that were ‘normal’ – perhaps crimelords looking for an edge, or looking to sell her off to the highest bidder. What about people that were essentially her equal? Cyril could do great things; did he want to utilize her for his gain? So far he hadn’t caused her harm, nor had he stolen the ship.

The ship! The fading systems bought her back to reality – in all the commotion, she hadn’t even checked if the hunk of durasteel would get them back into space.

‘You said the engines had been destroyed?’ Cazoa asked the man as she pulled herself to her feet. Pain shot through her calf as she tried to place her weight evenly. It was difficult, but she managed to stumble to the cockpit.

Upon reaching the console, it was evident that the engines were shot – a big warning sign flashed across the screen, underneath it was the words ‘engine failure’. She still attempted to spur the shuttle to life but nothing happened, even the communications panel had stopped functioning. She leaned back in the pilot’s chair, frustrated and extremely disappointed that she would have to spend any more time on this Moon.

If she wanted to get off of this rock, then she would have to keep entertaining this man – he had said that his ship was on the other side of the valley. It would be a difficult journey, no doubt, made a near impossible feat by her injured leg, and the sweltering heat of the daytime, and the foreboding creatures that prowled the darkness. Cazoa found some comfort in the fact that Cyril wasn’t just any man, but one that would greatly increase her chances of surviving the wastes.

‘Your ship,’ she called out to him. ‘How far away is it?’ She stood to return to the hull and realised she was still dressed in a towel. ‘The crew of this ship left a landspeeder by the gateway to the temples. There’s not a lot of juice left in it – perhaps a day’s worth, but it would get us partway at least.’

She would be sure to soak her leg in bacta until they had to walk in the scorching heat for the rest of the journey.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

The seed had been planted.

The force was foreign to Cazoa, as it was to most. That was all fine and well -- he could mold her however he wished, so long as she came under his tutelage. He needed a loyal apprentice, one that would not try and stab him in the back for the sake of his position. He had no illusions about the heresy of that ideal - one's student should always surpass the master when the time came. Mephirium, however, had a vision for the galaxy. A vision that could not be carried out if one of his erstwhile pupils decided to slit his throat in his sleep.

The key to bringing about that kind of loyalty was to prey upon weaknesses other than fear. He could not force her to train under him -- that would defeat the purpose. No, in due time, Cazoa would come to him wanting, begging for his training. When that time came, Mephirium, ever generous, would teach her the ways. For now, he only needed to goad her forward by whatever means were available. His gaze traveled over her figure. The girl was making this far too easy, but that was alright. Easy was good. Easy was quick. Easy got things done.

"I dunno," he frowned, "Still might need them. This moon is a dangerous place. You might find yourself in need of stitching, and I may not be around." He sat up on the table as she made her way to the front of the ship. He had a brief moment of privacy.

Mephirium called upon the force. It responded to him like an eager beast that had been awaiting its master's return. He took it upon himself, drank it in, and allowed it to exude from him. The aura was a natural thing, and one that he had suppressed up until now. The power of the Dark Side was visceral and intoxicating - Mephirium had been worried she would turn away from it at first, hence why he had hidden it away.

It seemed that would not be the case.

"Do you want to wait until morning to leave?" He lofted a brow, "As much as I might admire your choice of attire, I don't think the beasts will care much for it." A quiet of a laugh escaped him. "The ship is quite a ways away. As I said, I was on a pilgrimage. Part of that was traveling on foot."

He shot her the warmest smile he could muster and pushed up to his feet, "It seems we're stuck with one another, Cazoa."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cyril was speaking - Cazoa could see the man's lips moving, yet the comprehension of his words were dampened by an alluring energy that now emanated from him. It felt similar to what she had felt in this place since arriving, but now it was intensely amplified and unique to Cyril - like it belonged to him; a normal piece of his being. It was a tantalising sensation, captivating her senses and fueling a growing desire inside to learn everything that she could about it...or him.

Cazoa remained mesmerised in the sublime sensation, watching Cyril. It wasn't until he got to his feet that she was jerked from the enchantment and came to her senses.

'It seems we are stuck with one another, Cazoa.' he said, smiling warmly down at her.

Embarrassment washed over Cazoa; did she feel desire for this stranger? Or desire to harness the force within her? Her subconcious fumbled for a moment as it tried to remember anything that Cyril had said upon her return to the hull.

'It seems that we are,' she agreed, composing herself. The bottle of liquor sitting next to the medkit caught her eye, and she limped towards it. 'I wouldn't like to think what could have happened if I had to face those beasts alone.'

Cazoa reached for the bottle, noticing her bare arm. Towel. Cyril had mentioned something about her attire. Cazoa had felt the man's eyes graze her body once or twice, and his curiosity comforted her a little...the more attractive she was to him, then perhaps the more he would be inclined to keep her alive once they began their journey; and she wanted nothing more than to be free of the scorching Moon. If anything, her unintentional outfit for the past couple of hours would more than likely work in her favour; after all, men were men. Normally she would have worked such a situation to her favour but the new intensity of his presence unnerved her; it was unfamiliar and raw, leaving her feeling nothing short of self conscious.

Cazoa limped her way to the crew's lockers and began opening each one, searching for any items they might have left behind.

'Leaving in the morning would be best,' she said over her shoulder. Her words came a little quicker than usual - an attempt to draw Cyril's attention away from any embarrassment she might have shown. 'I've been in one of the temples for what feels like days without a decent nights sleep. It would do us both good to rest and face the dangers of this place in the morning.'

Cazoa opened the last locker and sighed in relief - the contents had belonged to a woman. She pulled out a pair of grey trousers, and a maroon t-shirt; both not the most durable items of clothing but there wasn't much selection - all the heavy duty armour had been lost with the dead crew in the temple. As well as her new outfit, Cazoa took a pair of black boots and a hairbrush.

'There are some clothes in these lockers which might be of use to you,' she said, turning back to Cyril. Her eyes skimmed across his bare chest to where the bloody wound had once been.

'We can pack some provisions in the morning,' she suggested, looking back up to his eyes. 'I do think it's time that I got out of this towel.' She smiled softly and turned her gaze to the floor as she walked past him as elegantly as her throbbing calf would allow.

The bathroom was a welcome respite from the intensity that filled the hull. Cazoa washed her face with cool water from the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

'You're just tired', she told herself quietly. 'This evening has been extremely eventful to say the least. The whole force thing has come rushing at you a hundred miles an hour. Cyril has nothing to do with what you are feeling, you've only known him for five minutes. Sleep will bring more clarity.'

She searched herself for any definitive confirmation from her intuition, but nothing came - only exhaustion.

Cazoa sighed at her sleepy reflection. She gently brushed her long hair free from tangles, and with some careful maneuvers she managed to slip the trousers on without tearing her stitches. She then unfastened the towel and pulled the maroon t-shirt over her head. The woman who the clothes had belonged to had been smaller in size - the trousers clung to Cazoa's thighs, and the t-shirt was a little too tight, but they would have to do.

With one last satisfied look in the mirror, Cazoa left the bathroom. She hoped that she would be able to sleep through the intoxicating pull she felt towards the man waiting for her in the hull.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

He half-heard her. The events that had transpired around them were worth pondering. The Terentateks were present on this moon but certainly not numerous. Two of them being drawn this far away from the tombs was unexpected - it was abnormal. Mephirium had no doubt in his mind that they had come because of his presence in the force, though he'd gone through efforts to hide that factor of himself to the world. Then there was Cazoa, unrefined as she was volatile within the ethereal realm. Perhaps they had come for her?

Perhaps they had come for the both of them?

It was a troubling thought, considering they would likely be traveling on foot for quite some time until they reached his ship. The journey out here had not been so dangerous. Mephirium had been able to hide his signature within the force well enough, and only had to deal with the occasional Tuk'ata here and there. They were curious hunters, and the Sith Lord had given them cause to give him space soon after he'd landed.

Cazoa was going to make things more difficult. She was a resourceful girl, that much he had seen, but unrefined. She lacked certain things that would be needed if they were going to survive out in the wastes. He was going to have to teach her what he could, and quickly too. The only unknown factor in this whole little fiasco was Cazoa herself. How receptive would she be of his teachings?

Shaking his head, he followed after the woman. She knew where she was going - he had no idea. He waited respectfully outside of the locker room as she donned her clothing. She was a beautiful woman, but Mephirium knew when to reign himself in. This was no dalliance. He meant to make this girl his apprentice, and that required subtle maneuvering. He couldn't just hit the situation with a metaphorical hammer and expect it to work out.

When she was done, he scavenged for himself. He found a gray long sleeved shirt that was a size too big. Still, it served its purpose. He slipped it on over his shoulders and traced his fingers along the ground as he moved toward the refresher. There was nowhere on this vessel that Cazoa could hide from him. Her signature was too blatant within the force.

"I'm going to take one of the couches in the lounge for tonight," he spoke just loudly enough to be heard through the door, "Try and get some rest. If anything comes this way tonight, I'll sense them. You'll be safe."

He waited a moment for a reply before heading back to the main hold. His thoughts were clear; his purpose evident. It took only a few moments before Mephirium drifted off into the realm of sleep.

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

'Okay,' Cazoa said softly through the door. 'I'll be on one of the bunks.'

She almost offered Cyril one of the two pistols that she had laying around but chances were he wouldn't make use of it if the situation arose - his lightsaber, and the lightning would be enough. It still unnerved Cazoa to think about the red sea erupting from his palms. She looked down at her own curiously, and imagined them creating such destruction, but nothing sprung from her pale skin.

Cazoa listened to the man's footsteps retreat to the lounge, and heard him settle onto one of the couches. She was glad their sleeping spots were as far away as the small shuttle would allow; perhaps the feeling emanating from him wouldn't reach her in the bunks.

She left the bathroom and limped to her bed, grabbing the E-11 rifle on the way. The mattress was hard but Cazoa didn't care - it felt like heaven to her as she lay her head down on the pillow and shut her eyes. With the rifle at her side, she fell into a deep sleep without so much as a thought hindering her.

---
Upon waking, Cazoa felt considerably well rested but as she swung herself from the bunk, the dull aches in her limbs and calf prodded her to reach for painkillers. The air in the ship felt stuffy and the temperature was growing hot. A quick glance out the window on the way to the hull showed that the sun was only just rising above the valley edge, casting an eerie glow over the orange land. Cazoa sat down on the makeshift surgical table and pulled her trouser leg up over her wound. Carefully, she unwrapped the bandage and checked the stitches. They had held over night, and the bacta was working well to mend the once gruesome slash. She gently rubbed more of the healing liquid over the stitches, and injected another shot into the surrounding skin. A little wave of euphoria crept over her, dampening the worries of the day that lay before her.

After wrapping her calf in a fresh bandage, Cazoa placed the medical supplies back into the kit and placed it into a worn leather backpack she had found in one of the crew's lockers. As well as the medkit, she placed numerous provisions, including food and water, extra clothing, and the bottle of liquor. She hoped that during their journey the Moon would conjure up another storm like the one she had experienced when she had first landed; it had rained for hours, cooled the land, and frightened away the beasts. They would need to collect the rainwater for their journey when the first supply of water ran out. Cazoa was grateful that at least fate had placed her in a predicament during the Moon's short rainy season. She would likely die otherwise.

Cazoa ate, and then turned her attention to her arsenal. On her gun belt she had two pistols, a knife, and the E-11 she would fasten to the backpack. Then her eyes flickered in the direction of the lounge where Cyril lay - the most powerful weapon of them all.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

His sleep had been restless.

Such was to be expected given all that occurred. He was on high alert for more of the beasts, and he still had not come down from the battle he and Cazoa'd had with the ones from earlier. How long had it been since he'd killed a Terentatek? Years, perhaps. Not since he and Kaigann had gone hunting for the monsters during the days of the Ession Reformation. That trip had been an ill fated one, but one that, at the time, he had felt was justified. The monsters had been causing problems for the Essoinian people. It had only been a matter of time before the Jedi arrived.

The quiet shuffling of feet drew him from his reverie. Grumbling a curse under his breath, Cyril leaned up from his position on the couch and rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes. His hand immediately fell to his hip - the lightsaber was still there. Cazoa had not made any unwise decisions then. For a moment, Cyril felt relief, though it quickly passed as the realization of their journey dawned on him.

They would need to cross the desert relatively soon. Otherwise the beasts would return, and this time with friends. It was quite unlikely the two of them would survive another assault by the monsters.

Still...

He barely waved at Cazoa as he passed her. He was still tired, and he needed a shower. He took the time to throw his clothing in an old hamper - he would come back for it later - before cleansing himself. The hot water brought new life to his limbs and stirred him from what little drowsiness still remained. A few moments later and he emerged, clad in the casual clothing of a dead mercenary.

At least the hoodie was comfortable.

He sidled up alongside Cazoa, blue eyes narrowing as he observed the woman. She seemed ready for a war. All Cyril had by means of weapons were his lightsaber an the force. They would be enough.

"Sleep well?"

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa watched as the man emerged into the hull. His dark hair was wet from his shower, and he wore the clothes she had found in the lockers. She had been quietly dreading seeing Cyril again since waking - not because he was unpleasant, but because of the energies that followed him. She thought perhaps if she concentrated hard enough she might be able to dampen the feeling.

It was a similar tactic she had used when in busy places - the emotional chatter of large crowds could get too much sometimes, and so she had learnt to dampen a lot of the feelings that she would absorb. It was a lot tricker to apply to the situation with Cyril - she had never come across anybody associated with the force before, and if she had, it had never felt as intense as this. It would take time to familiarise herself with the energy and better control how it effected her. For now, she tried to wade through it.

'Sleep well?' he asked her.

'Much better than the temple floor,' she smiled softly. 'I feel rested enough. And you?'

Cazoa passed a food pack to the man. It wasn't the nicest of breakfasts, but it was packed full with nutrients and energy essential to making this journey.

'I've packed a few supplies - water, clothes, food,' she continued. 'I remember there being a few bottles of water at the abandoned camp, we can load up the speeder with whatever else we find.'

She began to braid her long dark hair down her back.

'Are you ready?'

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Was he? The journey ahead would be a violent one. Alone, he had managed to traverse the wastes with little issue. The beasts did not see him as enough of a prize when compared to the harm he might bring to them. Two force sensitives, however, were a different story. The monsters would hunt them at every turn, follow their scent and go out of their way to tear the duo apart.

The knowledge of his own mortality made Cyril pause. He drew in a deep breath, expelled it slowly, and took the pack from Cazoa with a grateful nod. He ate in silence as she braided her hair. The force had guided him to this woman, and he needed to know why. There was the very real possibility of taking her on as his apprentice, but then there were many other worthy of that as well.

He'd been brought to her for a different reason.

"I'm set," he mumbled as he finished the remainder of his breakfast, "I say we take the speeder to the camp. From there, we move on. We'll take it as far out as possible before it runs out of fuel." He frowned, "Then we're on our own. I hope you enjoy hiking."

He reached down to make sure his lightsaber was where it should have been. The weapon, one he had carried since his earliest apprenticeship, was where it should have been. He would need it out in the wastes.

Wasting no further time, Cyril drew his cowl over his face and headed out into the dunes. The morning's light was scathingly hot as he strode out into the dirt. The cowl shielded his face from the sun's harmful rays, but the heat was ever-present.

"A little hotter than I would have liked," he sighed as he slipped into the driver's seat of the speeder. "Is the ship locked up? We might have cause to come back. Don't want the beasts to pillage it."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa followed the man's hand as it reached down to his lightsaber; the weapon made her curious, to say the least. Until yesterday, she had never seen one in action before, though she had heard plenty of stories during her travels. Many had tried to acquire such a deadly blade, but more often than not they had never succeeded. Upon seeing Cyril singe through the flesh of a terentatek with such ease, she wondered if she could command such a weapon with the grace that he had. Certainly in her line of work, it would prove to give her an edge over her opponents.

Cazoa shook the thought from her head...she could never be worthy enough to wield such a weapon. She let a soft sigh escape her lips as she followed Cyril from the ship. One thing was for certain - she felt grateful for the man's companionship. Had it been anyone else accompanying her on this trip, she would have felt significantly more anxiety. The journey would be perilous to say the least, but somehow her apprehension was near nonexistent. Instead she felt determined that they would escape the Moon. When she focused, she felt that there was something much larger at work.

The morning was extremely hot as they stepped from the ship. The dusty, orange land stretched out for miles before meeting the towering sandstone cliffs of the valley. There was nothing that stood in between, not even a beast offering shade from the scorching sun. The land was calm as far as she could sense - nothing in her gut hinted at danger. The only threat was the sun. It hadn't reached its full height in the blue sky, which meant the day would grow even hotter. The corpse of the terentatek that she had killed had been stripped of all flesh during the night. Cazoa hoped that whatever had eaten it had quenched it's hunger.

Cyril fired up the land speeder as Cazoa climbed into the passenger seat.

'It's only going to get hotter,' she agreed as she strapped herself into the vehicle. 'Thankfully we have the speeder for part of the journey.'

The breeze as the speeder flew the short distance to the camp was hot, though significantly more welcome than the windless air had they been walking. Soon enough, they had entered through the majestically carved gateway that guarded the temples. Just inside lay the abandoned camp left by the dead crew Cazoa had come here to find. When the speeder came to a halt, she climbed out, gripping one of her DL44's against her thigh.

She knew nothing awaited her, but habit kept her ready; it unnerved her to be so close to the temples again. They loomed eerily in the distance, almost beckoning her back to them with their strange energy. They felt similar to Cyril. She shuddered and turned her eyes to the campsite. Amongst the strewn gear, she found the bottles of water, a dusty but unused tent, a half full can of fuel, and a working datapad that had been used for mapping the Moon. Satisfied, she returned to the speeder and placed the items in the back.

'We should be able to find the best route to your ship using this,' she said, passing the datapad to Cyril. She was careful not to touch his skin again.

She glanced at the fuel meter.

'There's probably enough fuel to last until nightfall. If there's anywhere safe for us to spend the night on that map, then I suggest we head for it, providing it doesn't throw us off course too much.'

Cazoa returned her pistol to its holster and climbed into the speeder.

She was ready to battle the Moon for her freedom.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

It would be a lie to say he had not expected the Terentatek's corpses to be absent of flesh. Still, the sight of the ruined corpses made Cyril uncomfortable. He was not the type to shy away from gore - far from it in fact, but the realities of the moon had truly began to set in. If the beasts would do something like that to such fierce beasts, the force only knew what they would do to himself and Cazoa.

Forcing it from his mind, Cyril allowed himself to dip into the currents of the force as Cazoa scoured the camp for supplies. He would have gone to help her, but this was the first moment of peace he'd found in a very long time. He'd been too busy making sure nothing assailed the ship the night before to find any meaningful rest, and the days before that had followed a similar pattern. He would sense anything particularly dangerous coming from a mile away right now - he could allow himself a moment or two for himself.

When the woman returned, Cyril nodded to show his approval. She'd brought a sizable find back; enough to justify the time they had spent in the camp. The speeder came to life once everything was loaded aboard, and then they were sailing across the dust-caked earth toward Cyril's ship. The landing site was many miles out, and the heat of the sun was suffocating, but the dry wind helped to make the trip bearable.

Cyril only withstood a few moments of silence before cracking a smile.

"I was a Jedi," he opined, "For a very long time, I served the Order. Yet, for all my service, the Sith crushed us at every turn. I realized the only way to destroy our enemies was to delve into their ways," he chanced a short look at Cazoa. "That's why I'm here."

His attentions returned to the road.

"I used to be a general on the planet Ession - it's in the Outer Rim. We fought the Sith in glorious battles across the sector until we suffered a devastating defeat at Kashyyyk. I lost everyone there," he paused, reaching over to tap Cazoa on the arm, "This moon can keep that from happening again. So there's me, who are you?"

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa studied the datapad as the speeder shot across the wastes. Cyril's ship resided in the west, and according to the maps, there wasn't anything of note in between apart from a small area marked with the words 'point of interest'. She frowned at the datapad, wondering if they would find a safe place to spend the night. It seemed the beasts preferred to come alive once the scorching sun had set, making it an impossible task to travel by foot in the cool darkness.

Frustrated, Cazoa set the datapad down in the footwell and watched as the dusty landscape flew by in a blur. It wasn't long before Cyril spoke.

He had been a Jedi? Cazoa had never paid much mind to the news of the Galaxy, and most of the reports never made it to the outer reaches where she had resided all these years - only garbled stories from travellers that she questioned the authenticity of. So the Jedi were the good guys in all of this? And the enemies were the Sith? And now Cyril had gone to the otherside, to join the Sith?

It made sense for him to be on this Moon then - she remembered his comment on his ancestry. Cazoa had walked a very thin line between good and evil all of her life, and paired with the fact that in the end, the dispute between the Jedi and the Sith wouldn't effect the path she had intended her life to take, she refrained from making any judgements. Cyril hadn't been any danger to her - if anything he seemed like he wanted to keep her alive and aid her off the Moon. Truth be told, the situation felt like a dream anyhow, a dream she seemed to have no desire to wake from.

'...so there's me, and who are you?'

Cazoa hesitated for a moment; her past was insignificant, especially to her, but she felt almost obliged to share at least something.

'I was once a slave,' she began. 'I eventually was stolen by pirates who became my family. We were thieves, pretty good ones, specialising in rare jewels. My...father, his wife had been taken from him, and although he enjoyed the spoils from our heists, his sole purpose was to find her. But now he is dead, along with the rest of the crew.'

The moment of their death flickered briefly across her mind.

'And now I am here,' Cazoa pushed the unpleasant memories away. She turned to face to Cyril. 'Stuck on this Moon, with a Sith. Tell me, why am I not afraid?'

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Cyril had no datapad to guide him back to the ship. He had to rely on instinct and the force for direction. His old teachers had often prodded him about using the force for simple tasks; he used it far more than he truly needed. Still, he'd barely allowed himself anytime to be connected to the ethereal realm before. This served as an effective enough exercise - it kept him on his toes, at the very least.

Her words drew him from his reverie. He chanced a look at her, blue eyes flickering to Cazoa's own before returning to the road ahead. She had been a slave as well then? A shame, but it built character if you had a strong personality. Otherwise it crushed people, though that did not seem to be the case for Cazoa so far as he could tell.

"Politically, I am a Sith," he admitted as the speeder accelerated, "But I will tell you, all that I've done is for the sake of peace. I serve the force and the people of the galaxy. If people don't understand, then they don't understand."

Would his mother have understood? Would Rusken? Cyrene? He supposed it didn't matter; they had all gone and died leaving him alone to deal with the galaxy's issues. He didn't need to justify himself to ghosts.

But then the doubt was ever-present.

"I don't know why you would be afraid. I've never been the antagonistic type," he cracked a thin smile though it lacked any sense of good-humor, "My heart is with the Order. It's where I want to be, it's what I want to do at the end of my days, but someone needs to stop the war machine."

He cast her another look, "I suppose I have to be that someone."

Silence followed for a time as they drew closer to their destination. Morning became mid-day, and the afternoon would soon follow. They made good time, but the speeder did not seem like it would get them as far as Cyril had hoped.

A pity.

"You came out of that ship in a towel and started shooting everything. Why shouldn't I be afraid of you?" He snickered.

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa sat in silence as she pondered all that the man had said.

So Cyril's intentions were to bring down an era of war and destruction, and create peace in its place? Cazoa didn't know anything about exactly how extreme some of the Sith were in their endeavours, but Cyril's plans resonated with her nonetheless. In that moment, she admired him for taking on such a strenuous task, and for playing both sides, in order to create his own vision of how the Galaxy should be.

She was sure she would learn a lot from Cyril whilst they travelled together. Especially after he had awoken the side of her she had kept locked away for so long; it was like she wanted to be a part of the world he spoke of, to be a part of the people who were just like her. There was so much about herself that she didn't know, yet she had always felt as if she had belonged to a greater existence than that of what she had lead. And this man could teach her exactly what it was. The curiosity within her grew with each passing moment.

It was midday before the pair spoke again. The sun was at its highest peak, burning Cazoa's sticky skin, which was now coated in a light layer of dust. She drank from one of the water bottles slowly, offering it to Cyril.

"You came out of that ship in a towel and started shooting everything. Why shouldn't I be afraid of you?" the man snickered.

Cazoa returned his smile. Indeed, she could be deadly if the chance arose. Her shooting was unparalleled, and her sharp mind never ceased to get her out of tight situations. Paired with the little force she could control, she made for a ballsy combatant.

'The towel couldn't be helped,' she laughed. 'My father taught me how to shoot, he was a man of many talents. I have many tricks up my sleeve, so you should test me with caution. Though my skills are nothing like yours.' Her voice took a more serious tone. 'In that moment, I had been more afraid of you than the beasts. The terentateks are mere creatures that can be shot down easily enough, they are simple to deal with. But you are something I don't understand - nothing like I have ever encountered. But after...feeling you, in the force...I know have no reason to be afraid.'

Judging by what felt like their existences intertwining beyond their control, Cazoa thought that they should indeed be afraid of one another.

The datapad beeped on her lap, breaking the silence that had ensued her compliment. It indicated a change in the atmospheric composition; it seemed that there was another storm brewing in the north. It wouldn't hit their general area until sunset, which meant they still had a few hours to gain on their destination, but it further pressed the issue of finding somewhere to take shelter. Cazoa had seen plenty of caves carved into the sandstone cliffs that might suffice, but she dreaded what could be living inside.

'A storm is coming this way,' she looked to the north. All looked peaceful on the horizon, the weather was too far to see or sense. 'Perhaps between the two of us we could scout a cave that isn't inhabited by any creatures.'

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

He could understand the fear. As a small child, he had not understood the force. It had been a tool used by the slave masters to keep their prizes from rebelling against the empire. When Vulcanus had spoken of Cyril's own connection to the force, the young man had been both surprised and distraught. He'd been uplifted from slavery and placed at the Sith Lord's side to serve him until the day the Graug died.

Cyril had fulfilled his duties admirably.

He took the bottle with a grateful nod and downed the remainder of the contents. It seemed as if the day had gotten even hotter, as if that were even possible. Cyril grumbled a string of curses under his breath as Cazoa went into her towel-fighting-techniques. He cracked an amused little grin and nudged her shoulder with his own, all the while keeping his eyes on the road.

"Still, terentateks are monsters. They were designed by the ancient Sith to hunt down Jedi. Most of them are feral now, and will go after anything with a connection to the force. Our being together probably drew them in."

His gaze shifted down to the beeping datapad. A storm?

"Understanding isn't important right now. Surviving is," he checked the fuel gauge - about a quarter remained, "And to do that we need to work together. I'll try not to scare you in the future." A hint of mirth laced his words, but there was worry there too. This moon was not a safe place.

Up ahead, Cyril could just barely make out a massive rock formation in the distance. It was honeycombed with dozens of small caves and numerous rocky outcroppings. That would have to do. Cyril angled the speeder toward the distant formation and stepped on the gas. The speeder roared in response, soaring over toward the formation with the last bit of fuel it had.

A few moments later and they had arrived at the base of the mountainous structure, the speeder all but struggling to retain life.

"This'll have to do," he paused to consider as he opened the speeder doors, "You need to immerse yourself in the force. It's a river that most people flow through freely. We can stop ourselves, let the waves move over us, and influence the currents as we see fit. Extend your senses, look for other things nearby in that river, and tell me where they are."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

It unnerved Cazoa to think that there were hordes of terentateks out in the wastes, hunting her and Cyril through the force. She hoped that the storm would keep all creatures at bay for the night; it seemed nothing prowled the wastes when the sun was at its highest, and with the brewing storm, most would be hibernating during the night. The storm Cazoa had experienced when she had landed on the Moon had been a terrifying ordeal - lightning striking too close for comfort, and violent thunder that had rocked the ground.

Still, Cazoa figured that storm would be a better fate than being stalked by terentateks.

She followed Cyril's gaze to the horizon as he altered the direction of the speeder. Carved into a huge rocky cliff were several caves - perhaps one could offer them shelter. As they drew closer, Cazoa noticed large, grey plumes forming in the distance, and a quick glance at the data pad showed that the storm would hit in a couple of hours.

The speeder held on until they had arrived at the foot of the formation, and then gave up entirely, shuddering to a stop. Tomorrow would be a long, grueling journey on foot.

The rocky cliff face towered above them. There were several caves gauged in the sandstone at ground level, but it was the ones several feet higher that caught Cazoa's attention - the thick rain would make it a difficult task for any creatures to climb up to them. The only problem that remained was if anything had already made the caves their home.

"This'll have to do," Cyril said. He paused considering his next words. Cazoa watched him. ''You need to immerse yourself in the force. It's a river that most people flow through freely. We can stop ourselves, let the waves move over us, and influence the currents as we see fit. Extend your senses, look for other things nearby in that river, and tell me where they are."

A test?

Cazoa had always been able to sense beings and their unique life forces - it came naturally to her because she had always exercised it throughout her youth and throughout her work as a thief - it came in handy to know where people were so that she could sneak by, or strike from the shadows. This task would be easy for her, but she had never consciously associated it with the force before, nor had she consciously flexed it and controlled it.

'Okay,' she said, a soft smile on her lips. 'Let's see if any of these caves you have led us to are vacant.'

Caoza exited the speeder, and began to slowly move towards the dark caves. She remembered the sensations she had felt last night during her first, true encounter with the force. Her intution told her that there in the open, she was safe. She accepted the energy into her, letting it creep along her limbs and into the core of her being. With her focused mind, she pushed the energy outwards as an extension of herself, moving it over the dusty ground, closer and closer to the caves. Her ability felt much more pronounced now that she was consciously willing it. She paused, closed her eyes briefly, and then let the energy snap back to her.

With a flick of her boot, Cazoa overturned a rock at her feet. With one fell swoop, she pinched the body of a brown lizard in between her fingers.

'It seems,' she smiled, turning to face Cyril. 'That these are the only creatures inhabiting the area.'

Most of the crevices were too shallow in depth to house large beasts. As she had searched with her mind, she had felt no violent creatures, just the lizards and other small creatures. Cazoa was glad she hadn't picked up the now familiar energies of any terentateks. Her gut remained calm, drawing her to the caves to seek shelter.

'The only thing I feel,' she said, returning to Cyril's side at the speeder. 'Is that we should choose one of the caves higher up. I see no tracks in the dirt, but with the storm incoming, we shouldn't take any chances - the larger creatures might have a similar idea to us and take refuge in the lower ones until it passes.'

She looked up into Cyril's blue eyes, a playful smile on her lips.

'Will you check my work,' - she felt like she was at school again -

'Master?'

Little did she know of the power Cyril would soon hold over her as the word, 'master' left her lips.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Cyril had followed her lead, extending his sense far out into the ethereal plane. He felt small life forms - no doubt the little lizards that Cazoa had managed to probe out within cracks along the rock face. So far as he could tell, nothing of general threat inhabited the mountain, but then this was a world of the fallen Sith Lords. It was quite likely there was some form of beast prowling the wastes that even he could not sense.

The thought was worrisome.

With a furrowed brow, the fallen Jedi Master turned his attentions back to his companion. He cracked an approving smile as she nudged the little lizard. It seemed Cazoa had some handle on her abilities - the woman had talent.

"I'd say you're spot on Cazoa," he mused with quiet approval, "I didn't sense anything else either. Nothing but ghosts in this forsaken place." His smile faded as thunder shook the earth. The storm was coming sooner than expected.

Biting back a curse, Cyril slid up out of his chair, wheeled about the speeder, and held out a hand to Cazoa. He was, after all, a gentleman no matter what else the galaxy might call him.

"The higher caves are a good idea. I really don't want something clawing me in my sleep," he grinned, "I'd rather be awake when I'm disemboweled, thanks."

Snickering, Cyril thumbed his lightsaber and turned toward the caves. The bright blue light of the blade served as a beacon well enough, though if anything wandered nearby they would likely see it. Cyril cared more about seeing where he was going right now than being seen.

"Shall we?"

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

The storm was almost upon them. The dark purple plumes streaked with lightning - at any moment the downpour would begin. The contrast of the blue, cloudless sky looked beautiful next to the giant storm clouds rolling in. Thunder boomed and shook the shadowy earth under Cazoa's feet.

Though she was still in two minds about her connection to the force, Mephirium's agreement and approval of her task had made her feel a little proud and ever more curious as to what she could be capable of. Again, the sense of destiny overcame her as Mephirium offered her his hand. She looked at his fingers and remembered how she had felt upon touching his skin the night before.

'I-' she stuttered. 'I'd better grab the pack.'

Her eyes faltered to the dirt. She stepped to the side of the speeder and leaned over to fetch their supplies. The datapad was flashing in warning - according to its calculations, the storm was less than an hour away, and the scale of severity was rated high. Already the thunder was explosive, how could it get worse?

Cazoa slipped the datapad in her trouser pocket and swung the pack over her shoulder.

'Shall we?' Mephirium prompted.

His lightsaber came to life, casting a cyan glow on the sunless land. Cazoa followed behind. After only a short walk to the edge of the rock formation, she was reminded of the throb in her leg. She dreaded the journey that they would have tomorrow.

'I hope you can climb,' she mused.

Climbing was an easy task for Cazoa - many of her jobs had required her to be skilled in agility; she would make easy work of the steep slope leading up to the caves. With extra careful footing and a lot of gritting through the pain in her leg, she made her way to the mouth of a deep cave. Once more, she extended her senses to search for any threats that might be lurking inside, but she felt nothing. From the pack she pulled a small solar powered lantern and switched it on. She ducked through the entrance as the light illuminated the small space. The cave was small, but large enough for three or four people to lay flat, side by side. It looked like at one time the cave had gone deeper, but the way had been blocked by collapsed sandstone rocks. Satisfied, Cazoa set the pack down on the smooth floor and put the lantern in the corner.

'What do you think?' she asked as Mephirium followed her in. 'It's not exactly five star, but at least we won't be stuck out in that.' She nudged her head towards the entrance.

As if to clarify, the purple plumes opened. The rain began to fall, creating steam as it hit the hot, sun-baked rocks and dirt. The land took a new eerie edge.

Cazoa shuddered and moved back to the pack, unloading the water, some food, and several thin blankets. Two she placed on the floor, and one she managed to stuff between rocks above the small cave mouth. She doubted anything would be out in the weather, but it didn't hurt to hide the light shining from the lantern.

Cazoa settled on one of the blankets, and took a swig of water. The space was small; small enough to feel extremely tense about being in such tight confines with the force that constantly emanated from Mephirium. And equally tense being with Mephirium himself.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]