Escape From Witch Mountain

[Mediha]

"If you say so," Mediha replied. The object she had been holding since the hallway suddenly saw action as she rapidly threaded the string around the strange loom, looping and crossing the twine-like material in a configuration her hands had learned a hundred times until she tied it with a flourish. The Clan Mother braced herself, but nothing happened in the shrine. Mediha looked over Jiyai's shoulder briefly, meeting [member="Darius"] 's gaze as he nodded. He was going to take the box.

If you betray me I will hunt you down and make you wish you had died in my net.

Shouts echoed from the hallway behind her, originating from the upper levels of the Singing Mountain village. Jiyai's eyes glanced over Mediha's shoulder, and the witch took her small advantage.

Shards of hardened light rained down, shattering against Jiyai's hastily raised shield and the floor, leaving slivers of green magick coating the floor. Several snuck around the shield as Mediha changed their originating point, cutting through the woman’s clothing and skin.

Mediha knew she had incensed a Clan Mother who was now fueled by concern for her people. It could make her attacks more dangerous or it could distract her enough for her to make a mistake.

Jiyai rushed at the younger witch, still shielding herself, and stabbed in with the spear. Mediha dove aside, her concentration on the rain spell broken, and rolled over immediately, wreathed in her own power. She tossed up her hands, and the fog of power coalesced into a ghostly bird that darted at Jiyai's face, haunting scream echoing in the cavern and masking the shouts still coming from the hallway.

The chieftain turned aside and flung up an arm as the light being struck her, her magick barely holding the furious creature back. When it finally shattered, sending its slivers to the floor, Jiyai didn’t spare a moment.

Moving in close enough and quickly enough that Mediha couldn't retaliate effectively, Jiyai jabbed the spear at her face. Mediha dodged it, barely, and felt the edge of the blade slice along her cheek seconds before her opponent twisted the spear and slammed the side of the shaft into her. Reinforced by magickal strength, the hit sent Mediha sailing back into the wall. A short cry escaped her as she struck and sank to the floor. Magick was opalescent around Jiyai in preparation for a final strike as Mediha looked up, exhausted physically and magickally.

Mediha glanced past her to Darius and clenched her jaw. Get the box.

In a moment, Jiyai had turned and thrown her spear at Darius. Mediha’s look had finally reminded her of the companion she had brought with her. "Absolutely not, slave!" She thundered, another spear manifesting in her hand as she rushed at him. Her skill was not so prone to mistakes as his last opponent's had been, and the strikes she aimed at him were all dangerous, all too on target.

While Jiyai fought with Darius, Mediha pushed herself to her feet, aura expanding, brightening.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

They were running out of time. The screams of other Nightsisters above were all too clear in Darius' ears. Soon they would have more warriors falling upon them, and the Clan Leader was proving challenging enough for the duo. Thankfully [member="Mediha"] had managed to draw the woman's attentions long enough for him to reach the box. So long as they had that, they could escape without much further issue.

He reached for the box. Something sharp pierced his side. It did not penetrate far, getting caught on the durasteel breast plate he wore into combat, but blood was drawn. The pain was intense. Biting back a curse, Darius snatched up the box and stuffed it into his jacket just as the woman prepared the second spear. Darius wrenched out the first -- tearing skin and causing some rather troubling bleeding in the process.

By the stars that hurt.

The spear came toward him. Darius's lightsaber came up to meet it. Its point bounced off the energy blade and the weapon was cast aside. Darius took his chance. He charged the clan leader, lightsaber humming for the woman's center mass. He doubted he would be able to hit her -- it was likely she would use some sort of spell to teleport away -- but that wasn't the intention.

He just needed to buy Mediha enough time to maim the woman so that she could not fight any longer, or kill her.

 

[Mediha]

Jiyai didn't teleport away, face set in a stony mask of determination and poorly restrained anger. This Clan Mother was a warrior. She brought her shield up to bear, stepping aside and using the shield to guide the attack away from her. The shield held for a moment, but the physical strength Darius had leveled behind strike ultimately shattered the shield, leaving Jiyai alive but off-balance. Instantly, her hand was already opening for a new spear to manifest itself for the chieftain's preferred fighting style.

Panting, the Nightsister watched the battle between Clan Mother and Jedi for a moment as she gathered her thoughts and the last vestiges of her power. Mediha couldn't see where the spear had hit [member="Darius"], but she could tell he was injured. His attacks, to his credit, barely faltered, but there was a lack of grace in his movements that couldn't be attributed to sheer clumsiness. He continued to hold his own against Jiyai, though-- for the moment.

Her thoughts about Jiyai were not kind. While on one level she understood the woman's motivations, a larger part of her could only acknowledge that she was standing in her way. Mediha knew she didn't have long; her trap was draining a great deal of her power. The more the warrior witches fought against it, the more she had to fuel it to keep it active so that they would stay distracted, and so every moment made the battle more costly. The final blow had to be dealt and swiftly.

The stinging in her cheek was a faint annoyance that broke through her heavy thoughts. Mediha reached up with one pale hand to wipe it across the cut, soothing the sting for a moment. As she lowered her hand, her eyes fell to the smear of blood across her palm and an idea sparked to life.

This is a last resort, her teacher's voice echoed in her mind. It can bring you to heights of power you might be too weary or too weak to otherwise attain, but it will come with a cost. If you can afford to take the penalty after, if you can keep yourself from overstepping the boundary of death, it can be worth it.

Mediha reached into her shirt and withdrew the item she had hidden there before she and Darius had entered the room. The small idol of the Fanged God was filled to the brim with power, her power; it was a faint ember compared to the blaze of the Stone, but it was the accumulation of years of small donation after small donation. A nightly ritual that was going to pay off now-- or see her dead.

After wiping her hand more purposefully across the oozing cut, wrathful gaze fixed on Jiyai, Mediha held the idol firm and smeared her blood across the front of it, opening the bridge between herself and the idol and binding them together by feeding it her own essence. The sudden surge of power roared through her, causing every nerve ending to tingle from the unexpected energy she had unwisely given to already tired cells. With the technique, a body becoming devoid of life and strength suddenly had the heady feeling of being fully refreshed, and, as usually happened with a rush of adrenaline, the recipient didn't stop to think but acted with full rash intent.

A pillar of clouds billowed out of nothingness, rising from the ground and extending up to form a bank of poisonous-looking green fog between Mediha and the others. Her hands continued to rise into the air as a guide for the sizable working, her eyes following the motion of her spell. The fog began to darken, become opaque, and from it stepped an unusually large and unusually aggressive ghostly rancor. Mediha always had the ability to make her illusions solid, a variant on Summoning she had learned and adapted as an acolyte. The size of the monster that stepped forth, though, might usually be beyond her art if she expected to do anything else that day. Here, now, it wasn't a problem, and Mediha clenched her teeth and ordered her creation forward. With a bellow, it charged the pair of duelists, but its burning eyes were clearly fixed on one person.

Jiyai turned abruptly at the sound and looked up, eyes wide, just before she was battered away from Darius as the Rancor's charge snapped her up and tore into her. The sickly billowing clouds of its creation followed it, fueling it as it ripped Jiyai limb from limb, the carnage only barely hidden from the others by the rancor's form; the shrieks did not last long.

The Rancor let out a bellow of triumph, and Mediha let her hands drop, already feeling the strain of the sudden influx and departure of power though the power hadn't been fully used yet. The problem with the idol was its temporary nature; yes, the power was stored indefinitely, but, when called upon in that manner, it burnt out much more quickly, and the physical energy it sapped in filling and then emptying the conduits of power in a witch left her spent and useless. The rancor spell went on for another few moments, the illusion beast feasting on its prey, and then Mediha raised a hand and dismissed it with a few waves. The remaining power from the idol Mediha redirected to her trap and kept it to a slow trickle; it was all she could afford.

"We need to leave," she declared to Darius, still staring at the mangled body of Jiyai. When she went to take a shaky step, Mediha felt her legs give out under her, and she collapsed to the floor again, slumping over to rest her head on the cold stone for a moment. There was nothing left. Physically, she was spent; magickally, she had little left to give, and it was all going to her trap now.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

[member="Mediha"] was down. The monster she had crafted from her magicks had utterly devoured clan leader, much to Darius' distaste. The sound of bone being crushed and flesh ripping apart was enough to make his stomach turn. The screams had just made things worse. He'd watched in horror as the woman was ripped limb from limb; as her blood was splattered across the cave walls. Was this really worth whatever lay within the box?

The Padawan shook his head. He needed to find some form of peace; a calm amidst all the chaos. Otherwise neither of them were going to be getting out of this cave. He turned toward Mediha.

For all her power, the Nightsister was fragile. She had seemed small before, but here, with her sprawled across the floor in a moment of weakness. She was tiny. He had a shrewd of sympathy for her, and a token of thanks for her help in dealing with the clan leader. Still, her magicks had left him quite disturbed.

"The witches will be here soon. I can hide us in the shadows, but if any get close, you need to turn them away." He instructed as he leaned down to scoop the woman up. She was relatively light, and Darius certainly wasn't weak.

Carrying her in both arms, he made his way toward the mouth of the cave, shrouding himself as best he could in the force as well as sticking to the shadows to avoid detection. The box was safe, and so was Mediha so long as he had her. Things might not turn out as badly as he'd suspected.

"Are you wounded?" He whispered as they came out of the cave. Following his memory, the Padawan began a slow trek around the village toward the path leading to their speeders, avoiding witches all the while.

 

[Mediha]

Mediha would have protested [member="Darius"] 's cavalier treatment of her person if she wasn't so exhausted. Instead she silently allowed him to lift and quickly carry her from the shrine where Jiyai's decimated corpse awaited her follower's attentions. They would be in a state of political upheaval and might try for retribution as a way to solidify the position for whoever took over afterward. She would have to tell Mother Forine that.

"If any see us," she replied, voice a drawl with a laziness born of exhaustion and not temperament, "You'll have to drop me and turn them away yourself." She was busy trying to keep herself collected enough that she didn't lose her grip on her trap. There was nothing left for her to give without going beyond overexertion and into certain death. As the pair wound their way up the shadowy passages of the Mountain Clan's home, vying for their freedom by avoiding any floor exits they didn't absolutely need to take, it was Mediha's only concern.

Three times they had to cross out of the tunnels into clan areas. They encountered no trouble as the witches were busy with the trails of magick Mediha had threaded behind them as they descended, though the problem was fainter and it seemed more like relief efforts now than the frantic movements of battle. Huts burned; floors shone with what could be blood or water in the lighting that was now more muted than before. On the final floor before their exit, there was still a battle being waged between what looked like a sluggish but formerly formidable shadow giant of some type. Mediha watched the Singing Mountain witches with dispassionate eyes as the fleeing Jedi and Nightsister passed by unnoticed.

Let the outside village be empty when we reach it.

The village was not entirely empty, but Darius seemed to be utilizing a mask to keep them from magickal notice at least and his roundabout circuit would keep them out of sight until they reached the opening for the oath. His inquiry into her health came around the same time as a fresh bout of nausea washed over her. She closed her eyes against it and took a moment before she answered.

"No. Not as you mean." She swallowed against the nausea, firmly reminding herself that she didn't actually need to be sick. There was still a several hour long hike to commence before they made it to the bottom of the mountain. The witches would swarm like a hive of angry wasps once they discovered why they had been attacked. The only boon was that the magick couldn't be tied back to the Spider Clan or her and no one lived who had seen them.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Right. So wounded, just...not wounded. That simplified things. (?)

Darius didn't pay [member="Mediha"] much mind. He would sense it if her heart stopped beating, and while she seemed quite weak within the force; fading even, she was not dead. Not yet. He needed to get her as far away from these witches as possible. Biting back a curse, he called upon the force to bring strength back to his limbs. It was a slow process at first, and was slowed by the amount of power he was using to keep them both hidden from their pursuers.

Still, he managed.

A few minutes later and they were beyond the boundaries of the camp. He had no doubt the witches would begin scouring the forest for them soon enough. His worst fears would be coming to live - a terribly negative part of him kept imagining rancors prowling the woods for the duo.

Not a lovely thought.

"I'll get us to the speeder .Just keep you strength," Darius muttered as he jogged through the underbrush. The trail was a long one, but Darius had motivation.

They would make it.

 

[Mediha]

Mediha lost track of time.

Somewhere between safely escaping the limits of the village and the final steep section of the descent, she began fading in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of movement and the body she was pressed against, but her surroundings coming in disjointed flashes. The head she had rested against his shoulder when she had cancelled her trap spell eventually lolled aside, offering Mediha an upside down view of the world when she was cognizant enough to see it.

As promised, the did eventually make it to the speeder. Mediha came to enough to recognize the darkened flat jungle before her without knowing how [member="Darius"] had managed to navigate the mountain trail alone in the dark. She glanced down-- up?-- at his face and lifted her head slightly. That was a mistake. Her head swam and her stomach churned in rebellion.

"Down," she demanded, sounding faintly panicked.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Mediha was his key to survival on this planet. He'd forged a deal with the Nightsisters through her - a deal that would keep him alive. Part of him worried for her well being as a person. He was a Jedi after all, and murderer or not, [member="Mediha"] deserved his compassion just as anyone else would have.

His thoughts shifted to [member="Kinsey Starchaser"] for a moment. What would she have thought of his decision? He sent a simple nudge through their bond - a sign that he was safe enough - and settled Mediha into the speeder. He didn't intend to keep her so close any longer than he needed to, otherwise she might bite his fingers off.

"We're not dead," he sighed, "I'd say we did well enough."

The speeder made a low whirring noise as its engines came to life. Darius offered his exhausted companion a half-smile. They'd succeeded more or less.

"You lucid?"

The speeder took off into the jungle.

 

[Mediha]

She had not been clear about why she wanted him to put her down, obviously, as he settled her onto their transportation rather than the solid ground. Mediha, with the last of her willpower, refused to let her stomach disobey her as Darius settled behind her and reached around her to start the speeder.

Oh no.

The speeder moved forward just as she risked opening her mouth to stop him, and she found herself grabbing for the handlebars for balance. At that point, her willpower was nothing compared to the requirements of her body. All Mediha could do was turn her head, one hand on the speeder and the other pushing [member="Darius"] away, and empty the contents of her stomach as far to the side of the speeder as she could. It was whisked away by the wind and their momentum, thankfully, but she was sure that when light was shed on the situation it wouldn't all have been left behind. She spit the last of the taste in her mouth aside when she was done and raised a weak, shaking hand to her face to wipe away the clammy sweat that had broken out over her skin.

Over-extension sickness.

She cast a look at Darius that was miserable and baleful all at once, then gripped the handlebars loosely-- enough to balance herself but not enough to take the control from him-- and rested her forehead on one forearm. The next several hours were going to be difficult but, as Darius had pointed out with overwhelming optimism, they had survived. That was an indication that she shouldn't succumb to death now.

Ship. How much farther to the ship? To ask the question against the rushing wind would only stir up her stomach again, which Mediha wasn't going to do when she knew it would only be happening again later.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

That was certainly an answer. Darius' stomach turned with worry as she sprayed the contents of her stomach over the forest behind them. So much for masking their scent from the witches. If they were lucky, they'd made enough headway for their hunters to lose the trail. The ship was not particularly close - both a boon and a curse. The witches were going to have a terribly difficult time finding it, but there seemed to be a very strong possibility [member="Mediha"] might fade away before they arrived.

She had put to much of her power to use in combat with the clan chief. Her essence was slowly ebbing away, and her strength went with it. They had come far enough - Darius had no intention of letting her die now. He let the force guide them back to the ship, a trip that would take several hours and stretch into the dead of night.

"Just sleep," he mumbled just barely audible over the winds. It was less a command, and more a worried suggestion. She wasn't going to be doing much of anything in her current state, and she would need to have as much strength as she could muster by the time they arrived at the ship.

In all honesty, Darius doubted that would be the case. She wasn't in the best shape. It was quite likely she was going to be out of commission for the night - perhaps even a number of days.

When they arrived at the camp, they found it abandoned. Animals had clearly prowled through it. Massive claw marks were carved into the wooden walls, and the ground was pulled up in a number of places around the outskirts. Perhaps a pack of beasts? No matter.

Darius parked the speeder, and closed the makeshift gate behind them - he shoved a few more wooden pillars into the ground.

"Let's get you up," he spoke just as much to himself as he did Mediha. He was exhausted himself, but one of them needed to keep the other alive.

So long as the Nightsisters did not protest, he would lift her up and carry her to the makeshift bed he'd made for himself the night before. The beasts were likely still nearby, and if he was going to deal with them, he needed to know she was safe.

 

[Mediha]

The mumbled suggestion from [member="Darius"] did not fall on deaf ears, though Mediha made no sign she had heard him. Truthfully, she was already slipping back into sleep-- or maybe unconsciousness-- and she let the current take her where it would, abandoning her physical form and its safety to Darius's hands without a second thought.

She woke, shivering, when the speeder finally stopped, the loss of its lulling movement drawing her out of the stupor. Her eyes cast about, barely recognizing the crash site. When an arm slid around her, she instinctively, and poorly, tried to pull away, but it was a knee jerk reaction that settled almost instantly. She reached out a hand to weakly grasp his shoulder and pushed up with her legs, trying to help him raise her as best she could; when she realized how easy he found it to lift her, she sighed and let him take over, eyes half-lidded as she watched his face, thoughts nowhere near cognizant though she thought there was something concrete floating beneath the surface, waiting for her to be stable enough to present itself.

As he settled her onto the makeshift sleeping roll, Mediha was reminded that there had been a deal brokered between them, the Stone for protection. She was no fool, though. She recognized when she was in no shape to fulfill her half of the bargain in any way other than to protect him from her distant Sisters.

Almost unwillingly, she closed her aching eyes and curled up on herself, fighting off shivers that had nothing to do with being chilled. This was going to get worse; if she was lucky, it would be a short sickness. If she was unlucky, it would be days before she was well.

Make it short. The Jedi won't be here past tomorrow. It was unlikely his repairs would take days; Mediha needed to beat this quickly-- as if it were her choice what her body did now that it was all but stripped of her magick. Empty. She was so empty.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

She hadn't offered much by way of resistance, which was good. He didn't need to spend half the night convincing her to sleep while great beasts were on the prowl. He could sense them at the edge of the tree line. They had been watching as he brought Mediha in - had smelled her weakness. She was easy prey, and right now, so was he. Fortunately the wooden spikes had kept them from making any attempts.

Still, Darius heard them prowling around the edge of the camp for the majority of the night. There had been at least four, maybe more. He could not tell how large the creatures were from the sounds or the force, but he reckoned they were large enough to pose him a threat. They were clearly some kind of pack hunters, and that meant that even the smallest members of their group could be the death of him.

He lay in dreamless sleep until morning's first light forced him to awaken. He'd made his bed in the pilot's chair of the ship - the only piece of furniture with any kind of cushioning or any form of comfort. Throughout the night he'd kept an eye on Mediha, occasionally giving her water to make sure she retained her fluids. When the dawn came, his first action was to look over the nightsister.

Throwing a tunic over his bare chest, the padawan made his way to the back of the ship where [member="Mediha"] slept.

"Morning," he mumbled quietly, "Eat."

He set a small cup of caf down alongside some of the rations he'd brought with him - Nerf jerky to be exact. She needed it more than he did.

 

[Mediha]

The night was fitful for Mediha. She slept and woke at intervals, sometimes at Darius's insistence, sometimes to bring up more bile and sometimes just to acknowledge the continuing tremors that wracked her clammy form before she sank back into the dreamless realm that was meant to help her heal. Breathing was difficult with how her heart was slamming against her ribs, every so often a mis-beat catching her unaware and driving her again out of her rest.

Mediha had slept through the dawn somehow, waking only when [member="Darius"] came to her and woke her for a meal. Everything ached, her mind was sluggish, and her cheek stung from where Jiyai's spear had marked it the day before. Food, though. Food would help her. As her fingers crept toward the jerky, the first of her faculties broke through the fog blocking her reason, even if it was only for a moment.

Is he trying to poison me? Mediha stared at the jerky and then flopped over, lifting one hand to point at the speeder. The point of her finger wavered as tremors shook her arm. Trying to think through a haze and a pounding headache was not easy, and Mediha shivered several times. She let her hand fall so that she could rub it over her sticky neck.

"Third pack," she said shortly. "Main pocket." Her supplies were there, food taken from the Clan or gathered in the jungle along the way. Food that was safe from poison-- probably, if he hadn't gotten to the packs-- and likely more substantial than the dried substance Darius was trying to feed her. There was a reason he was probably trying to kill her, outside of the whole Nightsister/Jedi relationship, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what it was.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Darius had stored the box in a safe place in the back of the ship. There it would be undisturbed by whatever tried to bring harm to those within. If it was as important as [member="Mediha"] had made it out to be, then Darius had a feeling he would need to keep it safe, even if it brought him physical harm. There it would remain until Mediha regained some of her strength, and he would give it to her when the time came.

His expression twisted in confusion as she refused the jerky. Why? Did she still think he was going to try and kill her? Breathing an audible sigh, he tore off a piece with his teeth, chewed, and swallowed.

"It's clean." He stated plainly. Rolling his eyes, the padawan pushed up to his feet, and made his way out toward the speeder. Once outside, he took a moment to examine the damage the beasts had done to the camp exterior. Deep gouges marred the outer side of the wood. The earth at the base of the spires was uprooted and torn away. Thick black hair clung to parts of the wood where the beasts had gotten a bit too overzealous.

They really had been trying. He would need to make some repairs before night came.

He chewed on the jerky thoughtfully as he searched for Mediha's pouch. A moment later and he returned to the ship, dropping the supplies next to her once he'd cleared the doors.

"Some of the beasts were prowling the walls last night. They have our scent, and I'm sure they'll be back once night falls," he explained, "I can deal with them. Just try to shut out the noises when it happens."

 

[Mediha]

She just stared at him when he tested the food to prove its safety to her, too ill to bother with thinking about it any further. When he left, Mediha turned her gaze to the ceiling, wallowing in misery until his reappearance. Thoughts sometimes tried to push to the surface, but Mediha, in a rare mood, forcefully avoided them. There was nothing to think about right now. There was nothing but survival and over-exertion sickness.

[member="Darius"] tossed the pack beside her, and Mediha ignored him in favor of flipping the pack open with one hand and digging inside for food. When she came out with something-- anything was better than dried meat-- she pushed the bag toward him.

"You, too," she croaked as she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. The effort made her grimace and close her eyes, but she made it. She slumped sideways into the nearest wall, pushing back slightly until she was comfortably leaning against it, but she did make it. A few moments passed as she got her bearings, then she opened the wrapping and bit into the cold meat-filled roll.

The beasts were a problem. Mediha wished she had some strength left; it would be nothing to dissuade them with some well-placed stings. Or, at the least, she could offer recommendations. Staring at the floor or at him without any real focus while she chewed was an example of her multitasking abilities at present.

"Pack or lone beast?" she asked, leaning her head back only for it to loll over onto her shoulder as she watched him. She wiped at her cheek again and her hand came away coated in paint. It took a long moment for her to acknowledge it, and then she sighed as a particularly strong bout of tremors ran through her. No wonder she felt disgusting-- other than the symptoms from her fight with Jiyai.

"Cloth? A clean one?" The words were coherent. That was pretty impressive.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

She was offering food? What in Corellia's Nine Hells was this? [member="Mediha"] was cold-hearted from what he'd seen of her previously. Some might even say cruel, given the way she had chosen to dispatch the clan leader from earlier. He expected grudging agreement and generally disdain. Not for the nightsister to offer to share her food. He lofted a brow in silence.

"Thanks," he reached over to pick up one of the rolls. He sniffed it, rolled it in his hands, bit down. It wasn't the greatest meal he'd ever been treated to, but it was better than surviving on dried jerky for the next few days. Her slow motions were telling enough. Darius knew he wasn't going to be leaving Dathomir for a few days. He could not leave her to fend for herself until she was capable of doing so - not in good conscience.


"Try not to over-extend yourself. We really don't want to kark up the healing process." He pointed out with obvious worry. The longer she was out, the longer he was here. Part of him simply wanted to see her get better. He chose to rely on the latter for his true feelings on the matter. "If I'd progressed further in my training I might be able to help. As it is..." he shrugged, "Pretty useless."

The beasts?

"A pack. Four or five I'm thinking. Large enough to pose a threat. They carved some pretty deep gouges into the walls last night. Their howling kept me up." he frowned as he finished the roll. "I've had bad experiences with hounds. I...really don't like them."

Terrified of them actually.

He lofted a brow. She wanted a cloth? Okay. Darius pushed up to his feet and made his way toward the front of the ship. A few minutes of digging around and he returned with a small white cloth, offering it to the woman.

"For the paint?"

[member="Mediha"]

 

[Mediha]

She made a sound that was half-grunt in agreement to his question and took the cloth from him. Wiping dried paint off with a dried cloth was not particularly fun, but it was the best she could do. The sweat coating her skin helped somewhat. Vaguely, she was aware that removing her paint exposed her true face to him, something even her acolytes had never seen, but she didn't care at the moment. He would be gone in a matter of days; it wouldn't matter then anyway.

Her thoughts drifted to other topics she had presented as she finished her roll and continued wiping the paint from her face and neck. Hounds. Pack hunters against one man. Dangerous.

"Don't take the fight to them. Stronger walls, pick the dominant target, kill it from a distance." Her hands fell into her lap as she drew her knees the rest of the way up. The disheveled young woman that stared back at [member="Darius"], white paint still faintly tinging patches of her skin and tucked into the crevasses of her face, did not look to be the same creature who had interrupted him a night earlier or battled an experienced Clan Mother and won.

The effort of removing the paint and eating had taken its toll. Her breathing was heavy, her limbs shaking, and she rested her head on her knees as her stomach began to turn over the food she had offered to it.

The Singing Mountain Clan. They won't wait. They'll come and... warnings. I need to warn the Clan and we need to not be here when they arrive.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

"I'm from Endor. I had to deal with this kind of thing from time to time," he explained as he turned to look out the ship's window. The creatures were not far from their camp. He could sense them out in the woods. They were hunting other game now, but when night fell, they knew the ship's inhabitants would be easy pickings. Darius would have to protect the both of them.

He turned to speak to Mediha, but her appearance made him pause. She looked less like a witch and more like a woman now. Sick, broken, and struggling to draw breath, but a woman nonetheless. It broke one of the barriers that had been erected when they'd first met. He had not seen her as someone; rather as something. The subtle thought had been in the back of his head until this moment - the one that told him to leave her.

He couldn't do that now.

"You look nice without the paint." It was the best compliment he could come up with. Something to try and break the tension that had been steadily building between the two of them. He knew how she thought of him, and for a time he had seen her in a similar light. Now she was relying on him to survive, and things had to be different.

"I'm going to repair the walls, see what I can scrounge up. Just rest, alright?"

[member="Mediha"]

 

[Mediha]

She raised her head just enough to stare at him, then lowered her head back down to her knees when he announced his intentions. The nausea was still present, but it wasn't pressing-- yet. It would wait a little longer.

The brunette heard him leave when she didn't respond. She sat like that for a while, then, as she started to doze off, dared to return to the sleeping roll. As with the night before, she spent the day sleeping on and off with her illness waking her for one reason or another. [member="Darius"] was a presence now and again, possibly checking in on her, but it was in her localized perception, the uncanny feeling someone was near rather than any reflection of his Force presence in her magickal senses.

By the time night fell, Mediha was awake again, exhausted but unable to sleep, shivering constantly, head aching and stomach roiling. She turned onto her side and curled up against the sensations, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. Outside, a nearby howl added a new depth to her shaking: fear. The pack was back, and she could not help Darius. Mediha's eyes moved to the window, gazing at the blazing light of the moon outside, a light occasionally obscured by clouds moving across its face. At least he would not go into the fight blind.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The hounds were coming.

He'd heard them as dusk began to fall. It was a soft pitter-patter of feet at first. Then it was the quiet shaking of the brush. Such sounds eventually gave way to snarling and gnashing teeth - the beasts were fighting one another as animals were wont to do. Then night fell, and all was silent. Darius had erected a new section of protective pillars to reinforce the first. It would be enough to keep the monsters at bay, but he could not allow them to leave unharmed. Otherwise they would keep returning, and eventually they would succeed.

He heard the how, and his attentions shifted to Mediha.

"I'll take care of it." Without another word, the padawan strode out from the safety of the starship. He drew his cowl over his head, and called upon the force to guide him. He felt it overtake him, its will controlling his motions. It was a natural process; one he'd learned to perfect while training under Master Shatterstar. He would not perish here. There were things he had to do. He had a destiny.

His lightsaber hissed as it came to life. He left the safety of the gate. Six large wolves prowled just beyond his eyesight. He could see glowing yellow eyes and sharp teeth reflected in the blue light. Some snarled. Others barked. Then one pounced.

Its claws stretched out to gore Darius, but he was faster. His blade cut a blue arc through the air as it severed the creature's head. Its cohorts were already on the attack. Pointed fangs drove deep into his thigh, and warm sticky blood dribbled from the wound. Claws carved long, thin marks down his forearm. One of the beast's knocked him down with its bulk.

A gaping maw came down for his neck. The lightsaber removed the creature's snout. Darius sprung up to his feet, and impaled the mutilated wolf with the blade, then spun and bisected another. A third managed to clamp its fangs onto his shoulder, and was thrown into one of the nearby trees via telekinesis hard enough to snap its spine.

The remaining wolves fled.

With what strength he had that remained, Darius managed to wander in and close the gate behind him. He stumbled into the cargo hold of the ship, and collapsed at the foot of the door, his lightsaber rolling from his fingertips. His wounds were too gruesome; he'd lost too much blood. His strength was ebbing away. It was all he could do to hang on to his own life via the power of the force.

[member="Mediha"]