Escape From Witch Mountain

[Mediha]

There was no rest for her with the sound of the battle outside, Darius's earlier recommendations aside. She heard their cries of pain, the singing of the lightsaber's blade as Darius worked, but she could tell something was wrong when the sounds stopped and Darius had still not returned. On weak arms, Mediha pushed herself up and looked to the door before her jaw clenched in determination and defiance of her own state; she would walk outside if she had to in order to see what was going on. And, if Darius had gotten himself killed, she would--

The man in question stumbled through the door and just as unceremoniously collapsed. Mediha stared at him, then slowly leaned forward until she was on all fours and began crawling to him, dragging the blanket with her.

As she had thought from a distance, he was badly injured and his breathing was shallow. I told him not to fight them in close quarters!

Still ailing herself but fueled by new fury, Mediha's unsteady hands sought out the worst of Darius's injuries. Blood. By the time she had found the wounds in his shoulder and thigh, her hands were coated in it. Mediha's expression was grim, her jaw still clenched against his pain as well as hers. Even the blanket she had brought over would not be enough to staunch these wounds and she had no magick; he might well bleed out while they sat there, and then where would she be?

Unbelievable.

Her eye was drawn away from him as the moonlight returned full force and caught on the shining edge of his lightsaber hilt sitting a few feet from them. Her mind turned sluggishly, but she finally crawled to it, reaching out a bloody hand and taking it in her grip. She had rarely held the weapon before, but she had seen her acolytes use theirs enough times that she recognized how it worked and what it could do. Had seen the burns it left when one of them got too zealous in training.

The gaze she turned to [member="Darius"] was grim.

She scooted back over to his still form and took a moment to gather her strength before she delicately shifted a leg over his so she was half-straddling him and pulled his tunic aside to expose the fang wounds in his shoulder. They were torn, as if the wolf had been ripped away from him with great force, turning punctures into gashes that bled heavily. Mediha adjusted her grip on the hilt and activated the blade, bathing the pair of them in blue light. She was cautious with it, well aware it was too long for her task to be safe, well aware that if she were not careful and in control-- shaking hands, weakened strength and all-- one unfortunate movement from Darius or herself could kill either him or her. For a brief moment, she studied his face, aware that his eyes, though rolling and heavy-lidded, were still conscious. She wished it were otherwise.

"Darius." She braced her hand on his collarbone, avoiding touching the wounds, and leaned on it to put the pressure of her weight behind it. "Brace yourself."

Turning the blade so it aimed away from him, she pressed the edge of the blade to the first of the gashes to cauterize the wound.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

He was in a state of half-conciousness when the lightsaber was applied to his wounds. There was no gauze to staunch the flow of blood; no stitches the seal the wounds closed. The only way to avoid death was to take the path of brutality, and he was not ready for it. His lips parted to speak, but the lightsaber's effect brought him to silence. Then it was a sharp gasp.

Then pain, visceral and overwhelming in its magnitude. One moment he was bleeding, the next his wounds were being super heated. The skin was melted and the cells vaporized. The lightsaber he had so lovingly crafted was used to maim him. The bleeding was staunched in his shoulder; irritated red flesh was left in its wake. The burn marks had charred the skin around it a deep shade of black, something that could only go away with special surgery.

Darius was not silent through the proceedings. His lips parted in a silent scream. So great was his agony that even the primal desire to shout one's suffering in a vain plea for help did not surface. Tears welled up in his eyes as his shoulder was forced shut via unholy means. His fingers grasped at Mediha's arm for some sort of comfort - something human and real to hold on to as he was mutilated.

The leg was worse. He could not keep down his own cries of agony now. His screams were loud and bloodcurdling; the cries of a dying man. [member="Mediha"] was saving his life, but she took something away from him in her process. She stole his invincibility, his overconfidence, the youthful sureness that he could succeed if he only tried hard enough. Darius was quite mortal, and he was coming to understand that now by her hand.

The bleeding was stopped. In place of the wounds: the claws, fangs, and blunt strikes, were long charred marks along his skin. One that ran the length of his thigh. Another carved down his shoulder to his mid-forearm, and a third across his midriff in a slightly jagged pattern. His chest rose and fell violently. Sweat caked his face. He'd held onto his life with the power of the force, and now that same power kept him awake, feeling all the pain at once.

Dark blue eyes stared up at Mediha hazily.

"Is it done?"

 

[Mediha]

He had borne it all awake.

She had tried not to look at his face as she worked, but one glance during the first cauterization had seared his expression into her mind’s eye. After she had started the second, she had prayed silently (for reasons she could not fathom) to the Winged Goddess to grant him respite in unconsciousness. [member="Darius"] had not been so lucky.

The real screams, when they began with the cauterization of his leg, forced Mediha to clamp down not just on him but on herself. She had tried to be careful, to touch as little of his flesh as possible, but they needed to be sealed and the results were not pretty, not clean. It was a hack job done in the moment by an inexpert hand. The charred flesh, though itself not repugnant to her as she had seen burn victims before, was gruesome when compared with the rest of him.

In hindsight, Mediha wasn’t sure how she had prevented herself from bringing up her lunch from so many hours ago. Her experiences with the knife, with sacrifices, were minimal and most often done with magick in some form. It was rare for her to get her hands bloody and usually a sacrifice was for a purpose: the good of the Clan, magickal rituals. This was neither of those things.

The confrontation of his blue eyes and his vague, distracted words brought forth new nausea as Mediha leaned back, lightsaber held away from them both but bathing them in its glow nonetheless.

“It’s done.”

Feeling an inexplicable aversion to seeing Darius’s face so clearly, Mediha deactivated the lightsaber and tossed it from her, sending the hated hilt skittering across the floor of the cargo bay to parts unknown. She didn't care; it had done its work. She could worry about its whereabouts later.

Her stomach churned now and she carefully slid off of him, her whole form shaking more violently than before. She had overexerted herself physically again, but, looking at Darius, she couldn’t find a way to be angry at herself or him for the moment. He was arguably in worse shape than she was.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

He could scarcely hear the clatter of his light saber against the bulkhead. Blood was pumping in his ears and making sense of anything was proving to be a difficult task. The blade was gone, but the pain lingered. It was, thankfully, lessened to a manageable degree. The anguish was still there, and could clearly be seen on his face, but he could function somewhat.

"Thanks," he murmured, his voice shaky, "The Vornskrs are dead or gone. We won't need to worry about them again." It was purely the will of the force that allowed him to speak. Without his training, Darius would not be conscious right now. In hindsight, that might have been a good thing.

"Thank you," he managed as he leaned up into a sitting position. The motion was slow so as to not upset his wounds. That failed miserably. "Get some rest."

With all the energy he could muster, Darius limped over to his chair. He cursed through gritted teeth as he settled into the seat. The intensity of the pain was number, and rest found him shortly thereafter.

He slept until early the next morning. He was losing track of how long he'd been on Dathomir. Master Shatterstar would need a report sooner or later.

Drawing in a deep breath, he prepared to move around once again today.

[member="Mediha"]

 

[Mediha]

Mediha watched him silently as he made it to his feet and limped back to his chair. Thoughts and emotions churned in her, a tangle she didn't have the inclination or thought to sort out.

His thanks evoked surprise in her but it was delivered in the flow of conversation and so she kept her own counsel. She had failed in her promise; she had not kept him safe. He had done that for her. The grimace that twisted her face sprang from emotions she did clearly understand. When Darius had settled back into his chair, she crawled her way back to her own bed, hands sticky and itchy by turns where blood was drying. She pulled the stained blanket carelessly over her and lay staring at the ceiling.

A sharp stab of agony drove through Mediha's abdomen and brought her suddenly awake. At some point she must have drifted off. She sat up abruptly, grabbed the basin [member="Darius"] had gotten for her the first night, and retched what little was in her stomach into it. She pushed it away and leaned heavily on her hands, raggedly panting as her head swam. It wasn't much worse than the night before; the distraction of Darius's agony had given her something to focus on other than her own symptoms, if only briefly. He was already up and moving around. Her body visibly shivered as she looked up at him, gray eyes inevitably catching on the new scars he had earned the night before.

What a pathetic pair we make, she noted absently.

Slowly, she leaned back on her heels. "You're going to injure yourself again." Her voice was grating and harsh. She needed water, but her attention was entirely on him for now. "Don't be a fool."

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Walking was difficult. His limbs were still capable of doing their job, and the bleeding was halted by Mediha's actions, but the pain lingered. Most of the time it was a subtle ache along the marks. When he twisted or turned the wrong way, it became something more similar to the agony he'd suffered during his field surgery. His movements were slow and calculated, all about economy rather than getting anywhere in a timely fashion.

He was turning to inspect the damages to the camp when [member="Mediha"] voiced her concerns.

"I'm injured enough," he spoke through a pained smile, "One of us needs to make sure things are alright. You've done your part -" he pulled himself over toward the ship's entrance, "Let me do mine."

He wasn't going to let her get another word in. Mediha's spirit might have been the stronger of the two, but she needed rest. His wounds were gruesome, but they could not reopen, and the force allowed him some manner of nullification. He could move around and check on things at the very least. If Mediha tried to do such, it was quite likely she would pass out once again. The last thing he needed was to take care of an unconscious woman on a planet he knew next to nothing about.

The perimeter check eased his worried heart. The barriers stood tall. The monsters - Vornskr as he'd come to know them - had not had the time to make another attack after he'd slaughtered half their pack. The creature's corpses still lined the field around the starship. He would live them there for the carrion beasts.

He barred the gate with a slab of wood and returned to the ship. The effort of walking had proven to be taxing, and he allowed himself to fall to the floor alongside Mediha. At some point he'd managed to recover his lightsaber, and now he rolled it in his hands habitually.

"The gates held. We'll be safe for the night." He reached into his pack and produced a water bottle, holding it out to his companion. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

 

[Mediha]

Rude male. Mediha's mouth pulled into a frown and she looked around for a few moments before the pressure in her head forced her to lie back down until Darius returned. Her thoughts were a little more coherent now, which was more than she had expected from the second day. She at least wasn't desiring to immediately sink back into sleep, so she could keep some kind of awareness about her in the event of an emergency. Her magick was still missing, but Mediha also didn't dare try to look to see how much-- if anything-- it had recovered. The physical improvements would need to be enough for now.

Darius was gone for a substantial amount of time. During it, she let her thoughts drift but kept one ear open. Eventually, she heard him returning and turned her head to stare at the door. His movements were slow and stiff; his face was tired. She had warned him.

Mediha continued to turn her head to follow his progress until [member="Darius"] settled beside her, her expression altering as her lip attempted to curl up at the sight of the lightsaber in his hand. She looked away, smoothing the blanket with hands still stained red, a result of her inability to get to a place to wash away the evidence of Darius's brush with death. She didn't have the strength to fight with him-- or just fight him. A small flip of her hand was the only response she gave to his gate announcement and his subsequent rustling around.

Why? Why does he pretend to care? Mediha frowned again, but her expression smoothed out as she sighed. Worse, why would he actually care? Some misplaced sense of... gratitude for his maiming? Camaraderie due to the fight earlier?

A turn of her head brought the water into the focus of her vision. There was a moment's hesitation, then she slowly sat up, reached out and took the proffered bottle, averting her gaze-- in thought-- as she took several drinks to soothe her throat. "Well enough." Let him think she was recovering quickly and not an invalid; it might make him think twice before trying to take advantage of her weakness. Her calculating gaze returned to him, water bottle halfway to her mouth again. "And you?" She took a drink, examining his expression for signs of duplicity.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

He certainly wasn't in the greatest state. The wounds were not healing particularly cleanly. He would need to have some form of surgery once he returned to Sullust, though that was an afterthought right now. He could move, he could do things, that was what mattered. He flashed [member="Mediha"] a shaky smile and nodded.

"I can function. The marks certainly hurt, but..." He rolled his shoulders, "I think I can manage."

Mediha was beginning to recover, or so it seemed. On the first night she had not been able to speak. Now she could sit up and hold a conversation, albeit a short one. That was just fine. The two of them didn't speak much beyond what was needed anyway.

"I won't go until you can get back to your clan safely." He opined as he chewed on a piece of jerky. "I don't have any other obligations. Just focus on getting yourself all back together."

He paused. "What are you going todo with the box?"

[member="Mediha"]

 

[Mediha]

The box.

Fury flared in her, manifesting itself in silent but prolific curses all directed at herself. She had forgotten. How? How had she forgotten to get the box away from him as soon as they were back safely? Where had he put it? Was he daring to taunt her? Is that why he brought up her inability to leave before asking? To rub it all in? Was this where he reminded her of her obligation and tried to claim it rather than simply offering her an alternative deal? She ground her teeth together as she capped the bottle and held it out for him to take back.

"I'll manage, likely before they arrive." Assuming they sent anyone at all; she had said she would be be gone twice as long as she had originally predicted when she had left. She still had a day before they would consider sending a messenger spell for her, not to even consider a human messenger. "The ship won't be repaired today. How much more do you have left to do?" Yes, [member="Darius"] had said he would wait for her, but in the event that his goodwill extended only so long as he was already put out, she intended to have a set schedule for herself. With luck, she would have some magick back before then.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

"Alright. Well, I have the box in the back of the ship. It was whispering to me when it was nearby -- I stored it in one of the crates." He glanced up from his lightsaber. The weapon had both saved his life and brutally mutilated him at the same time. He'd put so much time and love into crafting the weapon; for such memories to muddy his view of it was disheartening. A Jedi's life was his lightsaber. He knew the pain it could cause now, and he would keep that in mind when using it.

No one should suffer unless they absolutely have to.

"Just let me know when you want it." He set the lightsaber on the ground. "Y'know, I spent so long crafting this thing. I went across a few worlds to find all the pieces - fought a giant crystal worm for it. Now it just...I don't know. Maybe it's because the pain is still fresh."

Darius shook his head. "The ship? A few more hours. I've almost finished its repairs."

Pain shot through him. It was a dull ache at first, and quickly grew into something more visceral. The agony was brief, but all too great. His visage twisted into an expression of displeasure.

Then it passed, and all he could do was draw in shuddering breaths.

"How bad do they look Mediha? The scars I mean."

[member="Mediha"]

 

[Mediha]

Mediha was suspicious of his easy agreement; if he could hear the pull of the Stone's magick, she was amazed he hadn't taken a peek at it already. That choice was probably best for his own safety; Mediha wouldn't even open the box until she had more strength left, on the off-chance that it had a trap attached to the locking mechanism.

She watched him tense through the pain, silent. She had saved his life. It should be enough.

When his vanity took over, her eyes traced the scars she could see again, the corner of her mouth pulling down slightly. She couldn't bring herself to be snide about the narcissism, not when [member="Darius"] had that look in his eye and the signs of trying to hold himself together written all over his face.

"Hideous." Her voice was entirely level. An honest answer; charred flesh was not a pretty sight. "If you want them fixed, there are ways, but I doubt you'll find any here. Fixing your ship is the surest way to correct what had to be done."

She glanced at the lightsaber on the floor. "The object will eventually cease to hold its horror for you. If it doesn't, throw it away and make a new one." Her hand extended to offer him his water bottle, her gaze steadily on his.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

At least she was honest.

Darius breathed a heavy sigh and made his way toward the back of the ship, "At least I still have my charming personality," he chimed as he reached for a hydrospanner. There was a loud snapping noise as he set one of the ship's mechanisms into place, and then he returned. His gaze fell to the bottle, then hers. He held it; searching her expression for some kind of answer. What was she feeling right now?

"There's no reason to fix them. My life is service to the Order. My appearance doesn't affect that." The padawan turned away from the Nightsister. The ship would be ready in a matter of hours, so long as he did his job correctly.

"I can't do that. I put months into building it. A Jedi's lightsaber is his life," he glanced down at the weapon. It brought him a small amount of distaste, but he was confident it would pass in time.

"I just hope the burns don't hinder me. There's a war going on. I have to get back to it."

[member="Mediha"]

 

[Mediha]

Mediha's arm fell as [member="Darius"] refused to take the water from her, her expression shifting darkly. Very well. She set it aside and laid down, closing her eyes and setting her arm over them. Her head throbbed faintly, periodically offering stabbing pain to the backs of her eyes, as Darius again explained why he couldn't get rid of the infernal contraption. She had nothing to say in response to his whining; he would do what he wanted, and it didn't affect her at all.

"There is always a war. If you're eager to die, I would leave the scars even if they do hinder you."

She fell silent and rolled over, presenting her back to him and using her arm as a pillow. She fell into a vague, uneasy sleep until she heard him come near again. Though she didn't turn toward him, she did open her eyes, staring at the slanting light along the wall.

"Are you done?"

 

[Cedric Grayson]

"Done enough."

Darius did not say another word to [member="Mediha"] for the rest of the evening. She was a wall, and it seemed whatever connection they might have built meant little. If he asked her anything beyond their current objective, he doubted he would get a single word.

So he went on with his work. He worked through the entire afternoon, through the night, and into the hours of early day. It was only when the ship's reactor came to life and the dashboard came alight with electricity that he allowed himself any sleep.

It was almost mid-day when the padawan finally awoke. His entire body ached, but the pain was far more manageable this time. He felt confident that he could even manage a sprint if he absolutely needed to, though he would do nothing of the sort for its sake alone.

"The ship is ready to move," he said in greeting as he emerged from the shuttle's cockpit. Darius had realized that, when all the fighting came to an end, Mediha was cold. He'd seen some remnant of a person within her earlier; in her moment of weakness. That seemed to be gone now, and that was souring his general opinion on the whole situation.

"We can fly to your village and get you some actual treatment."

[member="Mediha"]

 

[Mediha]

"No."

She was on her feet when he entered, though her expression was drawn and her already pale skin paler, if that were possible. Standing was a strain, but it was at least manageable. The healing process was progressing more quickly than either of them could have expected. The problem at hand was getting home without bringing [member="Darius"] with her. If they saw her exit a foreign ship there would be questions-- and he would die. She might not have time to explain that he had earned his right to leave, and the Sisters would question why she was suggesting that was a possibility at all. Men had no rights but those the Nightsisters allowed them, and outsider males most certainly didn't. Her loyalty, always to the clan, would be challenged; the duels, rituals or penance that would result weren't something Mediha could handle right now.

She forced herself to straighten her spine and adjust the pack over her shoulder and ignored the trembling of her legs. Her expression was smooth as stone only because she forcefully prevented herself from clenching her teeth and ruining the illusion of calm. "I'll take the speeder." There would be two more nights in the jungle at least, she knew, but Darius had places to be. "You've done more than enough."

He had grown distant, somehow, over the course of the last day. Mediha wasn't certain what had occurred to change his attitude toward her unless it had something to do with her role in his scars-- which would be odd, since he hadn't seemed to blame her initially-- but she didn't consider the change to be negative. He could be stalwart. Good. It might be the one thing to save him; rarely did teamwork with strangers end well. Their partnership was evidence enough of that, though their goals were accomplished. She took one step, fingertips still pressed to the wall, eyes on her feet, and then took another, letting her hand fall away. Dizziness held her for a moment, but released her when she remained still. She looked up at him and took a third step forward to bring her close enough to shove his water bottle at the uninjured section of his chest, a fizzle of the previous night's anger and hurt rising in her chest for reasons she didn't understand.

"Where is the Stone?"

 

[Cedric Grayson]

She wasn't going to be doing that.

[member="Mediha"] was still quite weak,and from where Darius stood, it looked like she might fall over at any moment. Part of him wanted to reach out and pull her back in; to keep her from going off and doing anything stupid. It won out, in a way.

"You can barely walk. I'm not letting you go alone," he frowned an stared down at the water bottle she'd thrust against his chest. Breathing a heavy sigh, Darius gently took it from her grasp. "I get it. You don't want your sisters to see me. I don't know why, but I get it." He shook his head. The customs of the Nightsisters were entirely too foreign to Darius. All he saw was a wounded young woman trying to do something very stupid. Stupid enough to get her killed out in that forest. Sure, he'd dealt with the nearby pack of Vornskr, but who was to say she wouldn't run into another pack? A Rancor? The witches they had assaulted the night before? No, he wasn't going to leave her to such a fate, even if she wanted it.

"I'll fly in close enough to make the trip short, but far enough to not be seen. Then you can ride the rest of the way." His hand came to rest on her forearm, if only for a moment. A way to show her that he would not be dissuaded. "Just sit down. I'll bring you the stone. You show me the way, okay?"

Without waiting for her response, Darius made his way toward the back of the ship. A moment's rustling about and he returned with the small wooden box. Simply holding it was enough to make his stomach turn in revulsion. Frowning, he held it out to her.

"It's yours. Now let me fly you home."

[member="Mediha"]

 

[Mediha]

She glared after [member="Darius"] as he released his brief grip on her and left. How dare he tell me what to do. It sounded petulant, but what male had the right to try to command her, no matter his reasons? She stayed standing exactly where she was until he returned and offered her the box. The power oozed from it, promising her everything she ever could have asked for. Carefully, she took the box from him, wishing she dared to open it without looking for traps. If she tapped the Stone, she could return all of her power and possibly alleviate her lingering symptoms. But she didn't. And so she was left tracing the pattern in the top of the box with her fingers, fairly certain they contained some kind of protection spell.

His insistence on helping her grated and ruined her almost awed communion with the item that was just out of her reach. With her magick or even her full physical strength she would have walked out the door the second she had the Stone in her hands. Without it, she simply didn't have the energy to fight with him. Instead, she would have to be cunning with her Sisters and make sure that none of them tied together the knowledge of a shuttlecraft and her arrival home.

"Get the speeder on the ship," she ground out as she turned from him, her face expressing her unhappiness with the situation. Carefully slow step after carefully slow step brought her into the cockpit; the copilot's seat became hers for the time being.

"You want to go West." A look behind her showed he had just entered the cockpit, as she had been able to tell from the sound of his footsteps. "Go until you hit the river. You can drop me on the other side; I will be close enough then."

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Darius didn't much care how angry [member="Mediha"] was with him. He was flying her to her home, and that was final. Sure, it did not benefit him, but he wasn't going to let her die out in the wilderness. Not after what they had gone through in dealing with the witches together. He followed her instructions to the letter, taking turns whenever he was told to and keeping an eye out for this river.

"You gonna forget about me once I leave?" He asked abruptly. He didn't know why the thought bothered him - it just did. They'd become companions if not friends at the very least. He could not completely forget someone he had spent days with, constantly fighting something whether it be Vornskrs or sickness, without needing to. Something told him Mediha would not feel the same way; that he would be less than a footnote in her memories. That bothered him.

His lips parted to speak further, but the massive cloud of billowing smoke in the distance bought his silence. Without a word, Darius turned his attentions to Mediha, lofting a brow.

 

[Mediha]

"As quickly as possible," Mediha drawled dryly, then rolled her eyes. "Of course not. My memory isn't that bad."

What is wrong with him? Her eyes tracked over the jungle, but she occasionally glanced his way. Just like a man; they could never make up their minds. First he was nice, then he was rude, distant and now was asking questions like they had agreed to mate and he wanted to be sure someone would remember him after she was pregnant and he was killed. Was he just too emotional to handle good-byes?

As the ship fell into one of the final turns toward her selected drop zone, Mediha's eyes caught on the edges of a billowing, dark cloud. She leaned forward slightly, almost sure the over-exertion sickness was playing a trick on her mind, a hallucination. But the image stayed and Darius's glance in her direction confirmed that it wasn't just her seeing it.

Something horrible was gibbering at her, though it couldn't seem to find coherent words; she felt her already fast heartbeat speed dangerously and breathing became difficult as her chest tightened.

No. No. It couldn't be.

But it could, a tiny voice whispered back.

"Take us there," she demanded, voice breaking and faintly widened eyes beginning to brighten with horror. [member="Darius"] obeyed, but every passing minute made her grip on the box tighten. When he was close enough to land in one of the open spaces, the full brunt of the scene hit them. There was no mistaking the burned and smoking huts, the bodies lying in the sun, the torn dirt streets.

She was out of her chair and stumbling to the door, barely stable on her feet but desperate to get outside. While Darius had to power down his shuttle, Mediha was closing the distance between safety and tragedy. She fell into the edge of the door, the wall, to her knees, but she picked herself up each time, her grip on the box unfailing. The ramp proved to be the most difficult of the tasks: she fell down it, turning end over end twice before she landed on flat ground. Dried blood pooled not far from her, the last remnants of life from the fallen Nightsister who lay near where they had set down. Her location in proximity to the jungle, and her position, showed that she had tried to flee from what must have been an overwhelming surprise attack. The bloody ragged hole in the back of her tunic showed where a blade of some kind had gone through her.

Mediha stayed sitting, staring over the carnage just in her line of sight until the sound of Darius's boots on the ramp behind her half-roused her and she began to try to pull herself to her feet, eyes staring down the road of decimated homes. Nothing moved; no one came to see if the shuttle was another attack.

There has to be someone.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Darius had feared this was no natural fire. When [member="Mediha"] spoke of her desire to land, his stomach turned. She knew exactly what this was, and Darius had a vague idea as well. His fears were confirmed as the shuttle came to rest on the outskirts of the village. He could see the ruined buildings from the skies, and the bodies were quite distinct in the blood stained streets. This was a witch village, and judging from Mediha's reaction, she knew them.

He wanted to help her. Whatever it was she was trying to do, he would try to assist her. She would not try running the way she did for nothing. Something terrible had happened here, and Mediha knew the victims. This was her village.

The padawan had sympathy for the Nightsisters, despite what they were. This was no attack - it was a slaughter. No survivors came out to greet them. No warriors rushed out to attack. There was nothing but the slow-burn of the village buildings.

He was out of the ship the moment it powered down. His lightsaber felt heavy in his hands as he stepped down onto the muddy earth. His gaze shifted to the corpse of the fleeing Nightsister; blue eyes narrowing as they caught sight of the whole in her chest. Whoever had attacked had no intention of leaving any survivors.

He stayed close to Mediha, though he did not dare speak. His cowl was drawn over his face, partly for his own comfort, and partly in reverence to the deceased.

"I have your back." Darius murmured solemnly. He had nothing else to say. This was...terrible. Carnage in its rawest form. He extended his senses outward, looking for something, anyone who might still be alive.

He felt nothing.