Heralds of Isolation (Ire'Rain)

[Mr. OOC]

[Note: This thread takes place between Barrien's capture and his battle on Neimoidia.]

The cell was dark. Water dripped down the wall, trickling into smalls trails that ran across the rust stained floors to a corroded drain. The same drain that served as the latrine for the occupant. There were torturous screams that rained through the halls at times. Among them, laughs of corrosive enjoyment. It was like watching dogs big cats play with their meal, except you couldn't see it, you could just hear it, which left more to the imagining.

Kneeling off to the side of the chamber was Barrien. His face still bore the mark of electricity, scoured and burnt. On top of that: scraped away skin from being thrown across the ground. A large bruise darkened his temple. Despite all of this, he knelt quietly, not giving in to the pain. Nor did he use the Force to block it out.

Blood no longer dripped from his wounds. It hadn't for a while now. They'd done something about that, since he was supposed to be healthy enough to fight. Binders kept him from doing anything himself. He could no more touch the Force. Though he knew it was temporary, a side effect of the binders as he was told, it did nothing to assuage the sense of loss that pervaded him.

His mind drifted back to Contruum. The Lady Sith. Something was wrong with her. Something that changed who she was. If he survived he would have to find out what it was somehow. Somehow he felt that he had to. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to relax his mind to ease the pain. If he was going to survive, he needed to be prepared.

[member="Ire'Rain Sekairo"]

 

[Ire'Rain Sekairo]

There was still blood on her shirt. A non-too-casual mark of crimson on the otherwise clean, white blouse. It was leftover from her dealings on Panatha. She had fought tooth-and-nail against the traitors, those who sought to overthrow her Master, but they had ruined the palace anyway. Taking care of what remained had kept her busy, even as her brethren fought on Contruum. Twice so far she had been assaulted by surviving members of the rebel forces. Twice now she had killed them without as much as a second, or even first, thought. The most recent time, however, had left her with a nasty gash on her chest.

While bacta could have fixed it up within hours, she had opted to let it heal naturally. Something about the process of regeneration, however slow or painful it could be, left her feeling a little more alive than she usually did. Despite the protests of her kin, she had left Panatha with nary a bit of 'modern medicine'. Just a few stitches, bandages, and a single dose of painkillers. By the time she had reached Neimoidia said dose had worn off. The friction of the wound against her clothes was only moderately uncomfortable for her. She had been through worse, and the pain was a non-too-casual reminder to herself. Be more careful, it said, keep an eye out.

People had given her a few odd looks for walking around in a bloody shirt. For the most part she had sidestepped their glances, ignoring the burn of their stares. Eventually most of them caught sight of the lightsaber clipped to her belt. That was enough to get them to turn away. A harsh look from her sent the rest, those who hadn't seen her blade, on their way. Ire'Rain didn't understand their aversion to her 'choice' in clothing. Most of those she passed were criminals or slavers. What did it matter if she didn't attempt to look like she was a good person? Blood was something these people had seen before. It didn't seem like a big deal for her to have an 'ol splash of red on her.

This wasn't even the shirt she had been stabbed in. It was a fresher mark, one caused by the 'misplacement' of the stitching holding her together. Really, it could have been worse. She had managed to get out of the blouse before too much blood had gotten onto it. She had been restitched, re-bandaged, and sent off to the arena within an hour of the incident. Picking out a new outfit had seemed pointless, so she had simply thrown on the same clothes from before. I'll be getting bloodier soon anyway, she thought, thinking of her scheduled fight. That's the main reason she was there, after all. To fight in the pit- for glory, for fame, to simply pass the time.

"You're a day early for your fight, Miss... what was it?" A gruff voice said, followed by the sound of typing at a terminal. There was a mean-looking Devaronian sitting at a desk. He wore a simple scoundrel's getup, and he glanced up at Ire with a casualness rarely found in criminals. Especially criminals who stood before someone with... authority. But he was seemingly unaware of her identity. That did not bother her in the slightest. Even as his gaze wandered a little, she only looked at him with an empty stare.

"Sekairo. Ire'Rain Sekairo."

"Ah, yes... Sokoro, right. Well, like I said, you're early. So, really, I should ask you to leave," the man continued, purposely mispronouncing her name. He had never liked Sith. Really, his survival was surprising. Not many 'common folk' could make their hatred of Sith known and live for long. Perhaps he was lucky. Or maybe he only angered those he thought he could take in a fight. "But you seem like a... lovely young lass, really. So maybe we could make a deal. You promise not to disturb our guests and I let you wander around." The smirk that crossed his lips was enough to make Ire feel a little... irritated. You're not the one with the power here, she thought.

"No. I'm going to hand you a few credits, Devoranin," she started, mangling the name of his species as retaliation, "and you're going to get me a room. Then I'm going to go visit your friend downstairs, show him my lightsaber, and get a tour of the slave pit." She managed to say what she did with a surprising amount of conviction, considering her nearly monotonous voice. While emotions weren't common for her, it was even less common for her to make them clear in her voice, excluding the feelings she faked for social purposes. But perhaps it was her seemingly fierce apathy that made her the intimidating figure she was.

Whether frightened by the fire in her eyes or bored by her stubbornness, the Devaronian shrugged, mumbled something, and reserved her a room. Not another word was said between the two. Ire placed a few credits on the counter before walking away, her purple eyes seeming void once more. Whatever anger she had felt, however momentary it had been, had served its purpose. Now she could return to her neutral state, simply making her way to where most guests were not allowed. It wasn't curiosity that drove her, nay, but a need to 'fill the time'. Or so that's how she saw it. Maybe part of her still simply yearned to see all that the galaxy had to offer.

The good, the bad, the ugly. All of it. And as her status as Vornskr's apprentice got her past the guards, she wondered what she would find within. Whispers on the wind had told her that a Jedi had been brought to Neimoidia to fight in the pit. Rumors couldn't always be trusted, of course, but it had caught her interest. Arriving early had given her an opportunity to test the waters, so to speak. The waters of rumors, of gladiatorial arenas, and of the planet itself. What grand wonders await me? Ire mused to herself, the words sounding odd with no enthusiasm or sarcasm behind them. Just a simple, plain statement.

She was fond of those.

"I'm here to see the new arrival." Oh, look, another simple sentence. It did what she wanted it to. A few moments later and she was walking down a small flight of stairs, heading towards the cells. She descended quickly, not wasting any time, her boots clicking against the tile softly with each step. I do hope this will entertain me, she thought. And as she arrived at her location, the quiet space in front of the Jedi, she realized that yes, this would occupy her well enough. Without speaking she peered into the dark space. Just a few blinks were needed for her to adjust to the dim lighting. But what little she could make out did not please her.

"You have a visitor," she murmured, her right hand rising up slowly. Ire held it at shoulder level, perhaps a foot away from her chest. For a second she seemed to just... hold her limb up, oddly placing it with her palm towards the ceiling. But there was a slight click and the strangeness vanished. A small, yet bright, flame appeared between her fingers, lighting up the cell well enough for her to see within. More importantly, perhaps, was that the flickering light shone upon her as well, revealing her in all of her 'glory'. She seemed to be little more than a young woman with a bloody blouse and a blade on her belt. The soft voice that left her lips did little to change that.

"Greetings, Jedi."

[member="Barrien Siegfried"]​

 

[Mr. OOC]

He could hear footsteps approaching in the darkness long before they reached him. The only thing was, he didn't particularly care about their approach. Many people had been by to sneer and jeer at the Jedi that had been captured. He figured it made them feel good about themselves, or something. Most of them would have been handed their rear ends with ease in an actual battle. They were nothing more than pompous cretins who wanted to gloat and take credit for something they had no part in.

Barrien didn't particularly care about them. They came and said what they wished, but he never dignified them with any sort of response. Nor did he look in their direction. They'd all ended up leaving unsatisfied, but that was as it should be. None of them would be the person that he would end up facing in the pit. None of them could fight.

The footsteps stopped and he prepared for the inevitable, refusing to be swayed into a response to words that meant nothing. This new visitor would come and go as the rest had, finding themselves with more disdain for him than they'd had when they arrived. Were it the other way around, and a Sith were the prisoner, he would have sought conversation, understanding, and knowledge. He would not sneer and jeer for a Sith was no different than he was, aside from their personal motivations. They were all one with the Force, and so deserved respect.

But the person at the bars that kept him both safe and a prisoner, did not sneer and jeer immediately. Instead, she spoke and greeted him. He could tell by the way she spoke that she was not the ordinary visitor to his cell. Further more, through his eyelids, he could see a light appear. Whoever it was actually wanted to see him.

For a few moments more he remained silent. He wanted to see if she would get frustrated in his lack of response and leave like the others had. To be fair, he wished to be left alone in the cell so that he could continue to gather his thoughts on everything that had happened to him since he'd landed on Contruum with Master Raaf a while back. He also wanted to prepare himself for the fight that he knew was coming, but that took a back seat to understanding his failures.

The woman did not leave, however.

After several minutes had passed, he slowly opened his eyes and allowed them to adjust before turning his head towards the source of the light. What he saw was a young woman, and the light source was unnatural. He had no doubt that this woman was likely one of the Sith that held dominion over this world. Thusly did he wonder why she was there to speak with him rather than waiting to see him die.

His eyes searched over her and saw the blood. There he lingered.

"You are injured. Why take the time to come see me when you should be resting?"

So very much unlike his father. Concern for her rather than disdain. It was better this way.

[member="Ire'Rain Sekairo"]