Location: Ryloth [Nightlands]
Tag: @
Darth Empyrean
Wearing: XOXO [Black w/Red Highlights]
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“What are you missing?”
It was a candid and light query. It could be hard to follow the notion of such a soft-spoken creature carrying the weight of the Darkside so easily. Her pale features and unblemished countenance often left non-force users entirely confused when the truth unveiled itself. She seemed almost frail in the inherent grace that touched her every act. Almost. There was a hidden sharpness, strength, that was always unwavering. The slender Echani had always told her Master that her people were every bit as bloodthirsty and violent as the Mandalorians.
They just looked better doing it and managed to pass it off as elegant aristocracy.
Maliphant explained a little more about Noana and she listened carefully. Srina didn’t know what all had gone into making the sword, however, this painted a clearer picture. Perhaps he was right. This sword knew her better than anyone. It knew her forms, her body, her movement, strengths, and weaknesses. Could it be possible that it actually knew her?
“That could be correct. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever heard of…”
Reality began to shift. Srina tensed. She didn’t know why. The bridge had seemed stable up until that point. The potential change made her uncomfortable and her newfound loss of pressure seemed to evaporate. The pale man reached for her and she felt an ill-be-gotten pang of sadness. Loss. She could feel him fading and her chest grew tight long before his arms tried to wrap around her. He promised to return. Asked her to wait. But, he was gone.
As if he had never been.
“…May we meet again.”
The winds that blew through the Nightlands seemed to echo a sense of loss. She felt confused. Srina barely knew him, and he barely knew her, but on a base level she already wished for him to return. Who knew where he was? Or if it had even really happened at all? Was it only just a dream?
The Exarch whistled sharply for Etrigan and her Sky Demon returned. He’d had his fill. She climbed atop the beast when his body dipped low and secured herself. Large wings kicked up dust and fluorescent pollen and before she knew it, they were on their way back to the Well. Suddenly, the silence was too much. Deafening.
Especially, when she knew there was a voice that could break it. True or false—This place of respite was now...Empty. She wanted to go home.
Location: Ryloth
[Sinner’s Well]
Each day brought her closer to leaving the Well so that she could return to Golbah City on Geonosis. She spent a fair amount of time on other worlds, in other cities, but always returned to the heart of the Confederacy. It was her duty. More than learning how to maintain her connection to the Force there were millions of people that needed her to take action. Her focus was singular. They still needed to answer for the treason that had been committed by the Eternal Empire before the militant group absconded from their space. She had followed many leads. Nothing seemed capable of refuting the claims that Ephraim deWinter had made. Guilty.
They were guilty. It was compounded by their subsequent departure from Confederate space. If they had done nothing wrong, if they were innocent, why run? The CIS had only ever treated the refugees from the Ancient Eye with dignity and respect. Srina, had cherished their Emperor. He had been a fast friend, a confidant, and never failed to be there when both she, and the nation, needed him most.
He had died for her on Eshan.
Was it all an act?
Was she so blind? So easily deceived?
Srina was sparring with herself in a circular white ring on the exterior grounds of the Well. The entire property was built like a fortress that masqueraded as a home. Darth Metus had assembled it not long after they had found one another on Coruscant. He worried for her well-being when he was away. Even now, stronger, and feared, he preferred knowing that she was either safe with him or safe at home. It was a strange concept to have a Master that worried so openly.
She didn’t dislike it. Though not bound by blood the moorish Sith Lord was indeed family.
Her form flowed sinuously, smoothly, akin to poetry in motion. If a body could sing on its own, if it could speak, talk, and show without words passing through lips—This would be it. All of the things that caused her heartache, stress, happiness, or sadness were written in every movement. She had long since given up on fighting droids. She shortened their half-life exponentially and often voided the warranty. In lieu of a real partner, her own shadow, brought her peace.
It was almost blinding to watch an Echani fight an enemy only they could see.
Srina lunged forward and used her right foot as a springboard to spin her body in the air. The motion carried through and an upward thrust lent to the idea of an invisible spear piercing air. She stepped back, flowing away, and crouched low whilst finding her center of gravity. Her combat style was a mixture of many, mastery of none, so that she could anticipate more than one opponent. She struck quickly, a whirling dervish, before falling back to maintain the upper hand.
Most of her opponents were thrice her size. They had more reach. A male with a weapon increased that exponentially, even if she had one too, so maintaining speed was paramount. She would rarely win in a battle of strength without the Force. But with awareness or conversely, staying right inside the guard of her enemy, and fighting seamlessly close? That would also suffice.
She moved back toward her invisible attacker and threw a flurry of jabs that were aimed toward the face and throat. Head to disorient. Throat to restrict breathing. In the haze of an imagined battle, she found a sense of purpose. She could hear her enemy, mocking the death of her unborn, and in her mind, it was a call for war. They came for her. For him. They went through Srina, without thought, without care. She would demolish them. She would show them every ounce of power she had attained. If her body failed, she would still fight, beat them, with her own broken bones until they were nothing but dust. It was clarity.
Fight – Or die. But, Srina would make them suffer first.
Her right shoulder slid back whilst she dodged an incoming blow and responded with a close uppercut to the jaw. Were it actually to hit, she knew blood would pool in the mouth, and pain would erupt from the point of impact. Twin hands grasped the head of her enemy and she simultaneously pulled down and drew her knee up to connect where a humanoid nose ought to be. Her feet landed, secure, and she kept going. There was no moment to breathe. No moment for air. Just a constant, undiluted, force of nature that simply wouldn’t stop. She did not miss and she would not give in.
Her form was covered in attire designed to allow her the most movement possible. A white midriff-baring top with crisscrossing strings along her bare back to keep it secure. It was paired with form-fitting pants made out of synthetic blends that went that down to mid-calf. They had the same crossing fabric on the sides, running down the length of deceptively long legs. It was comfortable, not too tight, or too loose. Lengths of ivory hair had been pulled back into a singular tight braid. Her feet? Bare, aside from tape at certain points for protection.
She liked to feel the ground beneath her—Sky above.
Srina practiced weaving away from being struck, typically, operating on the notion that most opponents swore they ought to be able to strike her immediately. She was, after all, just a tiny female. Slight of frame, though toned, still quite small. A diminutive creature. Nothing drew more amusement to her than when they realized all of their fancy armor, footwork, and carefully planned punches got them nowhere. She was a shadow. Never where the enemy thought she would actually be. That was due to her upbringing. Echani eyes missed nothing. Not a breath, not the twitch of a muscle.
Fighting in this way allowed her to expend pent up energy. It quieted her body and mind, leaving her tired, sweating, sucking air—But somehow feeling at peace. It took feelings of defeat and shame and replaced them with steel and confidence. It was a reminder that she never needed to walk in powerlessness and fear. A reminder that the truth existed. That none could stop her. No bondage, no limitation, no imposing force could ever extinguish her spirit.
It would exist, burning bright, and her enemies would never know a moment of peace. Neither awake nor asleep.
Srina buried her thoughts and kept training. She would be ready for all things. Fighting herself improved technique, helped build muscle memory, and mindfulness. She kept her feet a shoulder-width apart, bouncing back and forth, and ensured that her weight remained evenly distributed. A slight bend to the knee. Elbows down, hands up. Chin slightly down—Cold eyes forward.
She threw jab after jab, right and left, until her arms burned and her shoulders screamed. The Echani moved from one combination to the next. A jab had a lot of power when thrown correctly but minimal energy use, which, was something she favored. It was simple and effective. The last time she threw a jab with her left hand she slid her foot back, and as her arm retracted into a defensive position, hand near her face, her hips and shoulders rotated to follow through with a straight right hand. Palm extended outward. Hopefully, to break facial bones.
What she didn’t count on was her mood carrying through the final hit. A telekinetic wave emanated from her being and careened right into an old tree. A solid crack echoed through the habitation sphere which caused her to still. Freeze, at such a sharp, echoing sound. It was ice-water being thrown in her face while the tree began to split and the two halves fell away evenly with corresponding thuds.
Slowly, she released her stance. Silver eyes focused on the tree, though, she remained unrepentant.
Good.
Again.
The training began anew.