Private Peregrine

[Cerys Dyn]

Cerys suppressed an eye-roll. Anathemous was way to self-serious, and that was coming from the uppity 'no attachments' Jedi Padawan. Still, she followed close behind, really more beside the Sith Lord.

Cerys had an odd sense of confidence in this moment, and it was only now as she thought about the Sith, that she realized it was Anathemous herself that gave Cerys the confidence. This realisation caused the Togruta to frown.

"Stray? Wouldn't dream of it," she lied through the whisper.

The magistrate's office was nicely decorated, personal touches but professional. A couple of cultural artefacts caused her to turn her eyes back to them for a double-take. The interest did not go unnoticed by the Zabrak.

"I take an interest in religion," he said. His words were dismissive, meant to brush Cerys' attention aside. It had the opposite effect.

The clink of metal spoon against fine china brought her attention back to the magistrate. Her eyes narrowed now, suspicions increasing.

"Yes. Master Sith. The people of this city have seen much tragedy. They are well versed in avoiding unnecessary confrontation. So...as I said...I will do what I can to see you both on your way."

His tone was terse, even as he handed the drink to Anathemous, and noted Cerys waving off any offer, the tension was clearly rising. Sith and magistrate seemed locked in a struggle beyond what Cerys had initially perceived. Anathemous could ruin it all, unless Cerys took charge.

"We are looking for someone," she bit her lip immediately. How could she do this without leading the Sith to the Oathwarden. Could she trust the Oathwarden to help her defeat Anathemous?

Did she want that to happen?

"And you have seem to have found...some...one," the Zabrak narrowed his eyes from behind the desk he had moved closer towards.

"Someone...specific...I can't really say," she said, shooting a sideways glance at the Sith. Cerys' heart rate was spiking. Her eyes flicked towards her lightsabers, hanging from the shapely hip of the Sith woman.

"Perhaps...the Jedi would be more comfortable talking more freely without the Sith present?" Said the magistrate, eyes fixed and unmoving. His hand rested near the edge of the desk. A low hum could be heard, and a slight scrapping noise. If Cerys wasn't going nuts, it sounded like a drawer opening.

Cerys looked back at the blonde woman, eyes opened wider with a hint of query. "Sounds good to me?"

Darth Anathemous​

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Cerys Dyn

"Hrmh..." the audacity on display irked her.

Still she quietly took her tea, raising it to her lips, and sniffed.

Truth be told she had no intention of drinking, only testing for poison. The process however paused when Cerys took lead of the conversation, and began to reveal a great deal. Perhaps unknowingly, the Padawan had lured their host into giving up the final piece of the puzzle.

"You are mistaken, sir. I am not just A Sith."

The fire in her eyes grew brighter, as the Dark Lord stepped closer.

"I am Darth Anathemous, Lord of Blades."

The subtlety was gone, he'd demonstrated there was no point hiding what she was.

"Governor of Echnos, Valkyrie of the Second Legion."

"You worlds receive their goods from beyond the wall because I allow it."

"You remain unbowed only because I tolerate it."

"But you will show me respect, because I command it, Magistrate."


She stopped.

That drawer. That pesky drawer. It made the hairs on her neck stand, set her dormant paranoia ablaze, the same paranoia that had seen many sith killed and alliances broken, but kept her alive in the viper's den.

"...we never said she was a Jedi..."

Which could only mean he...

Anathemous threw her scalding tea at him and drew her lightsaber in one fluid motion. The office was bathed in baleful violet hues as she thrust it towards him. She aimed to wound his sword arm, or deflect the weapon if necessary.

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

The sudden blaze of violet split the office in half, and Cerys flinched like a startled animal. Her first instinct was fear, raw uncomplicated fear. Breath caught in her throat, and her montrals rung with the vibration of the ignited saber. For a heartbeat she thought Anathemous’ fury might turn on her.

She forced herself to breathe. This is the moment. This is the time. Training steadied her. The room narrowed into angles and options.

The magistrate moved. Not with the panic she expected, but with a clarity that made her skin prickle. His hand snapped against the desk, and the heavy slab of wood and durasteel lurched into the air on invisible strings. It crashed sideways, slamming between Sith and magistrate, forcing Anathemous’ strike to deflect wide. Splinters and the hum of redirected energy filled the chamber.

He was no frightened bureaucrat. He was Jedi.

The Zabrak’s eyes burned into her as he slashed his blade in a clean arc, cutting through the window in a spray of shards. Wind and sunlight tore into the chamber, highlighting the dust that filled the air.

"You brought her here, Jedi!" He spat, the accusation cutting as much as a blade.

Cerys’ chest clenched. The words landed heavier than the desk had. She opened her mouth, to deny or explain...anything...but the moment was gone. The magistrate vaulted through the shattered frame, cloak whipping into the light.

Glass still fell around her as she looked back at Anathemous. Violet glow, dangerous and close, her sabers still locked on the Sith’s hip. The window gaped open like an escape. Her heart raced.

She would have to choose now. Her hand slapped against the controls on the door, it hissed open, and she ran down the hall...away from the office...away from the Sith...and tried not to look back.

Darth Anathemous​

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Cerys Dyn

Golden eyes widened at the oncoming desk.

On instinct the Dark Lord swung her fist, releasing a localized shockwave which obliterated the furniture.

The window shattered then, destroyed by a fiery blade that was not quite gold but neither crimson. The mark of a Dark Jedi. And just like that, he was gone.

Her legs jerked a half step as though she might follow, but she remembered...

"Cerys, are you allr-"

Footsteps, her only answer. She turned to see Cerys bolting out of the room, reaching out to stop her but it was already too late. Kaila glanced at the window, then the padawan's shrinking figure.

She might never find the rogue Jedi again if she followed her, but if she didn't? would she lose the answers?

"Rrrgh..." she grit her teeth.

Suddenly she took off in a sprint, her athletic figure surprisingly quick.

"Cerys, wait!"

There was anger in her voice to be sure, adrenal remnant, but also concern. She pursued until they reached another door ahead, and the young Darth cast her glove aside, reaching for her belt.

"It's not safe, Cerys! He is no Jedi."

She came to a halt then, breathing heavily, as blackened fingers slid over the genetic lock.

A gamble, an exercise of trust perhaps, she looked at her, pleadingly.

And offered up the girl's lightsaber.

"...you need a weapon..."

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Her fingers closed around the hilts as if they might vanish again. The weight of them in her palms sent a ripple through her chest.. Vowsake. Dyn’s Mercy. Hers.

She turned them over once, checking the familiar etchings, before sliding both to rest against her palms in a loose guard. The hum of the violet blade behind her set her montrals tingling, but it was easier to breathe now that she was armed.

Her eyes flicked from Anathemous to the wrecked office, then to the doorway standing slightly ajar a few steps away. The magistrate could already be gone, or waiting beyond. Either way, this was her chance.

"If it’s a fight he wants, then I’ll face him...by your side," she said with a straightness that only half-disguised the adrenaline still coursing through her.

She adjusted her stance until her shoulder nearly brushed the frame of the door. The control panel was within reach.

Her lekku twitched.

"But you’re stronger than I am. You should go first."

The words were offered calmly, even respectfully, though her eyes lingered on the door a little too long, betraying the calculation beneath them.

Darth Anathemous

​

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Cerys Dyn

She nodded, at first.

Adrenaline was a natural response to sudden battle, nothing unusual.

But that twitch, the way she looked at the door as if she might run again, or the way she confessed their power dynamic. Since leaving the cell, Cerys had always so insistent that she needn't anyone else.

These words were... deceptive.

Kaila's blade deactivated.

"You don't believe me, do you." she said.

She shouldn't have felt hurt, but...

Features hardening, she stepped around the padawan to reach the door.

"Look, I don't give a damn about hunting these oathwardens, that's not why I'm here. The empire can solve it's own damn problems. I don't expect you to trust me, but I just saved our damn lives."

She put her back to the door, gauntlet curling into a fist.

"If you will trust nothing else, trust that I mean you no harm. Even though duty compels I should."

Finally Kaila punched the button and spun on her heel, ready to face whatever awaited them on the other side.

"Can I trust you to work with me?"

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

For half a heartbeat, Cerys froze. The words caught her off guard. Trust was not something she expected to hear from a Sith. Her brows drew together, lips parting slightly as if to answer, but no sound came.

It wasn’t fear that stalled her. It was the wrongness of the moment. This woman, who had erupted into violence like she had exhaled, was now standing there with her weapon lowered and her voice steady. Not mocking. But instead almost....eerily...sincere.

And that, more than anything, unsettled Cerys.

Her thoughts twisted around themselves. The Oathwarden had fallen. The man she had come here to find was no saviour, only to find another Jedi hypocrite. The Sith’s words still echoed in the air between them. She could feel the heat of the violet blade still humming.
She truly had no allies. Yet, one was offered. One...that she should not accept.

She drew a breath and forced her racing heart into rhythm. The decision came like a cold knife sliding into place. Not faith, or trust, but a plan.

When her gaze lifted again, her expression was calm, unreadable.

"Yes," she said, voice quiet but firm. "I’ll work with you."

The words felt strange on her tongue, but she let them stand. Her sabers hung loose at her sides, and if her posture softened, it was only slightly, just enough to look the part.

"What is the plan?"

Darth Anathemous​

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Cerys Dyn

Kaila searched her eyes, and found nothing.

In another life, Cerys may have done well in a Sith court.

It came slow at first, a determined nod, but there it was, she thought, an agreement. The Sith glanced back at the shattered window, then the hall beyond, eyes darting and ears strained for wherever the Dark Jedi may be.

"Okay," she breathed.

Kaila drew her second lightsaber, a nimble, crimson shoto, and slowly stepped through the door.

"I will take point, like you said. Back to back, you watch our rear and if you see him, we switch places."

"We advance slowly, cautiously."

One blade high, one low, she approached in a modified Soresu stance. While far from her most practiced form, the tight control would prevent her from injuring the padawan in such close quarters.

It had other uses, though.

"There is a turret up ahead, spotted it on our way in. I will handle it."

She took a deep breath, as the next door came close.

"Remember; if you stab me in the back now, we both may die."

Then all hell broke loose soon as the door opened. A cacophony of plasma and sparks, thrown in wild arcs as the Dark Lord deflected shots with every step, though to the trained eye, there was an efficient fluidity to her movements, every twirl of crimson and violet a sort of dance.

When the gun barrels began to glow hot red, that is when Anathemous struck, knowing they'd pause to cool just a moment.

She pointed two fingers, just the two, and as they hooked through the air, the metal turret began to groan.

"Move!" she signaled, slowly crushing it as they marched.

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Blaster fire cracked through the windows as they advanced, shards of glass skittering over the marble floor. Aa streak of light traced too close to her face. Cerys turned just enough to catch the next bolt on her blade, the sapphire flash folding cleanly into her defence. She didn’t return it. The sniper would serve better as distraction than a corpse.

Smoke curled through the corridor, the tang of ozone sharp in her lungs. Anathemous moved ahead, red and violet blades cutting their way, and for a strange heartbeat Cerys saw the symmetry between them. Her own longer blue blade and the blue-bladed shoto clipped at her belt. It unsettled her more than the crossfire.

Two paths. One back the way they came, that led through the mess of hallways. The other was up...to catwalks, maintenance chutes, and the elevated walkway circling the atrium.

Neither were safe.

The doors in front of them broke apart in a shower of debris and the Magistrate...no, the fallen Oathwarden...stood framed in the light of the atrium. His armor was scorched, his expression unbent. Mercenaries flanked him, rifles raised.

"You will not destroy what we have built," he shouted, "I will not let the Empire pull us down. I would rather die than be captured."

Cerys’ pulse quickened. The moment had arrived.

Her gaze flicked upward, the mezzanine above and a broken section of railing leading to a narrow door. Freedom and guilt tangled within her.

She moved. She jumped, then pushed off the wall. Her leap carried her to the catwalk. Metal groaned beneath her boots. Below, the violet and red light danced in the chaos of return fire.

For a heartbeat she hesitated, hand on the shoto hilt. Its weight felt different now, the short blade, like Anathemous’, a reflection she didn’t want.

"I’m sorry," she breathed, and ignited the weapon. The smaller blade cut a clean, searing line through the door controls.

Sparks showered down as the blast door sealed between them with a hiss of molten metal cooling in the frame.

Cerys stood on the other side, sabers deactivating in her hands, the echo of the lock clicking into silence.

RUN

Darth Anathemous​

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Cerys Dyn

The turret crumpled and fell from the ceiling.

They were doing good, she thought, almost there.

When the doors were blown open, Kaila was too busy shielding them both to defend her flank. A shimmering barrier was erected between them, debris and lethal shrapnel pinging off.

"I would rather die than be captured."

"As you wish." she growled.

Kaila resumed her stance, ready to fight for them both but eyes peeled for another way out. Certainly she could cut through the mercs if need be but she had important... cargo, in tow, and she was unused to fighting side by side with another. Could she really protect them both...?

Cerys solved that problem.

The Sith only heard a rush of air at first, by the time her charge had leapt up to the balcony. Concentration broken, the barrier dropped, sending her back into a disjointed dance of blade and blaster.

When she looked back, seeing the door closing brought a defeated look in her eye.

It was nearly closed when—

* BANG *

—The last Cerys would see of her as the door thinned to a sliver, was a bolt exploding against her backplate, knocking her to the floor. A sniper's bolt. The one she'd left to distract Anathemous.

It worked...

When the door sealed, she caught herself, down on her hand and knee. She grit her teeth, sensing the impending tidal wave. Anathemous slammed her gauntlet into the floor.

"Right then..." she breathed, "Just you and me again, against the world..."

The Dark Lord forced herself up again, and the room began to grow very, very cold...

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

The stairwell echoed with her footsteps. Cerys took it two, and then three steps at a time. Her sabers clipped against her hips, feeling like small moments of discipline with each strike.

She told herself to focus on elevation, and on the path of escape, but the echo of what she’d done pressed close behind.

She had lied. She had deceived. She had left the Sith to die. Her stomach lurched at the thought.

For a moment her pace faltered, one hand gripping the rail, the other brushing the hilt of her shoto. The smaller weapon was warm against her palm, its recent activation reminding her of the mirrored weapon she had almost fought beside. She shook the thought loose and climbed faster.

The stairs ended at a maintenance hatch that opened to the rooftops. Cold night air rushed in. She vaulted onto the tiles and began to run, rooftops dipping and rising beneath her. Every leap jarred through her bones. Every landing sent dust and old rainwater scattering.

Somewhere behind, the battle thundered.

Through the gaps between chimneys, she could see the magistrate’s atrium below he Oathwarden’s voice carried faintly even up here, distorted by distance.

Cerys stopped at the edge of a rooftop, chest heaving. She could feel the guilt twisting tighter in her gut, but she forced herself to move again. She needed to get distance while it was possible. Either the Oathwarden, or the Sith would be after her soon.

The town thinned ahead, the rooftops sloping toward the hangar district. She could see the outline of the Sith’s sleek courier ship resting in its berth, lights on standby. If Anathemous survived, that would be her path to pursuit.

Not if Cerys could help it.

She drew her hood up, the zeyd-cloth snapping in the wind, and began her descent toward the outskirts. Her boots struck steel as she dropped onto a walkway, momentum carrying her forward.

Her blades ignited. Hopefully she could cut through the hull.

---

The mercenaries advanced in staggered formation. The air was thick with the hiss of cooling metal and the stink of scorched insulation.

At their center, the Oathwarden strode forward. The Force rippled around him in uneven waves, not the calm of a Jedi, but the volatile current of a man who'd lost his balance.

"Drive her back!" He commanded, voice cutting over the storm of blaster fire. "Don't let her escape!"

Two heavy gunners braced at the edges of the hall, rotary barrels spinning up to a deafening whine. The first volley hammered the barricade of rubble where the Sith had last been seen, molten fragments raining in all directions.

The sniper on overwatch called out a range correction. "Seventeen meters! Center mass!" And loosed another bolt through the haze.

The Oathwarden raised his hand. The floor shuddered. Chunks of ferrocrete tore free, circling him like orbiting moons before he hurled them toward the impact zone.

"She will bring the end of all we built," he growled, his voice echoing through the ruined chamber, "no mercy!"

The Oathwarden pressed forward, saber ignited in a flare of burnt yellow.

"You should stay down, Sith! You have no allies here," he shouted into the smoke, his silhouette framed by the burning wreckage.

Darth Anathemous​

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Cerys Dyn

Violet eyes shot up.

Then in a blink, or a blur, she was gone.

The air snapped as she dashed behind the rubble with supernatural speed, narrowly avoiding a torrent of plasma that bathed the room in bloody hues. Now her presence in the force permeated the building, a cold storm of souls long past and far more powerful than anyone else here, as if they stood in a graveyard of ancient Sith.

And at the center of that oppressive weight, the one who commanded them all.

Other violet eyes joined her, in the shadowed corners of the room, peering over her shoulder, a host of translucent figures that scattered her cold, sickening signature all over.

Maybe she had no allies, but she certainly had servants.

"Seventeen meters! Center mass!" And loosed another bolt through the haze.

Seeing through many eyes, Anathemous took a deep breath and the bolt became locked in stasis before it could reach. When her breath released, the bolt was flung backwards.

Finally she caught sight of his large figure through the smoke. Slipping further and further into her most primal instincts, the Sith quickly decided on the most efficient course of action to obliterate the mercenaries and even the odds. Pulling her arm back, her palm began to shimmer, shooting forth to blast the wreckage towards her foes with a deadly shockwave that sent dust and debris through walls and furniture alike.

Now she they stood, face to face, her figure silhouetted by that violet saber.

And too many eyes.

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

The Oathwarden steadied himself amid the wreckage, dust coiling around his boots. The air had turned frigid. Frost glittered across shattered columns. He could feel the press of her presence — those eyes — but he refused to yield to fear.

"You are not the first darkness to crawl into my home," he said, voice low, tight around the edges. "And I am not afraid of you." He was lying. The words shook even as he spoke them. The Force felt wrong here, warped by her will. Each breath tasted sour.

He raised both hands. The remaining slabs of ferrocrete that had hovered near him now lifted again, circling in orbit before whipping forward in a thunderous storm.

Then he moved with them, through them, bursting from the debris cloud. His burnt yellow saber cut through the smoke, the light reflecting off shards of concrete as they spun.

He struck with everything left in him, every fragment of will remaining.

-----

Wind tore at her cloak as she reached the hangar district. The Sith's courier sat on its pad.

Cerys dropped to her knees beneath the hull. The lights from the landing struts bathed her hands in pale gold as she drew her shoto. With each strike she drove the short blue blade into a repulsor housing, twisting until sparks burst out in a shriek of metal.

One. Then two. Then three.

She paused only when the third repulsor spluttered into silence. Her reflection shimmered in the curved plating, a hooded figure with ash-flecked skin and eyes she didn't recognize.

Then the shock hit her. Through the Force, a sudden flare of terror and pain, the Oathwarden's, she knew instinctively. The moment he realized he would die. It rolled through her like a breaking wave, freezing her mid-breath.

The air grew colder. Somewhere far behind, the battle's echo thundered, distant yet noticeable.

Cerys staggered back from the ruined ship and forced herself upright. She couldn't stay here. If the Sith lived, if she felt this too...

Drawing in a long, steady breath, Cerys reached for the fragment of calm her former Master had taught her. She wrapped the Force around herself, dimming her light until the city's pulse swallowed her presence.

Her guilt followed anyway.

Then she ran, vanishing into Dorriella's narrow streets as the frost began to fall.

Darth Anathemous​

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Cerys Dyn

Zero scrolled through the news-holo as he had for the past hour.

Some sort of fashion show on Nar Shaddaa, Imperials approaching Arkania, conspiracy theories—

—what's that sound?

The little BB-unit's eye flared red, and it came rolling down the boarding ramp.

"BWOMP BWOMP?!" he beeped loudly.

Someone slashed his repulsorlifts!

The little droid crossed his servo arms angrily. His audio sensor detected something... movement? A quick glance was all he managed, catching but a glimpse of a robed figure running.

"Wee woo wee woo!"barked the droid, rolling quickly after them.

​

Meanwhile...

"I can taste your fear!" Anathemous snarled like a beast.

She wasn't lying either, it fed her own power, twisted his emotions to her benefit.

The Dark Lord used it to perceive the world around her more quickly, everything else moving at a crawl. She'd pivot around one piece of rubble, narrowly deflect another off the surface of her gauntlet.

Not once did she take her eyes off the man, spectral flames that seemed to stare into his own.

As she shot forth through the cloud, she took a deep breath, and dropped to a knee.

Their sabers met, multicolored sparks flying this way and that, but he met minimal resistance as his blade came crashing down on her. The faintest push, followed by a sudden release.

Thumg on the switch, the Sith's blade flickered in and out. Colliding with his blade one moment, behind it the next.

She'd likely suffer for it, a saber gliding down her pauldron, along the surface of her arm. It would sting, she'd require immediate bacta soon as she reached the ship, but she'd be alive if this worked.

And he would be cut in twain.

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

The port erupted into chaos. Sirens and shouts echoed between steel walls, the lights of the upper spires flickering through the rising smoke. Cerys kept to the alleys, hood drawn. Her pace quickened but remained measured. Even through the noise, she could still feel it in the moment. She felt the echo of the Oathwarden’s death, a hollow silence where his presence had been.

At the far end of the docks, a freighter crew was arguing.

"We’re not waiting!" One barked, throwing a crate into the hold. "Didn’t you hear? A Sith spotted and taken to the magistrate's office...now all this! We’re gone! If the port authority locks down, we’ll never get clearance!"

They were too loud to notice the faint brush of the Force. Cerys exhaled, steadyied her heartbeat, drew Brandyn’s lesson into focus. The Force was a current, if she flowed with it, she could disappear within it.

When the next crate clattered up the ramp, she slipped in with it.

Inside, the cargo bay smelled of grease and spice dust. She crouched between the stacked containers, knees drawn close, eyes fixed on the sliver of light spilling through the bulkhead.

Engines hummed to life. The deck trembled beneath her palms as the ship lifted.

Through the Force she could still feel it, faint and distant, a storm pulsing in the heart of Dorriella. Anathemous lived.

Cerys drew her hood lower, closing her eyes as the freighter climbed toward orbit. She wasn’t sure if she’d escaped the Sith…or created a lifelong enemy.

Darth Anathemous​

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Cerys Dyn

The ghost vanished into the smoke, and golden eyes opened.

Anathemous rose, wincing, her left arm was scorched and the Exo-muscle frayed.

She paid it no mind, simply ripping the inoperable coils out and throwing them aside while walking to a nearby balcony. The deceased Oathwarden's saber was called to her side, set atop the railing she leaned on for support. Head low, hair pooling in front of her, the scent of burnt ends was horrific.

"...frak..." she groaned, lifting her burnt arm to speak into the wrist-comm.

"Zero, bring the ship to my coordinates, prepare the med-chamber."

"...what do you mean no?..."

"That little-!"

Kaila grit her teeth, ran gloved fingers over her scalp.

"...relay a message to Echnos. Track that transponder code and get me an interdictor. Now."

A pained sigh passed through her lips as she looked skyward in defeat, catching a glimpse of a freighter frantically leaving port.

Shoulders dropping, she watched until it break the clouds, and closed her eyes.

"...you're lucky I need you, Cerys Dyn..." ​

she whispered.



A deep breath later, The Sith held her new trophy to the light. Within moments, the fittings peeled back on their own, screws and components floating gently out. There was a strange stone within, it felt... wrong... Anathemous reached out to touch it, and felt a strange connection to it. It hungered, they both did.

She pocketed the stone, the lightsaber quickly reassembled itself and slid into her belt.

Anathemous spun on her heel, robes fluttering, and marched forth with renewed determination.

​