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.

​