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Reborn in the flames

C'ryn Brartund

The flames licked his skin with gentle care, lovingly it burned him with a touch and the man could not escape its deadly embrace. All the pain and suffering had made his heart go numb and even the screams, carried by the wind to his ears did not awake his concern. Only one voice could have done that and her owner had died in front of his eyes, he still did not know what had actually happened. One moment they were living happily together, dancing in the open meadows and the lush forests, enjoying the time that had been giving to them, hoping for a child of their own and the other moment they had been fighting for their lives. “Slavers..” some inert part of him whispered, but even that did not awake his passion. Live was meaningless and bore no fruit to him any longer, he only wished for a quick end to his misery and to see her smile again. That would make him content.

A sound startled him awake, everything that could hurt did and even some parts he had never expected to ever feel gave him agony. The sounds closed into him, voices it seemed. The man tried to cry out, warn them of his presence. But it seemed as if his tongue was plastered to the wall of his mouth, no sound appeared were once songs danced from his lips. Why was he still alive, where were the beautiful flames.. he wondered but no answer came to him.

Shards of memories raced through his mind, playing hide and seek with his eyes. Cruel faces and even crueler voices mocked his suffering and then the man finally felt something in his heart. Hate, it hardened and chilled his once warm and caring heart. How terrible a man can be, when pushed behind his boundaries, the world could be harsher still. For it was then that the building decided to slowly collapse underneath its own weight, it moaned almost as if it was in pain as a wooden support balk fell across the man. Only darkness remained then.

@Amorella Mae


Velaeri Mortaine
Much like the Republic had always idealized the rights of every planetary citizen, so, too, did the Moross Crusade. Perhaps to a lesser, looser extent, but slavery was not something they condoned. So it was that a contingent of Moross came to this woeful place, intent on eradicating every last slave ship to traverse their spacelanes.

The Aing-Tii were quite adept at tracking, and even more so at traveling. Their spiny, organic Sanhedrim ships materialized from the stardust in orbit above the planet, armament of energy-web generators and null-burst projectors ripping into the slaver freighters. Anything that remained they smashed with a direct, powerful ramming hit.

On the surface, much like the ships above, a group suddenly appeared. It was a small group, but they were armed and they were trained. Deadly combatants of Moross were becoming known throughout wild space, but even this collective might've appeared to be lacking. The unconverted and non-believers would know this to be true, but the Crusaders walked with an aura of confidence for they traveled in the presence of one of their Divine. Inari turned to their Aing-Tii guide and stroked a hand over it's plated head. The creature passed a tongue from its mouth to meet her hand and once the touch was broken it disappeared.

The Reviver turned to gaze out upon the smouldering settlement before her, blue eyes placidly taking in the holocaust scene from behind her silver mask. Lower portion of her face inscrutable, the woman gave a silent nod and her contingent surged forward, wordless and fierce. Those that remained at her side - giant men adorned in ghoulish black armor, beastial in appearance save the smooth while silk cloaks that clung to the metal carapace of their shoulders. The gold gleamed in the fading sun.

"Find the survivors," the order was gentle but it moved the mountainous White Guard all the same. Ivory and gold cloaks catching the rising steam in the air, they moved slowly and with purpose, preceded by the soldiers of Ithari and Kalee as they razed the remaining slavers from the town.

Inari walked to a chorus of blaster fire and death, a single White Guard and a dark man cloaked in blue shadowing her steps.

@[member="C'ryn Brartund"]
@[member="Cameron Centurion"]
The powerful scent of burning wood filled the Sith Lord's nose as massive fires danced in the eerie light of his silver-green gaze. From beneath the hood of his dark blue cloak, Cameron Centurion watched the scene unfolding before them with complete silence and large indifference to the fate of those on the planet. The follower of Aatrox was not known for his compassion towards the personal plights of others. Limited exception to that rule did, however, apply.

As a man that had been ripped from his own home and forced to watch everything he knew and love burn, Cameron had never really come around to vowing never to let it happen to another again. Instead, he'd allowed his anger and hatred for the perpetrator to fuel his actions, his study of the dark side of the Force. For decades, he thought of nothing other than ripping the man's heart out of his chest.

Late one night, Cameron did just that, but he found his emotions were not tempered. He was no longer the weak, vulnerable boy that had been abducted and forced to endure the horrors of others. He had grown into a man of power that controlled his own destiny with an iron will. Fast forward several hundred years, and the present day Cameron stood sentinel behind the diminutive figure of Inari the Reviver.

As the vast majority of the Reviver's contingent was ordered forward, Cameron offered a brief glance to the seasoned warrior that was the Captain of her guard. The two of them were the only ones to remain behind, perpetually by the Aesir's side. In the beginning, Cameron knew all too well that the Captain resented his close proximity to the Aesir. The man, like most of her guard was a devout follower of Kalee. That said, Cameron presumed the man also paid homage to Salee and perhaps Ithari often enough.

While the guards followed the blood thirsty warriors of Ithari into the fray, the Sith Lord expanded his force presence slowly. Allowing his senses to swallow his environment whole, he kept moderate tabs on the forces of Moross, aiding their efforts through bolstered will, strength, and tactical perception. It was the role he would play in this conflict. Cameron's right hand gripped the hilt of his Sith Sword firmly all the same, prepared to strike down any so foolish as to wander within a fifty meter radius of the one that held his budding affection and respect without invitation.

Though Cameron gave the Aesir her physical space, the comfort of his strong aura brushed against her own senses all the same.

@[member="Amorella Mae"]

C'ryn Brartund

His eyes opened to destruction, pain and.. a feel of emptiness. But more importantly to a sense of ignorance. “Where am I? Wait.. who am -I-? Gods above forget that, Why the hell does it all hurt so much.” His attempt at standing did not work in his favor, a yelp escaped his lips as his muscles strained itself. Healing would be needed if he wanted to survive this. Though the fact that he did not even know what -this- was infuriated him, why could he not remember anything at all. It was quite a frustrating state of mind.

Shouts reached his ears, if he had known what he had been through he might have stayed his tongue. Instead he tried to shout out for help, his voice was hoarse. “H-help, I am her...” as he said it, he tried to rise again. This time the pain made him scream and then.. darkness.. again.

@[member="Cameron Centurion"] @[member="Amorella Mae"]


Velaeri Mortaine
Hours later Inari stood over the man, weary gaze speaking of her efforts in healing his terrible wounds. As the Aesir watched and waited for him to gain consciousness she slowly drank in the energies of the organic ship and its occupants, the Aing-Tii. They had left that planet, salvaged what could be, saved those who'd been wronged, and dealt a cold and powerful justice to those who would subdue them.

This man, whoever he was, had sustained quite a bit. What flesh could be mended had been, but there was no telling just how much damage had been inflicted upon him emotionally, perhaps even mentally. But every victim had the potential of becoming a strong and powerful crusader. Every man, woman and child who had suffered could find solace and compassion in the faith of Moross. They need, simply, be shown it.

"Peace be upon you," her hand was at his forehead, spreading through him the healing powers of the Lightside in an attempt to wake him, "you are safe, do not fear."

@C'ryn Brartund