The Mother of All Psy-Pires
Geonosis.
It was just after sunset. Just when it was relatively safe to come out. Sleeping during the day was a game of guesswork, finding a place isolated, but not too isolated. Safe but not so safe as to draw suspicion as to her habits. Always guesswork.
The woman's green shaded, flower printed robes, covering a six and a half foot frame glided just above the sands of a night desert. They figure they covered was athletic, but somewhat curvy as well. She had always been able to attract men, even before this wretched disease dominated her days.
Her arms hung to the side, never moving as she walked, though the ceremonial robes hid that motion, making her movement across the desert far more unnatural looking than it actually was. Her two main weapons hung by her left, her ivory hilted katana with a dragonhead pommel, known as Hundred Handed Giant, its edge facing upward as it rested in its scabbard, its length coincidentally accomodating the height of the woman who used it. Hundred Handed Giant was a Murderer's Blade. She had known when she first found it in Shojo's Necropolis it had tasted innocent blood. Not the blade of a noble warrior. But it was all a parasite such as her deserved to wield, despite its stainless, silvery quality, which glittered with even the faintest light, and the strange pattern on a razor sharp edge, which resembled wood rings. Her back up sword, one she had owned as a tool of harming vampires due to the heavy trace amounts of silver in its chemical composition, rested underneath it. It was a straight, double edged blade with a golden and black lattice pattern on its cortosis-weave metal resting in a sheath with a similar iridescent lattice pattern as the blade it protected. It was shorter than the Katana, and had a one handed grip. Her fingers flexed, curling and uncurling unconsciously as she moved forward to the training facility on this desert world. A relatively large one.
She was not sure why she was out tonight. She usually stayed hidden after feeding on a months worth of thought and memory as she had done. But she was restless. And she had heard of this confederacy. Though she was very apprehensive about working for a Sith Lord, she also realized that she was in an inferior position. Beggars cannot be choosers. The Confederacy sheltered many types. And the type she was was outcast. Exiled. No longer worthy. And that was what hurt most of all. The filth, the unworthiness of what she was, a glorified tick.
But this training facility was no pushover she thought as her tall figure glided across adjacent facilities to reach its entrance. Many swordsman came here to train. Her weak Force Sense let her know some here were already strong in the Force as she was allowed past after quietly stating her intentions...
To fight. They say many Confederacy warriors passed through here. She wished to test the mettle of any who would duel her. Not to the death of course. That would have just been rude. But as the tall woman glided across to a dueling ring that was not occupied, waiting to see who would fight. She spotted members of the knights obsidian sparring with others.
She kept her hood on, let it obscure her eyes, which were a semitranslucent obsidian color, emitting a faint glow of purple from the center. No sense in spooking them. None of them knew what she was...not yet any way.
Nine Lives waited for a challenger in the vast dueling chamber, hand on hilt, prepared to draw it.
[member="Srina Talon"]
It was just after sunset. Just when it was relatively safe to come out. Sleeping during the day was a game of guesswork, finding a place isolated, but not too isolated. Safe but not so safe as to draw suspicion as to her habits. Always guesswork.
The woman's green shaded, flower printed robes, covering a six and a half foot frame glided just above the sands of a night desert. They figure they covered was athletic, but somewhat curvy as well. She had always been able to attract men, even before this wretched disease dominated her days.
Her arms hung to the side, never moving as she walked, though the ceremonial robes hid that motion, making her movement across the desert far more unnatural looking than it actually was. Her two main weapons hung by her left, her ivory hilted katana with a dragonhead pommel, known as Hundred Handed Giant, its edge facing upward as it rested in its scabbard, its length coincidentally accomodating the height of the woman who used it. Hundred Handed Giant was a Murderer's Blade. She had known when she first found it in Shojo's Necropolis it had tasted innocent blood. Not the blade of a noble warrior. But it was all a parasite such as her deserved to wield, despite its stainless, silvery quality, which glittered with even the faintest light, and the strange pattern on a razor sharp edge, which resembled wood rings. Her back up sword, one she had owned as a tool of harming vampires due to the heavy trace amounts of silver in its chemical composition, rested underneath it. It was a straight, double edged blade with a golden and black lattice pattern on its cortosis-weave metal resting in a sheath with a similar iridescent lattice pattern as the blade it protected. It was shorter than the Katana, and had a one handed grip. Her fingers flexed, curling and uncurling unconsciously as she moved forward to the training facility on this desert world. A relatively large one.
She was not sure why she was out tonight. She usually stayed hidden after feeding on a months worth of thought and memory as she had done. But she was restless. And she had heard of this confederacy. Though she was very apprehensive about working for a Sith Lord, she also realized that she was in an inferior position. Beggars cannot be choosers. The Confederacy sheltered many types. And the type she was was outcast. Exiled. No longer worthy. And that was what hurt most of all. The filth, the unworthiness of what she was, a glorified tick.
But this training facility was no pushover she thought as her tall figure glided across adjacent facilities to reach its entrance. Many swordsman came here to train. Her weak Force Sense let her know some here were already strong in the Force as she was allowed past after quietly stating her intentions...
To fight. They say many Confederacy warriors passed through here. She wished to test the mettle of any who would duel her. Not to the death of course. That would have just been rude. But as the tall woman glided across to a dueling ring that was not occupied, waiting to see who would fight. She spotted members of the knights obsidian sparring with others.
She kept her hood on, let it obscure her eyes, which were a semitranslucent obsidian color, emitting a faint glow of purple from the center. No sense in spooking them. None of them knew what she was...not yet any way.
Nine Lives waited for a challenger in the vast dueling chamber, hand on hilt, prepared to draw it.
[member="Srina Talon"]