The Blonde and the Vong

[Allyson Locke]

Selvaris

The trip to the Vongified planet wasn’t remembered to well. Spencer was still in a haze from the fight along with the toxin being nullified by the antidote that Vrag had administered once Spencer had begun to succumb to the effects. It wasn’t every day that she had come close to death, but she had before and the wavering effects weren’t the greatest. Transport wasn’t the most comfortable, but she still slept listening to the voices of the guards that were in charge of transporting her. Her hands were cuffed along with her feet, her weapons removed from her person, but her armor left for the time being. It was nice though, they at least left her clothed while they took her into custody. As they docked, she looked down at her hands at the cuffs, she didn’t know if they were the reason for her stomach ache, or if it was because of the toxin finally being metabolized with the help of the antidote.

They had to stop a few times as they took her out of the transport so she could throw up. It seemed to be common so they didn’t say much to her. The cuffs were removed and her armor was stripped from her body. Surprise, no clothes, but the armor takers were kind enough to supply her with a shirt and some slacks – which weren’t the best size for her slender waist – but a nifty rope did the trick for a belt. Shackled again, she was pushed along towards a holding cell where she was shoved into the cell. Falling on her knees she sat there for a moment trying to regain her mental consciousness. Instead, she fell over and closed her eyes. Sleep seemed like a better idea. After a few hours, Spencer woke up, her eyes fluttered trying to remember how she got here and when it hit her she sat back up. Blinking, she focused the force on the cell and realized it was Vong which meant there was nothing much she could do about breaking out for the time being.

Instead, she closed her eyes and focused her energy on meditation. On her knees, she rested her cuffed hands as her mind slipped into the vast emptiness of the world. She couldn’t sense anything around her which scared her a bit, but she kept her emotions in check. Frowning, she realized she had missed her meeting with Ashin – which would only serve as the first sign that she was in trouble. Biting her lower lip, near the place Ashin had first marked her – she knew that would be the beacon or the woman to cling on to.

[member="Vrag"] [member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Vrag]

She was more used to walking down long metal corridors, devoid of all color and décor, and the lack of any proper sound or echo made her unusually aware of her surroundings. The go-to detention facility/prison/black site was usually Prakith, and Prakith was positively teeming with long metal corridors and barren cells.

Such were nowhere to be found on Selvaris, however. One would be hard pressed to discover any sign that there had ever been a technologically advanced civilization on the planet. Its new lords and masters had seen to it that the very roots of infidel machinery and memory had been wiped clean off the world, leaving naught but thriving Yuuzhan Vong culture in their wake. For anyone but those who were used to them, the planet's atmosphere would seem alien indeed, pregnant with something… other that was scarcely felt anywhere else.

Fortunately for Vrag — and rather unfortunately for her captive — this meant that the former was largely at ease, whereas the latter would most likely be completely out of her depth.

Especially considering how much the blonde had relied on the Force during their bout on Balmorra. She frowned at the recollection, and her left arm tingled still as the shadow of the experience swept along her nerves. And Yigdris'.

The armor clenched slightly, a motion imperceptible to anyone who might have been looking, but its wearer more than felt it. Over the course of many a battle, the living beings had formed a peculiar sort of bond, a synchronization that allowed them to work in perfect tandem. A curious relationship, certainly, but a fruitful one.

That was, until you threw rebellious younglings alongside experienced veterans of war. The older brothers and sisters that [member="Spencer Jacobs"] had charred right off her arm had been replaced with an arduous Shaping process, crafted to fit the demands of the Supreme Commander. Just like its predecessors, the Vonduun had then been aged artificially to high maturity, manipulated by the skilled Shapers of Legion Yun'Do.

Which all amounted to jack chit when her left arm involuntarily snapped out to carve deep lines into the walls of the grashal, reeling and giggling — yes, giggling — as the Hand and Ygidris both let out a heave of frustration.

"Fas!" she snapped at the misbehaving crabs, and the arm settled down again, leaving naught but a scar in the membrane of the grashal to demarcate their little argument. How many was that, now? Ten? Fifteen?

Vrag had lost count, and in truth had more important matters to consider. Like that one blonde in the cell some ten meters ahead, doing Force knows what. Quickening her stride, the firrerreo closed the distance and rounded a corner, entering the widening hall with her goal clear in sight. Another few steps, and the Hand of the Dark Lord came to a stop before the Shaped confines of her prisoner, still and silent as she looked down upon the other woman.

Meditation. Sure. Should've known it would be a knee-jerk reaction from a Jedi.

Or… whatever the blonde was, really. Lightning wasn't exactly in the arsenal of your typical Orderling; that much the Sith had garnered over the many years of cutting them down in wars.

"Wake up," she requested calmly, leaning forward slightly to thumb a knot in the wall of the grashal. With a wet, popping sound, a seat emerged from the glassy floor a few paces away from the cell, and Vrag promptly took it, never moving her icy eyes away from her captive.

[member="Ashin Varanin"] ​

 

[Allyson Locke]

The woman that had succeeded in capturing her was an interesting being. She didn't flow in the Force like most beings, yet when Spencer focused on her - she picked up the force. The woman's existence confused Spencer to great means, but being able now to recognize the very faint feeling of her - Spencer knew she was on her way to see her. The cold tone echoed as she commanded Spencer to wake up. Unlike other prisoners of war, the wanderer didn't snap at attention or grovel for some sort of mercy. She remained where she sat focused on her current mind preparation. There was no telling how things were going to play out, she had nothing from the Force to aid her - only a gut instinct. Stories echoed about the One Sith and their ways of dealing with POWs. Spencer didn't have an allegiance to the Republic - she was hired on to help. This meant two things - rescue wasn't an option for the Republic and two she wouldn't have been accounted for anyways.

To the Republic, she could have died or turned coat in the middle of battle - no skin off their coat tails. It would seem like a hopeless cause, but Spencer had a back up plan, an ace in the hole. That was of course Ashin Varanin, hopefully the woman wasn't off in deep space killing things and collecting trophies. Leaving the Vong woman in silence long enough, Spencer responded with a sharp toned, "No". Best thing to do in this situation, be difficult. No one ever claimed Spencer to be the brightest, the most stubborn yes. Bright? No. Her mind continued to work out how she could get out of her situation, not really seeing anything beyond getting skewered, she decided to finally cut the meditation short. Her focus and beacon summon to Ashin was as complete as it was going to get.

Opening her eyes, she looked towards the seated woman. Standing, Spencer rolled her shoulder back and pushed back her blonde bangs from her face the best she could with her bound hands. The stomach ache lingered and she figured it was because of the force dead surrounding her. Wasn't unbearable, but she might need to use crucitorn to get through things without throwing up her empty stomach all over the woman's shoes. A smirk and a chuckle escaped Spencer as she contemplated that situation. It was funny, she couldn't help it. Stifling the chuckle the best she could she shrugged.

"So what's up?" Eyes fluttered softly as she remained standing with a slight smile. There was a hint of dark corruption, only obvious if one paid attention to the slightly more yellow hazel of her eyes.

[member="Vrag"] [member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Vrag]

"You, apparently," the woman replied curtly, but her tone lacked edge. In fact, if the blonde listened closely, she could catch onto the faint tinge of amusement lacing her timbre.

Hard to tell, though, what with the constant background noise one expected from a living building. Distant smacking, the occasional shudder with some rumbling to boot, and such soft inflection could easily be lost forever, drowned in the din of metabolism.

Vrag leaned back, smiling slightly as a number of fleshy protrusions sprang forth from the organic chair, weaving a strong lattice to serve as a makeshift backrest for the Supreme commander.

A Supreme commander who, for all intents and purposes, had her filled her cup of torture a long time ago, and found that she didn't want for more. Some of her colleagues at work were quite enamored with the idea, but her only full-on experience with the process wasn't nearly as fulfilling as advertised, and Vrag wasn't one to make a habit of things which she found useless. It was a well-known fact in this day and age that torture rarely produced accurate results, and when you could just as easily tear the knowledge from someone's skull without ever breaking a single finger, the Hand saw no point in going through all the hassle.

If nothing else, there was less of a mess to clean afterwards.

"What exactly are you?" Vrag asked after the brief silence, angling her chin ever so slightly upward. Dhaladii reeled with curiosity, its pincers snapping as it was roused from boredom by the sentiment of its mistress.

"Jedi don't throw lightning around like karking candy."

Ah, there it was. A hint of Vrag sneaked into her tone at last. Not prominent — it was rarely prominent unless she wanted it to be — but there was a noticeable difference. Notably, the tone of conversation was defined by which side of the cage one found themselves, and currently, the blonde was in a less favorable position.

Who knew, though? The Force works in mysterious ways.

When it can see what it's working with, at least.

[member="Spencer Jacobs"] | [member="Ashin Varanin"]​

 

[Allyson Locke]

A grin spread across her face as she was greeted with the lightning comment and how it wasn't Jedi like. The blonde mused quietly enjoying it and then spoke quickly through the grin. "Oh still upset about whatever it is I fried on your arm? Looks like you've already replaced it."

Somewhat impressed by the ability to have this wall and floor create a chair and then randomly a back for the chair, Spencer looked around her own cell for the button to be able to do that as well. The woman had answered her question, but then just left them to silence, which allowed Spencer to casually continue to look for the ability to make this chair arise out of nowhere. Her nose wrinkled as her capture spoke again. It was a question that Spencer had heard before, but she really didn’t have a real answer. It caught her attention though and for the time being she stopped looking for the possibility for a chair.

“What am I? I’m a mix of a lot of stuff really. My parents had a weird relationship so there’s that. Oh you mean force alignment.” This was another thing that she really didn’t have a true answer for. She really didn’t fall anywhere on the spectrum of Force users - nor did she believe in that spectrum. The back of her hand did its best to rub the tip of her nose - it was the only thing she could do as she thought about how to answer this. “I’m nothing. I use the Force, I’m not a Jedi and I’m not a Sith. I don’t believe in the Force being dark or light. Honestly its the wielder that bends the Force to what they desire to be.”

She waved her hands, she usually spoke with them but with them tied for the time being she couldn’t do much beyond the random raise or wave. “The lightning was a manifestation of my energy absorption. That’s all. I’m limited with Sith skills and I’m limited with Jedi skills. In the end I have a nice little mixture of both - really depending on who I am facing.” Her tone lowered as she mumbled softly under her breath more so speaking to herself as she made the slight revelation, “Guess that really comes down to my empathy really...how interesting..”

Rambling its what Spencer did best. She stomped her foot lightly trying to make the cell react as it did for Vrag to make the seat. The last thing she wanted to do was kneel down again and then have [member="Vrag"] command her to wake up again. Taking orders wasn’t Spencer’s strong point anymore, not after she left the Order. Even then, she was never good at taking orders. After tapping her foot against the ground a few more times, it was obvious she wasn’t going to get the same reaction. So instead she decided to take another look around at her surroundings. “So this thing is alive eh? How interesting...reminds me of a place I’ve been before - though as long as there isn’t a Garhoon trying to devour me we’re in good shape.” Her eyes settled back on Vrag while she reached up to scratch her temple. “Eh before you ask, I have no idea where the rebel base is - but why did you capture me, you seemed pretty hellbent on killing me out there.”


[member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Vrag]

"Not really. Just curious how you ended up with the Republic soldiers," she responded. Thinking back to it, the group she'd arrived with didn't seem to care very much that the blonde had been assailed by a Sith lord. In fact, they had made little effort to come to her aid once it because clear who had the upper hand — is was that Hand? — in the bout.

It was also entirely possible they had simply been slaughtered by the defending forces.

Either way, the firrerreo didn't pay it much mind, refocusing her eyes on her captive again. The woman seemed oddly disinterested in her current state, and largely unafraid. It was… unusual, to say the least. Not that Vrag had many prisoners to compare it to, as killing was a much more practical approach to these things, but the few she'd entertained over the years all had a decidedly less optimistic outlook at this point. Not that you could really blame the lot, too, seeing as being locked in a small cell with only a Sith Lord as your conversation partner didn't constitute most people's idea of a good time.

Not this one, though.

Blue eyes narrowed behind the skull as she tilted her head to the side, peering and the babbling blonde with a mixture of interest and wariness. The fact that she seemed entirely unconcerned about her situation could mean two things; she could be stark raving mad, and therefore unaware of the danger she was in, or she had some sort of ace up her sleeve. Vrag deemed the former highly unlikely, for the Jedi had displayed quick enough wit both on the battlefield and in verbal sparring, which left her with the latter option.

How irritating.

"Yes, it's alive," the firrerreo confirmed without any change in tone, belying the thoughts running though her head. She might as well have been chatting about the weather with an old acquaintance in some bar, for all the threatening attitude she seemed to exude. The Sith, by and large, had no use for mincing words, instead choosing what to say with some care. Extracting information once the subject had been lulled into a false sense of security was inifinitely easier as opposed to scretching them out on some bloodied metal slab and poking their flesh with wicked instruments until they croaked.

"You're… unusual," she admitted after a thoughtful pause. "And was wondering what someone like you was doing aiding an invading force. Assaulting a planet full of innocents? The Republic has fallen low indeed."

"But none of that. It is what it is. I'd rather you tell me how you avoid the corruption that comes with usage of darker powers."

[member="Spencer Jacobs"] | [member="Ashin Varanin"]​

 

[Allyson Locke]

The search for a way to get a seat was given up and Spencer decided to just kneel back down. Pacing wasn’t something she wanted to do, it would give away the fact that she was buying her time so that Ashin could make her way towards this horrible planet and pick her up. It wasn’t her perfect ideal date night, but it would have to do. There was a comfort knowing that there was someone in the galaxy that cared for you. It helped that the woman had been originally given notice to find you when you were oblivious to whatever sorcery the woman knew or had experienced. As Vrag spoke, Spencer was briefly reminded of the Star-liner and Ashin’s uncanny way of picking her up. The coup, the teachings, the force storm and the inevitable conquering of a solid fourth of the galaxy was just the start of their relationship.

Spencer was taught everything that Ashin knew, they eventually decided to move to the next step and then after that start a family. Ashin was the perfect Ace in the sleeve and Spencer knew this. There was nothing to be afraid of knowing that the woman she had given her life to was burning the galaxy making her way to this planet. Spencer rolled her shoulders back and there was a slight twitch of pain on her neck as the skin moved with the joint. Touching where the amphistaff had bit her she frowned and mumbled under her breath, “Why does everything go after my karking neck? Seriously…” She sighed and then looked back at Vrag. “I was visiting the Republic, teaching whatever Jedi wished to learn. They asked for my help and I ended up on Balmorra. That’s all, just got sucked up into the mess the Sith and the Jedi have had for years.” She chuckled and looked up towards the ceiling as if she was remembering something.

“You know, when I was eighteen I fought along side the Sith as the First Apprentice to the Empress of the Sith Empire. This was before you ankle biters became what you are today. The Sith Empire, now those were some Sith. Ruthless yet rather classy in the way they did things. Some of their big names run around your ranks if I remember right.” Spencer mused over [member="Darth Vornskr"] and a few others. Ones that she hadn’t seen in years, mostly [member="Anaya Fen"] who from her understanding had gone completely mad. Didn’t stop her from wanting to end the red twilek’s life. There was always a little Sith inside of Spencer. She blamed her Master’s choice of tutors. “Now being the First Apprentice came with some perks – I had access to different tutors that were more than willing to teach me. Uh let’s see.” Spencer knew the names probably won’t ring any bells, still she spoke. “Okay, so of course my master was Darth Desimus, she taught me mostly everything, then there was Velok, who was a Whiphid Sith Lord, Sirella, another Sith Lord, the Former Emperor Mordin, [member="Darron Wraith"] who at the time was the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, Kamon Vondiranach – who at the time was the Rogue Grand Master of the Jedi and leader of the Echani…..and my dad.”

Waving her bound hands about she continue explain her situation with the dark side corruption. “There was a mixture of Sith and Jedi tutors so I was getting a solid look at the Force from both ends. How I avoid dark side corruption is easy.” Spencer adjusted her feet under her and blew any stray blonde hair from her face. It was odd, she was explaining all of this to the Sith Lord for no reason beyond the fact that it bought her some time. Still, she wasn’t sure what was to come next after she answered the woman’s question. “I don’t avoid it completely, there was a time where I did lose control – but my Master was there to help guide me. Like the Force, I dislike being unbalanced. I hover in the middle and that’s where I feel most at peace. Light cannot survive with the Dark and vice versa. I avoid falling and most dark side corruption by using my empathy. I can’t use spear of midnight black against a lightsider unless I have someone around me providing the dark sided energy needed to fuel the dark side technique. I can’t go deeper into Jedi healing techniques unless there’s a lightsider I can latch on to. Growing up, I didn’t understand how to control my empathy – I feel essentially what the people around me feel. Of course now I’ve mastered keeping my mind shut off and tucked away. There’s downsides to it too.” A grin and a shrug, “Though you don’t get to know those.” Spencer stood again and started to walk around the small cell. “I’m not scared of where I am, nor am I scared of you because I grew up with Sith Lords with a far better imagination for killing, excuse my bluntness. They didn’t need whatever the hell you keep on your body to destroy and bend the will of others. The Sith here are nothing more than roaches trying to evolve into something greater.”

Spencer tilted her head to the side as she continued to smile. “It’s why you haven’t been able to destroy the Republic, you simply don’t have what it takes. It amuses me.”

[member="Vrag"] [member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Vrag]

"You make a habit of being sucked into wars, then?" What a curious creature. Few people were willing to fight battles that weren't their own, or at least not unless they were getting paid good money to do it. There was a number of good and capable mercenaries scouring the Galaxy, but they didn't put out for free; blood always had a price. This girl though?

You just happened to join a planetary invasion?

Vrag had half a mind to snort at the absurdity of the statement, but the blonde was rambling again, diverting the firrerreo's attention. In the next minute, she was treated to a whole dissertation on the Jedi's education, from the Order to the Sith and back, with some bumps on the road between the two. That would've been all fine and well, but the blonde kept taking undue potshots at her captor at every turn, apparently completely oblivious to the reality of her situation. She was in no position to prod the slumbering beast, not when she was chained in a cell with no-one for miles that would even bat an eye if her blood was spilled.

Mid-rant, Vrag calmly rose from her organic seat, walking up to the cage with a predator's stride. There was no perceptible change to her demeanor as far as anyone could tell with all that armor on, but the woman seemed largely unconcerned, which was to be expected of someone on the right side of the cell gates. She would teach the blonde an important lesson that day, and a simple one as well.

"That's fine," she spoke after a brief pause, idly stroking the wall of the grashal. "You're entitled to your opinion." She smiled behind her mask of Vonduun and bone, sharp as a knife and as cold as one, too, and then sought out a particular pattern in the flesh of the prison. The building would rumble and coo, and then the cell would start shrinking rapidly around the blonde without warning, tightening its confines around her bound body.

Vrag, meanwhile, watched impassively for the scene to unfold. Certainly, simply ending this woman's life was an option, but it would remain an option throughout this session. For now, reminding her of her place would have to do.

The cell would morph and roil, the floor nearly boiling underneath the Jedi as it prepared to exact agony of the most exquisite kind upon her. Was it torture if they deserved it?

The Hand tilted her head to the side, entirely unperturbed by the scene or the question fleeting through her mind as the grashal would contort around the woman in an attempt to tie her down to the floor. Considering that the blonde was handcuffed and had nowhere to go, it wouldn't be too hard. And after that?

Snip snip.

Well, more like shlick crunch smack, in reality, but details. A tkun, sharp as a coufee and ravenous as an amphistaff would wrap around the right leg of the woman at the knee at Vrag's behest, and then begin squeezing.

"Ankle biters indeed."


[member="Spencer Jacobs"]

 

[Reverance]

The world ached and it throbbed. Like everything he had ever wanted, every sense and feeling accentuated by the lack of presence within. A dog held at lengths end, that final link broken, he spread his arms as he walked with the color of rust and gray in the backdrop. A thriving world demented and molested, torn from the grip of the force and tossed into the pit with the Yuuzhan Vong. To some, it had seen better days. To the Warmaster, it was nearing it's final form. Straying towards the edge that defined it. The procedure, the transfer, had left him weakened for weeks, not able to function properly without the aid of the good doctor. But with time, everything heals. Except for the fractures across his mind, the sort he would claim as further evidence of his own proximity to perfection. Retaining memories, entering into the constructs and context of those memories, he was a changed man.

Reaching beneath his Vonduun armor, he plucked a chazarillo from the protein disk. Igniting in the air, he placed the fungus between his lips and anchored it to fixed position with the blackened Voxyn arm. Unhindered by vonduun on his right biological prostheses, he let the beast air out and feel the beauty of the rotten day. The whole planet was an over-ripened fruit, rotten in the core with the tendril of the Gramuteks digging further inward. Pulsating, consuming, growing. He walked into the grashal, stepping on a baby vonduun crab as it skittered across the floor. Kneeling down, the beast still quickening to the illusion of life, it moved against his lift. He merely smiled, no helmet to hide his cruel expression.

Entering the Grashal where he had sensed the presence of Ygdris, he slowly turned the legs of the carcass and pulled. He didn't need to see her to know where she was, they had long usurped those thresholds that separated the common ally. An intimacy, a kindred taking to blood and the gestures that followed. Finding an observation table near where the Hand was tangoing with her quarry, Reverance pulled out the organic chair and sat down. Placing the crab legs on the table, he smiled as he stretched out his right hand and pulled the chazarillo from his lips with his left. Gripping his hand into a fist and opening wide, he smiled as he pushed the burning edge of cigar analog into flesh of the skin. A response to pain, the mouth of the palm opened and bit at the air, to which he responded with a smile before pulling the legs over. Slowly feeding, like a pencil through a sharpener, the legs were chomped down by the teeth and gnawing and masticating mouth. He felt the strength of it's consumption as the eye opened in the palm, changing singular view into stereo. One eye in his head, one eye in his hand.

Closing his crimson view, he dropped his hand to the side and looked towards the cell of the flesh and biots, through view of the voxyn. And he soaked in the force presence of Ygdris as well as the captured. Flexing the hand, he reached back up and starting picking the crab apart on idle. "Well..." He stated, eating a piece of the crab and scraping residual flesh from his teeth, with the sharpened nails of the Voxyn hand. He looked down the hall of the Grashal mindful, crimson view not accounting for the interruption he might be causing."Aren't you going to introduce us?"

He had never met the woman but he would know her name. More importantly, he would know the name of wife and the consequences of this capture. And that idea, all the ripples spreading outward across the flesh of Selvaris: it might excite him.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Spencer Jacobs"] | [member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Allyson Locke]

Spencer eyed the room as it grew smaller around her, it was interesting that this place could function in so many ways such as this. Freaking out would have been the original route to go as the room closed in on her keeping her where she stood and wrapping around her frame. Freaking out sounded like a great idea at the moment she felt whatever it was grab tightly around her leg just under her knee. Though freaking out wasn’t what she was going to do. After seeing what the woman did in combat she was pretty much ready for anything. Spencer didn’t struggle, she didn’t fight back inwardly she felt the surge of pain from her leg begin to shoot up and down her system.

It took a lot to finally glance downward to eye the crimsoned furred serpant like creature. It was something beyond she had ever seen before. If this was any other matter, her first thought would go to her daughter – the child had an obsession about things that could devour her whole. Whatever this thing was, it continued to grow tighter around her leg and the pain began to get worse as time passed. Taking in a deep breath, she focused her mind and started to mask the pain, cleansing it from her body – giving her enough “breathing room” to actually think about something besides the pain in her left. Crucitorn was a skill she learned directly from Ashin – the woman had mastered it and was in a constant state of being with it when Spencer had first met her. Like Tutaminis, Crucitorn was something Spencer focused on to learn and to master. With her affinity towards Mentalism, the girl could use it offensively, but right now she needed to just not feel the pain as bad as she was.

Moving to a better threshold of pain, Spencer relaxed her frame and refocused her mind. Remembering how the armor reacted to the surge of lightning back on the battlefield she did her best to go that route again. It helped that she was kidnapped by the One Sith, there was a never ending supply of the dark sided energies she needed to have the power manifest itself in her palm. She couldn’t move too much, but she was a master in the Force – still it was as if she was trying to perform surgery blindfolded. There wasn’t any escape from what she was going to do to herself, but if it meant that the creature was off her leg and she kept the limb – it was worth it.

Sparks flickered at the tips of her fingers, she struggled to focus on the lightning and the Crucitorn along with fighting off the stomach ache that was growing stronger as the room had finally wrapped itself around her. All she needed was a spark, something to at least fend it off. Cursing, she dropped the Crucitorn and focused everything on the lightning. Sparks flew towards her leg which hit the tkun and her own leg. The burn from the lightning was something she had felt before, but didn’t want to feel again. Assuming that the tkun functioned like the armor, it would hopefully fall off and she could return her mind back to the Crucitorn easing the pain from now the burn and the beginning of small fractures on the bones of her leg. The Crucitorn kept the pain from taking over and she could take a look at the space outside of her strait jacket. Someone else had arrived, he seemed like the woman she had been taken by – which worried yet didn’t surprise her.

His presence like the woman, seemed vague in the Force. She sensed there was something lingering there, but there was something else that hazed their presence. What was the armor that they were wearing, it didn’t react to the Force – yet fried when it was struck by lightning. The questions circled her mind as she pondered on filling the room with the lightning, but then she’d just fry herself and that would seem pointless. For now, she remained bound by her prison cell. Despite her situation, she smirked through the pain and looked towards the new arrival. “So there’s more of you. Lovely.” Spencer bit her tongue this time, she didn’t need to deal with more coming out of the ground or other things closing in on her. Probably a good thing I’m not claustrophobic….

[member="Reverance"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Vrag]

She tilted her head to the side, the distinct sound of muscle popping under pressure assailing her ears like a violent melody. It was a tune she knew well, though it was often accompanied by the rhythm of artillery bucking in the distance and the roar of blaster fire all around her as she fought through man and machine alike. Sometimes to conquer; other times to defend. It didn't really matter to the woman either way, for the song differed little in the thick of battle. People died the same whether they were attacking or fighting for their home, and Vrag cared for neither.

Alone and singled out, however, the melody was far more… pure.

A familiar voice rose above the notes of the ancient song, then, and Vrag let out a deep, rich laugh at the suggestion of the Warmaster. The sound that tumbled from her lips was a genuine one, however absurd it was in context to their situation.

"I have no idea who she is," she responded truthfully, angling her body sideways to glance at the Wrath. Much like her, he had coaxed a seat out of the grashal, sprawling on the organic fixture as if he were a lazy ralltiir tiger. Coupled with the memory of a very curious vacation on a very particular planet, the sight brought a fond smile to the lips of the firrerreo.

The blonde in the cage was denied attention for a moment as the Sith observed her counterpart feed the voxyn al'do grafted onto the stump of his arm. She remembered vividly how [member="Reverance"] had cut it off with his lightsaber while swearing fealty to the Yun'O. They watched over them now, cradling Selvaris in their merciless grasp. They held love for their warrior people, though not in any sense that Jedi like [member="Spencer Jacobs"] could hope to fathom. The only balance known to the Universe was strife, and the only moment of respite was death.

How far and long one travelled through the former to arrive at the latter depended on the person and their willingness to fight, but all life eventually perished.

"There will always be more of us," she responded and returned her gaze to the blonde. The clothing had been charred off her leg with lightning, leaving the distinct black demarcations like a lattice across her pale skin where the electricity had danced.

"And you still have your leg! Congratulations. Now be a good girl and introduce yourself to my friend while I go grab something more effective."

"I promise he doesn't bite."

[member="Ashin Varanin"]​

 

[Reverance]

"No...there are none quite like us." He said without fully taking in view of the woman in the cell. He picked at another leg, tapping it against the table. Despite it's appearance, the sound gave illusions to the construction of metal or something similar. Rolling the thin tube through his left hand, he placed his lips against one end and blew. The meat pushed out and landed in the agape mouth of the voxyn hand as it consumed once more. Placing the shell between his teeth, he crunched and peppered it against the mouth. After he was done, he stood up and stretched, giving Ygdris a wry look. "Don't make promises you can't keep..." He voice trailed off slightly, teasing the Hand.

He approached this manifestation of a cell or whatever it was. Truthfully, as much as it was organic and Yuuzhan Vong in appearance, it was alien and foreign to the culture. Time would be better spent killing this woman, throwing her to the Sliviliths and moving on. While Ygdris and Reverance were two peas in the proverbial pod, they differed widely in their force expression. Besides her particular love for dismantling doors in creative ways, the Supreme Commander wasn't one to often waste her energy on force utilization. While Reverance appreciated that and the visceral brutality that was born from it, he was inherently more attuned to the whims of the force. And many years had been taken into beating those whims into submission, for his gain. And no longer was his reckless abandon abated by the rolling mind within, constant hushed whispers of apprehension. No, he felt freedom and chomped at the bit to chase it. So while this individual may have been accustomed to a specific rule set in regards to Ygdris, Reverance's force presence was an unleashed beast, unkempt and filled with a particular malice. The sort that didn't fare keenly in the face of snark.

"So..." He said, pressing his weight against the cell. "Tit for tat. I'll show you mine and you show me yours." Leaning away, he placed his hand on his chest. "Reverance." He gestured towards her. "Now...your turn."

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Spencer Jacobs"] | [member="Ashin Varanin"]​

 

[Allyson Locke]

Electricity probably wasn’t the wisest of ideas, but it got the job done and Spencer kept her leg. The man that was near the woman spoke to each other and she tried her best to listen. She took advantage of the conversation of the two and began to move her hands around. Spencer was done being here, the fun had been had and it was time to leave. The bindings were tight around her wrists, but she continued to wiggle her way. It was easy to draw upon the dark side of the Force with the two in here with her being so strong and nestled in it. Her palm opened as she started to form an energy construct, she intended to cut through the bindings and figure out the rest of her plan from there. The small invisible construct didn’t fit as well as she had hoped and she ended up cutting the bottom of her palm, cursing under her breath she absorbed the construct into her palm and tried to think of something else.

It was in that moment, she was hit with the fury of his force presence. It was something she had never felt before, to find someone this comfortable and willing to use the force bending it to his dark will. Spencer caught her breath for just a moment as she listened to him speak. Her mind went elsewhere as she remembered the last time she was in a cell with an overbearing presence.

It seemed like eons ago, she had been wandering in a place she shouldn’t have been. Being a padawan at the time with no master - it wasn't one of her best choices to just travel around without someone to guide and protect her. The order was just as much of a mess back then as it was in today’s time. The time of her capture was vague, but the one thing she did remember was the pair of fangs that shine through the darkness of the cell. Spencer was quickly mentally transported back to how she felt when she first met Erich. Her hold on the crucitorn faltered while the memory played back in her mind - leaving Reverance in silence. She was 17 again and in the cell with a monster who would easily devour her in a second.

Sometimes, fate can be kind.​

How can fate be kind to those in this situation? Who are you?​

I am the monster in the dark.​

The cell she experienced then was nothing compared to the one she was in now. She could still smell the death on the stone ground and the freshness of the blood that lingered in the cells where she met the Garhoon. Like Reverance, his presence was domineering and in a way intoxicating. Not in the same sense of Ashin’s, but she could easily get lost in it. The fear Spencer felt when she met Erich was something she could never forget - bury it deep into her mind, yes. Forget it? Never. With the other Vong with her now alone, the fear quickly bubbled up and her breathing became shallow and rapid. After the fear, she briefly remembered the gentleness of the monster. He nicknamed her and protected her on Kashyyyk. Her eyes closed as she remembered her importance to him and everything she had given him just to keep her protected. The relationship, if it was possible to call it that was very predator and prey.

Even with fear, she cherished her time with Erich. He taught her how to survive. Her elbows bent upward while her fingers grazed the feeding marks on her neck, a reminder of his lessons. The fear disappeared from her as she stared straight back at the Vong. “Spencer.” Biting her tongue she decided not to snark anymore. Knowing her luck he could control the cell like the woman was capable of. There was only so much she could do being confined in here. Adjusting herself, she moved her head enough to flick some of her stray blonde bangs from her face. “At least you’re a bit more polite than the other one..” Looking around again the best she could, Spencer couldn’t get a visual on Vrag who said she was going to go get something. “What did she go to get? When are you two going to be done with me so I can go home.”

Spoiler

[member="Alric Kuhn"] [member="Ashin Varanin"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Reverance"]

 

[Vrag]

Seconds trickled her by as Vrag strode down another corridor of the grashal, eyes set on her target. The membraneous door parted for her passage when she uttered the command in the guttural tones of the Yuuzhan Vong language, and the Supreme commander entered the detention hall again. Her chitin boots sank into the fleshy floor as she closed upon the two conversing masters, and when the situation would have amused her on any other day, the firrerreo found herself mirthless.

There was a heavy sense of something in the air, as if a shadow had fallen over Selvaris. Her left arm was even more irritable than usual, and the Ygdris constantly shifted its plates against her body.

She pushed the unease to the side for the moment as she neared the pair, fingers wrapped securely around a small leathery pouch. It sat securely in the palm of her hand, no larger than a stack of sabacc cards, but its contents were far, far more dangerous.

"You presume a lot," she answered instead of [member="Reverance"] as she came to a stop beside the Wrath. Her features were hard as she stared at the blonde, and though the Jedi could not see it, the expression would be evident enough in the tone of her voice.

Saying nothing more, the woman opened her fist to reveal the unassuming pouch, her cold blue eyes never leaving those of her captive. She wanted to see her reaction as the cell would tighten into a form-fitting wall of flesh around her, holding her in place at the behest of the Supreme commander. It would facilitate what was about to happen next, as Vrag doubted that the Jedi would go along with it willingly. The blonde had displayed a surprisingly stubborn attitude in the face of her highly unfavorable circumstances, and the firrerreo would adapt accordingly.

She didn't bother explaining what was about to happen; uncertainty and panic would be the Sith Lord's ally in this, and so she would utilize them to their greatest extent.

Without further ado, she coaxed the pouch open and released its contents into the cell, watching the makeshift bars grow and merge with each other into the same glassy surface that formed the floor of the grashal. Though tinted green, the blonde would still be visible through the wall, all on her lonesome with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny little seeds.

Yorik-Kul. They also liked to call it Surge coral, but for some reason, the Supreme commander preferred the taste of the Yuuzhan Vong word on her tongue. It was… harsher.
More reflective of what was about to happen to the Jedi.

Vrag allowed herself the smallest of smiles as she crossed her hands behind her back.

And then she waited.

[member="Spencer Jacobs"] | [member="Ashin Varanin"]​

 

[Reverance]

The click clack of fear, it's fingers stretching beneath the door or from beneath the bed. Running, scared, one slams the door shut or hops away. Hoping that such an attempt might draw it away, make something grand seemingly small. But the expressions of fear and the battle waged wasn't lost to the intuitive Sith Lord. Far from it, he supped upon it's character, an appetizer for things to come. And in response, he returned the charitable showing with a smile of his own as he leaned forward. "Spencer..." He said as he tilted his head upward, closing his eye. Inhaling, as if catching a scent of cooking meat, he turned his attention back to the woman in the cell. "What a lovely name."

Turning his head back to Ygdris as she approached once more, he pursed out his lips and squinted his crimson eye in view of the power before him. "Don't worry. I'm sure we will be done soon enough." And with that, he pushed away from the cell and approached Ygdris, after she was nearing completion of releasing the surge coral. Gabriel smirked at that idea, largely because he knew who sat in the cell and of whom called her lover. At the very least, wife. Pulling the Supreme Commander aside, he paused and placed his thumb against his top teeth in thought, staring at Spencer. With the speed of the voxyn hand and arm, Reverance grabbed the top of Ygdris' armor, palm against hard chitin and fingers clinging inward, against soft vonduun innards. Pulling her towards him, he tilted his head, concealing his mouth from view of the prisoner. This was no aggressive gesture, merely the sort of love tap they were always used to. "You know who you've brought to our door step?"

The shadow preceding over the planet, the looming threat, Reverance couldn't help but smile. "That woman in your cage is Ashin Varanin's wife. At the very least, someone who might be of importance. I don't keep up with the marital status's but I recall her from the Fringe. The name." Releasing his pull, but keeping his fingers tied deeply against the Vonduun he helped shape, he tilted his head. It had to be her, given her presentation of power and general aloofness regarding her current predicament. Some sort of confidence powered this resolve, the potential vengeance of the former Lord of the Fringe might do it. "And I couldn't be happier about it." He looked down towards her arm and squinted. "What happen to your vonduun, there is a..." He flared his nostrils. "A youthfulness about it."

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Spencer Jacobs"]​

 

[Khallesh]

Khallesh let out a long breath that caused the steam to convulse and curl before her. She closed her eyes and relaxed back into the soft walls of the steam cell. The mixture of prickly heat and a slight burning from the cleansing chemicals was quite pleasant. A thin sheen of steam formed on her flesh, before beads formed and rolled down across her many scars and tattoos. There was quite the collection of artwork adorning her bare flesh to be proud of now. She was still young, with a good century of fighting ahead of her. Perhaps once day there would be no remaining sign of bare, unblemished skin.

It had taken some time to convince them to alter the chemical make-up of the steam cells here on Selvaris. They typically served the masochistic warriors of Domain Shai who preferred a concoction that harshly stripped away the upper layers of skin. The priests here seemed to form their ideology to match and had argued that anything less would not truly cleanse the influence of the infidels on those that were forced to come into contact with them.

“Phahg sia,” she whispered to herself, wiping the sweat from her brow before leaning her head backwards.

Suddenly, there was an unpleasant rush of cold air, the steam shifted in the breeze. Khallesh looked up as the sphincter opening closed behind not another female warrior, but a male servant. His eyes lingered for a moment, before he turned on his heel.

The skin under her throat and across her cheeks flushed dark grey as her eyes widened incredulously. Then her eyes narrowed and her lips formed a vicious snarl.

“What, do you think you are doing?” she demanded.

“Master Shaper Jun Phaath sent me to fetch you!” he replied meekly.

“Why would you not wait outside?” she demanded.

“She said it was most urgent and that…and that you would not mind.”

Khallesh sighed, shaking her head. So now the tedious shaper was actually willing to gamble with the lives of her servants just to tease her or test her resolve. Strange heretical beast that she was. Very well, she decided, she would show what her position on the matter was. Such an offense could not be tolerated. No male who had not been sanctioned as her mate by the priest caste could cast their eyes across her in such a state. She held no illusions about what some of the lower order warriors got up to when deployed to battle, but bending the rules was not acceptable for one of her stature.

She cursed her hand for shaking in rage and embarrassment as she reached for the coufee beside her – warriors did not travel anywhere without some form of weapon unless told otherwise by the priest caste.

“What is your message?” she asked as she stood up and padded across the fleshy based of the cell underfoot.

“You are to head to the seventh grashal of imprisonment to meet her. She says there is a stubborn human she needs to convince of something and you are best placed to assist,” the servant said quietly.

“Is that all?” Khallesh asked, standing just a foot behind him.

“Yes,” he replied.

Khallesh said no more. She delicately placed a hand on his shoulder and he obediently leant his head backwards. The hand moved up to the back of his head, taking a firmer grip. The other hand came around before jerking back and across in one swift motion. Shining obsidian ichor sprayed across the walls, and she allowed the male to crumple. Khallesh Val was in no mood for Jun’s games today.


~


Khallesh arrived in her full Vonduun Skerr Kyrric in a very testy mood. Jun Phaath, one hand on her hip and dressed in her flowing and colourful robeskin, merely smiled sweetly. The fronds of her shaper headdress – animated when Jun was excited – gave nothing away.

“What a waste of an excellent servant,” she said quietly.

“I was thinking the same. What…is that?” Khallesh responded bluntly, pointing an accusing finger at the shackled human next to the master shaper.

“A blood bag, dear Khallesh,” she responded, as if that was a suitable reply. When Khallesh merely held her gaze the shaper continued: “You really are no fun today. I need human blood. They are so frail, I would not want to kill my subject today unnecessarily.”

Khallesh narrowed her eyes for a moment, before looking to the entrance of the grashal questioningly. It seemed the shaper was quite in the mood for games today, as she did not explain any further, but continued on her tedious subject.

“Did you know Khallesh Val, that the humans have several blood types? It really is fascinating. Some can swap blood with others, some can’t. Some can take any blood, some can give blood to any others. Universal donors they call them,” she explained excitedly.

Khallesh shot the shaper a withering glare, but didn’t have the resolve to hold it. She found the shaper had an odd sort of charm. She was also all too aware that the Master Shaper was not as frivolous as she seemed. A keen mind plotted behind that smile and she feared that she was little more than a pawn in the shaper's games. Sighing, Khallesh moved to the direct approach.

"Why are we here?"

“There is a human here, by all accounts an exceptionally powerful Jeedai. Unfortunately she is in the care of another: Vrag. I believe you two are quite close friends now?”

Did the shaper know every single that event that transpired? Damn her to the Gods. “That is something of an exaggeration,” Khallesh replied through gritted teeth. Her eyes darted back and forth, checking that none of her peers had overheard that assertion.

“Nonetheless, I thought it prudent to bring you along to help make my case. I have long wished to try and understand the biology behind what gives them access to this ‘Force’.”

There was sharp intake of breath as Khallesh looked to Jun Phaath in horror. Whilst Khallesh was used to her pushing the bounds of heresy that was….that was too far.

“Oh please Khallesh! Just come and talk to the human with me. You don’t have to be involved at all if you don’t want to. Thought I would appreciate some strong hands to hold some limbs down if permitted to carry out my investigation.”

Khallesh stood there, torn. First the shaper decided to play games with her, leaving the virgin warrior quite flustered and then seething. Now she wished for her aid in bending the shaping protocols to breaking beyond? Beyond breaking point. There was nearly a minute of silence as she considered this. All she had learned so far of infidel culture, how she had grudgingly come to admit that there flexibility and ability to adapt – even through their economic, capitalist nature – had defeated their invasion, not just the heroic Jeedai she respected so much.

There was a curt nod, nothing more. Then they would proceed inside and the Master Shaper would find the pair outside the cell. There she would plead for just a few hours for some experiments, promising that the human would be put through excruciating pain, but left quite alive.

 

[Allyson Locke]

The man called Reverance answered her, saying her name back to her. His voice and the way his lips curled over the letters of her name sent a shiver up Spencer’s spine. The man knew how to work and mold the creepy factor quite well. A bit too well possibly. There was some relief in his comment about being almost done - maybe she had the One Sith all wrong, maybe she would be able to leave once they realize she was most likely no use to them. There was the possibility of death though, but if it came to that she would fight her way free - they didn’t mind her with anti-force locks, there was that option always.

The short lived calm disappeared as she watched as the woman returned. There was something in her hand, something that she had to go fetch. Releasing whatever it was from her hold, Spencer looked for it - seeing nothing. The Surge Coral was force dead like the rest of the beings around her, so the Force wasn’t helpful at this moment. Possibly, it was a ploy a way to get her to fear something that didn’t exist. Sighing softly, she watched as the man pulled aside the woman. They spoke quietly and Spencer couldn’t hear anything. Another sigh, but this time something tickled her nose as she inhaled. The blonde scrunched her nose as she tried to dislodge whatever was tickling the inside of her nose. When she thought of it, there was something else in the back of her throat that also seemed to tickle.

The other Vong, the one that she had fought released something in the air. Coughing, Spencer tried to push out whatever was in the back of her throat, but with every breath she took the tickling intensified and continued through her esophagus. As the moments ticked by, Spencer was very aware of the sensation that coursed through her entire body. Was she being poisoned? It didn’t occur to Spencer that the surge coral was small and was ingested by just breathing in the contaminated air. She also didn’t realize that with the infection of something that was force dead would soon start to work on her connection in the force. The stress induced stomach ache she felt earlier intensified and her face began to pale in comparison to before. There was a cold sweat starting to collect on her brow.

She remembered the start of this feeling, it reminded her of when she came in contact of the Ysalamiri. The anti-force bubble the lizard created cut her off from the living Force. Fingers wiggled in their bonds as she wanted to see if shocking herself killed whatever was floating in her system, though she needed to focus and concentrate on her connection with the Force. The spores of the Surge Coral entered the bloodstream and continued to work its way through her body. Another deep breath, Spencer pushed the urge to regurgitate back down. Her mind focused and she began to use Cruictorn once more to help calm her body and remove the pain she felt from sickness and the coral nestling into her body. Looking towards the pair, she spoke quickly doing her best to continue to keep her mind on the Cruictorn technique.

“What...what did you do to me?”

[member="Khallesh"] [member="Reverance"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Khallesh]

[member="Spencer Jacobs"] [member="Ashin Varanin"]
The stoic Commander was amazed at how demure the Master Shaper became when requesting some time with the prisoner. Normally the heretical woman was quick to deploy her cutting tongue when discussing matters with Khallesh. Was that an insult to her? Khallesh idly wondered, or simply familiarity. She had been but a subaltern when they had first crossed paths after all.

Assured that the procedure would be quite painful, Jun Phaath was permitted her experiment. Her headdress twitched with excitement and her eyes sparkled. Yet when she expertly manipulated the chamber to create some room around the prisoner, her eyes turned dark for a moment.

“[Really? Who left her in their fabrics?]” she tutted, her gaze turning to the rope around Spencer's waist. “[I don't particularly fancy being choked to death today. Have her stripped and put in a robeskin!]” she called back down the corridor to two of the servants. Even with the Jeedai's hands and feet secured the rope in particular presented a risk.

The human female didn't seem much pleased with this and there was something of a struggle, followed by a loud crack. One of the servants returned with a bundle of rags and a clearly broken jaw bone.

“[Odd looking aren't they?]” Jun asked, noticing Khallesh attempting to glance surreptitiously over her shoulder. Khallesh jutted out her jaw defiantly and kept her eyes away from the prisoner whilst she was redressed in a white robeskin. “[Quite incompatible with our species as well,]” the Shaper decided to explain - unnecessarily in Khallesh’s opinion. “[Not that some of our kind haven't tried mind you,]” Jun added.

“Yuch!” Khallesh exclaimed with a loud, throaty noise. She felt bile at the back of her throat, horrified at such a revolting notion. She visibly shuddered and shook her head incredulously. Her mind went back to that strange Yuuzhan Vong who had worked for Jamaane.

“[For once I agree with your opinion on something in that area of life it seems. Each to their own though, I suppose,]” Jun replied with a shrug.



Finally Jun set to work, stepping into the cell. In one hand was a long, thin biot. It was akin to a very slender snake, but with rough brown hide. At each end of its metre long body was a head and its width was the same along its length, not tapered. At Jun’s delicate touch one of its maws opened. It had a circular mouth made up of overlapping, shining teeth. It extended a long, black pointed tongue that ended in a small hole that kept closing to a point and then opening wide.

“Hello there Spencer,” Jun said, transitioning smoothly into basic whilst maintaining her usual sing-song tone. “I'm very excited to meet you. Very excited. You see I'm a… what's the word… scientist. I'm a scientist and I want to know how you work.”

The little biot gently slithered across spencer's collarbone, almost caressing her neck, before suddenly striking. Droplets of blood would form around the location where one of the heads had burrowed down and inserted it's tongue into her subclavian vein. Jun waved at Khallesh to bring in the other human slave and the other end of the biot was quickly affixed to his chest. The long thin creature convulsed as it started to pump blood from the slave into Spencer’s veins.

“There, we wouldn't want you passing out on us. That wouldn't help at all,” Jun whispered. Now in her hand was something else. Another biot Khallesh did not recognise. It was maybe ten centimeters long, almost like a flattened seed pod. It's skin flashes a variety of colours with bioluminescence. As Jun held it up, it's skin cracked open and thousands of tiny tendrils extended out, grasping at the air.



“[Hold that arm still Khallesh,]” Jun instructed curtly. Khallesh decided to acquiesce and grasped Spencer's forearm firmly. With both the cell holding her tight, as well as a hundred kilos of Yuuzhan Vong muscle, she wouldn't be moving easily.

“Stay very, very still Spencer,” Jun whispered. “This is delicate work and if you move I could cut into an important… vein,” she said, clearly struggling for the translation again. Her free hand, a Shaper hand, came forwards. Each of those many fingers was its own tool suited to the work of a Master Shaper. In mere moments she had precisely cut and parted the flesh of Spencer's inner wrist, exposing bone, muscle and nerves.

The biot came down then, its tendrils reaching in Spencer's gaping wound and taking a firm hold.

“The Grak’shun is measuring your nervous system,” Jun explained. “I'm sorry, I know that must hurt you, but this is vital, vital work. You see I've been long wondering whether the nervous system has any links to how you control the Force, just like you control your body,” she explained. All the while she watched the skin of the biot as it convulsed in a myriad of colours that she could clearly interpret.

“Would you use the Force for me Spencer… please?”

 

[Vrag]

With the seeds released to infect the ignorant Jedi, Vrag allowed [member="Reverance"] to pull her aside for what she assumed would be some sort of conspiring chat. Or maybe he would let her know what the hell that creeping feeling crawling up her spine was. Out of the two, he'd always been more attuned to the fluctuations in the Force, and the Hand knew when to delegate to those more skilled. There was a set of skills she excelled at, and then there was a set of skills where she… didn't.

Facts of life.

And then the Warmaster broached a much more relevant topic, and whatever else Vrag had been pondering quickly drained from her thoughts. The more Rev spoke, the more her smile faded, replaced by a mild frown. The name rang a bell, that was for certain, but the Sith couldn't quite remember the context.

"The schutta fried it off," she replied offhandedly and stuck a clawed thumb into the direction of [member="Spencer Jacobs"]. "Had Turish Kwaad Shape a new one."

Before she could inquire about this [member="Ashin Varanin"] any more, her supposed wife interrupted her once more, a hint of panic finally intruding on that cocky tone. Good.

"You'll see soon enough."

Just as Vrag would see the blonde's naked ass soon enough in an unexpected turn of events. Preceded by the sudden appearance of Master Shaper Jun Phaath with the familiar form of [member="Khallesh"] in tow, the Hand would witness as the Jedi was released ever so slightly from the confines of the encroaching grashal, only to be stripped of her clothing and wrapped in robeskin instead.

And then she was attached to biot number one, and soon after, to biot number two.

Vrag blinked, stifling a chuckle at the awkward conversation the Commander and Shaper shared while preparing the Jedi for whatever freakish experiment Phaath wished to conduct.

"[Yes, Commander. Do hold her still,]" she butted in with a toothy grin, expression concealed by the impassive sneer of her skull helmet. Curiosity lacing her features, the woman strode closer, glancing over the Shaper's shoulders to see what the Yuuzhan Vong was actually doing to her captive.

"[How's the abdomen, Khallesh?]" she inquired with no malice, turning her head to the side to look at the Huntress. The experience they'd shared on Rakata Prime was perhaps buried, but not forgotten.

"[You better hurry, Shaper Phaath. She's already infected with Yorik-Kul,]" she offered to the other Vong before pulling away again, fingers idly caressing the spine of her saber.

I'll be back, she murmured to Reverance through her oggzil, and then the Supreme commander strode out of the room again, intent on figuring out what was going on.

 

[Reverance]

He didn't often get the opportunity to hear the hiss and guttural tones of the Yuuzhan Vong Legion Yun'Do dialect bleed from those lips. It was odd, how soaked in curiosity and intrigue, he had found the notion riveting. He too, felt an odd swell of curiosity, as he watched the work of the Shaper and the Warrior. The one he recalled from the grashal in the moonlight, standing against him and with Tsavong, crimes washed away in the blood of those slain since. But wounds stitched closed could still be opened with the proper plying. The sort of plying that wasn't readily apparent here.

Standing nearby, he put his hands behind his back and watched quietly. The questions of the shaper were intriguing, the idea that the force utilization might be inherently tied to the flex of muscles and ligaments and tendons. Curious, it never occurred to the Warmaster. Although, that was likely because he didn't care, he wasn't so removed from the force as these beings. Pilfering aimlessly through the dark, looking for whatever specks of light they could find, he appreciated the effort. The seeking of knowledge he cared little about, but the pain it might bring provided him with some for of entertainment and enthusiasm. With hungry eyes, he watched the operation taking place, listening to the dull echos of visceral and questioning tones.

​As Ygdris walked off, similar curiosity abating further interaction between Hand and Wrath, he gave a nodded and turned his head, watching her leave with that sort of purpose and swagger. Rubbing his mouth as he turned back to this Spencer, he wondered how mad Ashin might be over this. He had interacted with the woman only a few times, particularly recalling a battle against the Lotek'k. But even then, he never understood any sort of fuse. Well, if there was something that would cause the former empress to go off, this was it. And he licked his lips as the promises that such a display would make.

Approaching the viewing, he tilted his head and looked towards the shaper. "[Don't worry about her pain.]" He looked towards Spencer, lips wet with the same hunger and power as before. "[It's for a good cause.]"

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Khallesh"] | [member="Spencer Jacobs"] | [member="Ashin Varanin"]​