Private The Sickness of Belief

[Anet Raine]

Anet remained limp even as Kaila shook her shoulder. It wasn't until after the Sith Lord removed her helmet that the scholar opened her eyes. She sat up quickly, with a little more energy than was to be expected, if any was to be expected at all.

"It's not a star map," she coughed the words. "But it is a map."

The half-pantoran crawled across the ground before finally standing. She moved unsteadily towards the wall, which remained aglow. Her attention hadn't yet drifted to the burning man her master butchered just moments ago.

A finger traced the lines. "I..." Anet blinked and shook her head.

Whatever epiphany she just had faded. She looked around, shocked at the body, even more shocked at Anathemous.

"M...My Lord?"

Kaila Irons

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Anet Raine

"A map?" Kaila sighed in relief.

The historian was alive, and so she allowed her head to hang low, kneeling there, leaning on her staff. She glanced at her thigh, only making the pain worse as she saw just how close Crian had come to dismembering her outright. Though the nerves were damaged, she could tell by the smoke rising from inside her leg that the damage was severe, and judging by the wobble in her earlier steps, the laminanium bone was softening, warping.

"M...My Lord?"

"I'm fine." she growled, but did not move.

Panting, she looked up at the scene around her, the way those crystals continued to glow in jagged shadows cast by the flames behind her. Finally those golden eyes fell upon Anet, who was similarly low to the ground still.

"What happened to you?" she winced.

"I tried to shield you, before that bloody jedi stopped me."

"Then you just... collapsed."

​

 

[Anet Raine]

The Sith did not look fine as far as Anet could tell.

"Your leg..."

Her thought trailed off when Anathemous interrogated her about the blackout. She remembered nothing about the 'shield' that her master mentioned. Come to think of it, she remembered very little at all. There was the other room, then they entered the chamber, then...

Anet gave her master a puzzled look. A flash of memory scattered across her mind - glimpses from somewhere else.

But where?

She looked at the burning corpse again. "You killed him?" A simple, investigative question free of judgment.

Kaila Irons

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Anet Raine

"I've had worse," she winced "this isn't first leg."

Gritting her teeth, the young Lord pulled an IFAK from her belt, pulling a Flexclamp and wrapping it above the wound until she her leg began to numb. Then, with the potential bloodloss mitigated, she began cleaning the wound while fumbling for her bacta spray.

Despite her hurried movements, there was a practiced fluidity to it.

"You killed him?"

"Not without a fight." she admitted.

"hm." this was new. she glanced up at the fallen jedi, then Anet, realizing it helped to hold a conversation, take her mind off the wound she was working on. She'd never done this in front of another before.

"It was a good battle, Crian proved craftier than expected."

"How much of the encounter do you remember?" she said, glancing at her.

​

 

[Anet Raine]

Crian?

He was that Jedi from the entrance, the one who meditated. When did you get here? She wondered.

Her eyes stared at the man's corpse without a hint of discomfort. The Dark Lord's question reached her, but Anet appeared entirely distracted, almost mesmerized by the incidental cremation.

Until she answered. "I don't. I understand that you fought him - the evidence..." His body. "But I remember this chamber, I remember how we got here, but..."

Pain flooded the historian as soon as she tried to recall more. Whatever memories should have been there were now replaced by vivid flashes of foreign thoughts. It felt like an invasion. Anet shot a cold glare at her master.

"What are you doing?!" She snapped.

It may've seemed like she was angry at her master's wound dressing.

Kaila Irons

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Anet Raine

"Well, maybe the—agh—energy, overloaded your mind."

Anathemous tossed aside the bloodied cleaning pads, moving on to a canister of bacta-spray which provided a modicum of comfort, to which she sighed in relief.

"What are you doing?!" She snapped.

A brief pause, a quizzical brow.

"What's it look like?" she scoffed, and resumed her work.

"Have you never dressed a wound before, Miss Raine? This is how they taught the Sith Legions, in the tenth empire."

"Mandalorians too..." she said more quietly.

Finally she began wrapping an actibandage around the wound, sealing tight, or as tight as she could in the bowels of an ancient ruin. All the while she tried to figure out what the hell Anet's problem was.

"If you're worried about tomb-mold, historian, don't be. These are good anti-septics, wound's clean."

​

 

[Anet Raine]

"No - no, no, no - no!"

Anet shook her head.

"The--"

It happened again. A surge of sensory information, most of it impossible for the scholar to make sense of. She winced again and held a hand to her head, a clear sign of someone nursing a headache.

"The images," she groaned. "This... feeling..."

The experience made her quite nauseous, and so the half-pantoran leaned over and hurled up caf and spacer-grade foodstuff.

"Fffu-yuck!" She spat the last bits and pieces.

Actually, she was now feeling a bit better. That seemed to help. Anet sighed and wiped sweat from her forehead. Pale blue eyes blinked and stared at the Dark Lord.

Then back at the body. "Will you have to fight your way out now?" She was careful not to say 'we.'

Kaila Irons

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Anet Raine

Kaila stopped.

"Anet...?"​

She narrowed her eyes, having seen enough visions, and possessions, to take this seriously. The young Lord didn't seem to react to morning's caf being spewed, beyond twitch of subdued concern in her lip. Grinding her teeth, Anathemous forced herself to her feet, pushing her staff into the stonework.

"Nngh-ah!"

And then began limping towards her.

"Will you have to fight your way out now?"

"Probably, unless I can convince the students to come with."

Stopping next to Anet, she held out her hand, palm up, but not for a shake. She muttered something in High Sith.

Those mutterings brought about another burst of green flame, an old looking mask forming in her waiting hand. It was a rust-brown and bronze colored metal, rough and crude, cracked down one side but wrapped in the same Dathomiri talismans which clung to the Dark Lord's armor. It appeared this helm had broken many times, and been crudely soldered together again.

"It will shield your mind." she offered.

​