Trickle Down [SJO]

[Nida Perl]

On the fringes of Silver space sat Irith, an urban world. Once under the thumb of powerful crime lords, Irith had recently come under the protection of the Silver Jedi. In one sweeping motion, the Jedi and their allies purged the streets of Irith’s most prolific gangs and set up humanitarian aid for civilians who’d been caught in the crossfire. Even though the primary operation was now over, the city-planet’s problems could not be solved in a day.

The life of a Jedi was not as serene as the holofilms had portrayed it. Sure, it involved plenty of meditation if you were into that sort of thing, and the occasional wisdom was dispensed by a century-old Jedi Master. For Nida, it was an amalgamation of famines, plagues, genocide and wars. She’d seen people survive in unfathomable conditions, and watched them die when help couldn’t get there fast enough. Irith ranked somewhere on the middle of the list of difficult tasks she’d had. The recent gang war had left many children without parents, many families displaced. The flow of medical supplies, though better, was still choppy at best. Although the larger syndicates had been stamped out, petty criminals still roamed the streets.

Nida had spent the last few weeks on rotation in a combination clinic and orphanage. Many of the children here had lost their family, and quite a few of them had been the children of gang members. Predictably, some of the kids had anger issues, while others were withdrawn. An unfortunate swath of them had been abused or left neglected, and now they were just floating through life. Milo, an eight-year-old boy who’s father had been a Kioxes spice dealer, had taken a liking to Nida. He’d been rough at first and displayed some of the worst anger issues among the children-hitting, yelling and cussing at nearly everyone since he’d arrived. Eventually the Zeltron’s gentle nature had softened him, and now he’d declared himself her ‘bodyguard’.

Dutifully following the healer around, Milo assisted Nida with her tasks by delivering messages, running small errands and winding bandages in the clinic. The new sense of responsibility had begun to curb Milo’s troublesome behavior to the point where he’d actively tried to soothe the other children, frightened by the prospect of medical treatment, in the same way he’d seen the Jedi do.

At the moment Nida was tending to the scraped elbows and knees of a little girl who’d recently arrived at the clinic. She was quiet but compliant, watching the Zeltron with a wary eye. “Milo, would you be so kind to fetch me some gauze from the table?” Desperate to keep the child from hanging over her shoulder, she offered him a polite request. The boy complied at once with a quick nod, bounding off to the table at the other end of the room.

[member="Aurelion Nova"]

OOC: Feel free to join in, do some heals, hang with the kids, hunt some criminals etc.

​

 

[Thirdas Heavenshield]

In all honesty, the plight of Irith and its citizens had largely passed the young soldier by; there were just too many worlds out there to keep track of, he had no clue how the Jedi managed to maintain connection with and, more importantly, protect each and every one. He'd never even heard of it until the call for volunteers to safeguard an established clinic from any remaining hostile gangs left to roam the streets reached his ears. They would mostly be there as a show of force to deter violent behaviour in proximity to the clinic, as this was a place of peace and healing. Sounded rather dull to one such as Thirdas, who by now had partaken in a number of dangerous operations and come out the other end alive and well.

However when he found out just who else had already gone there to staff the clinic, suddenly a bit of guard duty didn't seem so tedious.

He and a dozen or so Rangers had arrived a few hours ago to help bolster the defenses, placing sentries by the entrance and up on the roof to overlook the surrounding area. They took shifts, allowing a few of them to stay inside the clinic to either rest or help out with the treating of patients. For Thirdas, this meant entertaining a group of little kids who had been excitedly peeking at the soldier setting down his rifle and removing his armour in the corner of the busy room. They had been shy at first, but eventually approached as a group and in short time he had won them over.

The two littlest ones he placed on either knee while the others surrounded him, sitting on the floor while listening to great tales told by the soldier. These were no tales detailing his own brave deeds, but rather tales of gods and monsters every Valkyri knew by heart; such as the tale of Helm the Warrior-God and his conquest of the Frost Giants, or the tale of how the Allfather gained his eight-legged steed. A couple boys of course wanted to feel his muscles, and Thirdas was happy to pull up his short sleeve and flex his biceps. No matter how they then attempted to press it back down, his arm was as if carved from stone.

Throughout this whole exchange however, his gaze had often wandered to where Nida was busy treating a wounded little girl. Their eyes only met briefly, prompting a smile from Thirdas each time.

[member="Nida Perl"]​

 

[Quint Salis]

Irith, recently liberated of the worst of the worst, leaving the playing field open for small time petty crimes which usually went unnoticed. Quint was not a full on criminal per se, just a reformed felon that had a penchant for trouble on occasion. Running his tattoo parlor on Zeltros did get boring on occasion, and the thirst for adventure always made him look for side gigs. Most of the time they were the kind which would land him back in prison if he were ever caught, but they were always for the right reason. Even with the aid of the Silver Jedi, supplies did not always make it to the places they needed to be. With most of the major crime bosses out of the way, new villains fought for control of Irith's underground. That meant those in the crosshairs rarely made it to the clinics set up by the relief workers.

There were some clinics in the underground, all of them in desperate need of supplies. They were in the kind of neighborhood which was mostly overlooked, and Quint decided he could help. This would not be the first time he had stolen something from out under the nose of the Silver Jedi. Granted his last attempt had been years ago, and he had been caught by one [member="Joza Perl"]. Sadly, they never came to a resolution on the best course of action, and Quint and Joza had parted ways, him still being a part time petty crook, and Joza disappointed in his decision making. Quint was never going to to deny there had been some tension between the two. They both knew that from the tattoo he had spent the better part of a night needling into her back. They just never saw eye to eye on how to help the same people.

The law didn't always help. Joza had wanted Quint to give it a try. Years later, and he was still the same person he had been back then. He should have never walked into the clinic, not with all the Silvers which were around, but especially because his eyes caught a Zeltron among them. [member="Nida Perl"] was working with a small child, and it made Quint see the look of disappointment in Joza's face all over again. He muttered some kind of apology as he ventured further into the clinic, walking past the Ranger ([member="Thirdas Heavenshield"]) who seemed to be eyeing the young Zeltron more than a protective guard who was indifferent should. Young love, the first crush, things Quint had never experienced. Maybe the Zeltron would keep the Ranger occupied enough that Quint would actually get away with what he was about to do.

First, he needed to blend in. A doctor's coat, or a lab technician's jacket was all he needed. They wouldn't just leave one out in the open would they? Nothing would ever be that easy.

 

[Tulan Kor]

​

She was crying. Crying tears, brought from deep within a person's soul that no amount of bandages, no amount of antibiotics could cover up. He was off-shift when he overheard her describing it to the medics, the healer Jedi. What they did to her. Who they were. Where they were. A petty gang elevated in position by the removal of the larger elements. Petty thugs with a point to prove. Petty thugs who placed themselves above the law, above common decency. What they did to that girl-

They were going to die.

It only took a few words to make Tulan stand up and pick up his rifle, his RS16. A rifle designed for one thing and one thing only: unrelenting, deniable murder. He walked past the Jedi, the other Rangers, briefly stopping to watch [member="Thirdas Heavenshield"] play with the children. He thought about asking him for help, but stopped. He wanted the kid to remain pure, whole, as any soldier could.

This was another thing that Tulan had to do alone, had to stain himself with.

He marched past the Silver Jedi, exiting the compound. No Silver Jedi equipment on him, just a plate carrier, his rifle, a Disruptor pistol, and a hell of a bad intent to use them both.

[member="Quint Salis"] l [member="Nida Perl"]​

 

[Rupert Kingswood]

The planet reeked of criminals and crime lords alike. Almost like Rupert's childhood, so to speak. They were all considered scum in his book, far down on the totem pole. He had a large distaste for those who tried to cause harm to other people, especially those who didn't deserve it.

He had been stationed in a watchtower not too far the clinic overlooking the area surrounding. He had a vantage point in case hell broke loose, which he hoped it didn't come soon. Some of his armor plating had came off including his helmet. The air was heavy, and the surrounding smells did not smell as good as Rupert would like it to. He could see the other Rangers keep watch of the building as well.

He saw [member="Tulan Kor"] exit the clinic. Nothing really caught his eye, yet this caught his attention. He had a certain demeanor to him, he was angry at something. But for what? Rupert adjusted himself so he could get a better view of him. He continued to walk further and further from the compound. Rupert's curiosity had skyrocketed from what it once was, yet he didn't want to get in his way. He picked up his rifle and left the watchtower, leaving his helmet and some of his chest plating behind. He requested that another Ranger take up the position so the area could be left without leaving a blind spot.

Curiosity had won in this case.

[member="Quint Salis"] | [member="Thirdas Heavenshield"] | [member="Nida Perl"]​

 

[Zak Dymo]

Spoiler

post removed.

 

[Nida Perl]

Milo had retrieved a roll of gauze from the storage closet across the crowded room, but his steps slowed on the way back to Nida. His attention had been drawn in by the soldier, first noticing the crowd he’d gathered before stopping to listen to his stories. They were unlike anything he’d ever heard, tales of gods and giants and warrior heroes!

Nida had taken note of this distraction and didn’t seem to mind. The bandages were just a distraction, something to keep the boy active and to feel as if he was doing his part. She’d finished treating the little girl, who by now had lapsed into silence, overwhelmed by the crowd of the clinic and now curious about the large man who was telling stories. If the other children were interested, then surely, she would be as well?

“There we go.” Nida finished securing the last of the bandages, her gaze sliding over Thirdas. Their eyes met, briefly, and she couldn’t help but blush and try to stifle her smile. Milo, who’d seen the Ranger’s gaze drift over to the healer several times had caught the exchange. Straightening herself out quickly, Nida lifted the girl into her arms and walked her over to where the other children were gathered.

Before she could set the girl down, her appearance prompted Milo to speak up. “Are you in love with Nida or something?” He threw an accusatory question at the storyteller, completely lacking any nuance that an adult would have. The boy was none too pleased with the idea, arms crossed and a hard look on his face.

[member="Thirdas Heavenshield"]

 

[Thirdas Heavenshield]

Thirdas caught [member="Tulan Kor"] just as he exited the building, thinking little of his intentions other than get some fresh air - it could get rather stuffy inside the cramped clinic. That, and he knew the Sergeant was a heavy smoker. Of course one could make the case that Tulan wore a particularly surly expression brought on by dark thoughts, but to Thirdas that was just his face at this point. He'd realised by now the NCO pretty much did not get along with anyone on a personal level; while he likely feared nothing while in battle, the notion of making friends seemed to completely terrify the man. Not that he'd ever admit it.

Another boy joined the growing crowd of kids, clutching a roll of gauze in his small hands. "...And then Odiir, the Almighty Father, fed the unruly steed the golden apple he'd picked from the highest branch atop the World's Tree, and the two forged a most powerful bond of companionship - broken neither through the passing of time, nor even death itself. Countless battles have they fought together, riding across lands, seas, and even the heavens with the greatest of speed, ever at the head of his immortal army of fallen heroes!" The storytelling had started out small-scale, steadily growing into a passionate epic with lots of big hand gestures catching the children's imagination.

Lots of wonderous "oohs" and "wows" followed as he finished story, just in time for [member="Nida Perl"] to appear with the little girl she'd been patching up. Thirdas reached for her delicate pink hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb when the boy from earlier suddenly spoke up.

Thirdas stared at the child, not sure whether to laugh or feel embarrassed to get called out so bluntly. He settled for a smile as he ruffled the boy's hair, then looked up at Nida as he spoke. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd gotten to her first. My mistake."

"Now, now, let's not take up any more of the young man's time." A caretaker for the orphanage appeared to gather up those kids well enough to return to their more child-friendly section of the building, where they may run around and play without getting in the way of clinic staff. "Better do what the lady says. See you guys later, okay?" Some were more reluctant than others to leave the storyteller, including Milo who did not relish the idea to leave the two alone. They all did go with the kind lady however.

"You didn't tell me you were already taken," he said with a grin, waiting for the little ones to round the corner before giving her a gentle tug, making her sit on his lap now that it was available. "Even you need a break, you've been going at it all day," he said next, letting his rough fingers play in her violet hair. There were plenty of skilled doctors and healers more than capable of covering for her, especially now that many of their patients had already been tended to.

[member="Rupert Kingswood"] | [member="Quint Salis"]​

 

[Ruby Jaxx]

Ruby watched warily from the far corner. She wasn’t new here—she’d been in and out of the orphanage her whole life. It wasn’t a glamourous life, but they offered her a meal and a roof over her head. Of course, it was only a matter of time before that was taken away, too. The young woman had been skating on thin ice for a while now, two strikes already to her name. Both times, she’d been caught stealing. It wasn’t something to be proud of… but, okay, she was kind of proud of herself. Life here had never been easy, but things were changing.

The Silver Jedi has descended upon Irith, bringing their goodwill to the crime-riddled world. The thought alone made Ruby roll her eyes. Sure, they’d cleaned up the streets… but would they go trudging through the nasty underbelly of Irith? She wasn’t quite sure what to think. They had promised to make this a better place.

Ruby knew better, promises were made for breaking.

Her blue eyes narrowed as she saw [member="Nida Perl"]. Ruby had managed to stay far away from the nurse… or whatever she was. However, it seemed that many of the younger kids liked her. There were also soldiers patrolling the premises. Although, men with guns were not all that unfamiliar, these “good-guy” types like [member="Thirdas Heavenshield"] were.

But, maybe these people were her ticket out of here. It was a thought she would ponder as she continued to sulk.

[member="Rupert Kingswood"], [member="Tulan Kor"], [member="Quint Salis"]

 

[Quint Salis]

Apparently they would leave a doctor's coat laying about. Quint could not believe finding a disguise was that easy. It seemed everyone was paying attention to everything except what they should have been. At least Zeltrons could always be counted on to provide a distraction even if they were not aware they were doing it. Part of the reason Quint loved Zeltrons so much. A smug grin washed over his face as he put the coat on and proceeded to move into the room where much of the supplies were kept. As long as he looked and acted like he belonged Quint was certain he would go unnoticed and be able to take as many of the supplies he wanted or needed. It was something he had learned a long time ago. The best way to go unnoticed was to be as much part of the background as possible.

A large medical bag was sitting on a table in the supply room. Once again, things could not get any easier. Bacta shots and pack were loaded into the bag, as many as he could fit in the main compartment. Material for treating burns and and other traumatic injuries were loaded in as well. The people of the underground parts of the world had suffered greatly, and Quint wanted to be sure they got their fair shake as well. Was it wrong to steal from those who had to give to those who did not, absolutely. Theft was theft as far as the law was concerned. That never stopped Quint before, and it was not going to do so now.

A woosh of the doors, and a nurse came in, rushing...

"Oh there you are doctor! We need you in triage stat!

Quint paused.

Yeah, it had been too good to be true, and as the bag he had been filling became just out of reach as the nurse started pulling away, the tattoo artist and petty thief cursed as he let out a sigh.

"I'm supposed to be on break..." he complained as the nurse pulled him into the room where [member="Thirdas Heavenshield"] and [member="Nida Perl"] were sitting. Eyes went wide as he saw the line of kids that needed help. What was more is that he picked up on the soldier's actions. He was definitely crushing on the Zeltron. Quint shook his head.

"Zeltrons, my good man," Quint started playing the part of the doctor as he attempted to make his voice sound more sophisticated, "will always break your heart. Fun to be around, but in the end, they can't ever seem to stay put for long. Trust me... I know."

[member="Ruby Jaxx"] | [member="Rupert Kingswood"] | [member="Tulan Kor"]​

 

[Tulan Kor]

Relatively speaking, it was a short walk.

After all, the Silver Jedi had rightly set up shop where the most business was being done. Tulan held his rifle in one hand, marching along the streets. Irregular attire and a plate carrier, a headset and a backwards hat- well that was more or less what most hired guns wore nowadays. Minimal, effective.

He didn't notice [member="Rupert Kingswood"] following after him, thanks to a nearly-blinding rage that Tulan felt himself under. The girl had given him enough information to go after who he needed to. A bunch of criminals, formerly loosely connected, had risen in status thanks to the power vacuum that the Silver Jedi created. It wasn't a harp on the Silver Jedi, but more or less a simple fact that where something was, something will be eventually.

Dig a hole, something will lay in it or something will be in there soon enough. It was just the way of nature.

Just like Death.

But instead of Death's icy hand touching people in their sleep, he decided to send Tulan.

That's how Tulan saw it, anyways. It was easier to justify yourself extrajudicial-murdering criminals and vagabonds and rapists when you imagine the visage of Mr. Mayhem following you, as opposed to facing the grim reality that you were in fact, almost as bad as they were. Tulan would be praised by some, and hated by others for his vigilantism, his hatred manifested as rounds going from his rifle.

There were two on the street corner. One to hold the drugs, one to look out and make the pitch. He saw the rifle, he saw the swagger that he walked with, and rightly, got nervous, anxious. Tulan rolled the rifle to his hip, and using the laser, shot him twice in the chest. He sprawled out over the street, sending the civilians with nothing but time scattering.

The bagman attempted to run.

Attempted to, thanks to the bullet in his calf. He screamed, but not for long. Tulan was stepping on his throat. Short as he was, Tulan could apply pressure and push down on someone when he needed to. He was short, but he was stocky and had a good amount of bulk and more importantly, could apply it better than anyone else on the planet currently. He was probably the most lethal person on the planet. And a bunch of street-walking scum had incurred his wrath.

He was being cursed, to one of the galaxy to the other, by the man who he shot.

Tulan asked him a few things, a few exasperated answers. The truth. The man thought he was making out of this. Tulan put the suppressor against his chest and pulled the trigger twice. One for the lungs, one for the girl. Tulan never let anyone suffer. Death was enough of a punishment. He wasn't a monster.

Right?

They'd probably be riding around, looking for Tulan once his crime was discovered. But the caseless RS16 wouldn't leave anything for the meager police to investigate, or the Silver Jedi for that matter. He was off the grid, off the reservation, and maybe out of his mind. But these guys were done picking on the little people. Tulan was a little person, true, however-

He meant metaphorically.

He had another two blocks to go to their stash house. That would be a good place to start- but from what he understood, he had about a dozen other guys to go through. But that was alright with Tulan.

He brought plenty of ammo.

[member="Quint Salis"] l [member="Ruby Jaxx"] l [member="Thirdas Heavenshield"] l [member="Nida Perl"] l [member="Rupert Kingswood"]​

 

[Nida Perl]

Nida couldn’t help but smile as the children rounded the corner to exit the room, with Milo ushering the little girl she’d just treated by the hand. He had a good heart, and she sincerely hoped that the galaxy would not force the good nature out of him.

A small note of surprise passed her lips as Thirdas tugged at her hand, guiding her to sit on his lap. Though she’d grown up on Zeltros, Nida was particularly flustered when it came to displaying personal affections in public. No sooner did she settle her head against his shoulder did she feel the fatigue set in, forgetting about decorum. Nobody else seemed to mind, immersed in their own work as they were. “I only found out myself this afternoon.” She mused while looking up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with exhaustion. “Apparently we are to be married…once he grows taller.” Her soft laugh didn’t drift very far in the noisy room as she reflected on the young man who’d been her staunch guardian for the past few days. She could only hope that Milo was not too upset with the appearance of the soldier.

A new voice cut through the crowd, and the little bubble they were in suddenly popped. Nida flushed deeply, first at having been noticed, next at what the doctor had said. Her people did have a reputation for being flirtatious and polyamorous, so perhaps she should haven’t been surprised. “Oh…” Her voice wavered barely above a whisper, mind racing on what to say. The fact that he was wearing a white coat set them several levels apart already, and in Nida’s mind, this man was an authority figure. “I don’t…um, I don’t want to leave Thirdas…” Her shoulders slumped as she cast her nervous gaze at the Ranger, anxiety wondering if he’d believe her. It was a weak protect, but one she believed in earnest.

[member="Quint Salis"] | [member="Thirdas Heavenshield"]

 

[Syd Celsius]

Arrived in: Scorched Earth (http://starwarsrp.net/topic/136853-scorched-earth/)

Wearing: 451 Suit

Armed with: Wind and Fire Wheels (Twin Blue Bladed Lightsabers)



They had all been drawn here, in their sleep, to this place, this ancient place on Korriban. It had made them, tortured them in slumber until they could no longer resist its commands and then drove them to what they did naturally as Sith Sorcerers.

And so they had come here every day, for six months, and worked tirelessly on the skinless, female body, seemingly silent, eyes shut, in the middle of an ancient stone circle in an even more ancient tomb. The monster in their sleep told them never to mind where it came from. They were only to work on it.

The Sorcerers, a motly crue of Sith witches and warlocks, some purebloods, others human, had proceeded to taint the already corrupted body further with Sith Alchemy, placing piles of human flesh around it in a pentagram-like configuration. They worked in dead silence often, talking only to chant a spell and taking secretive, circuitous routes to reach the unnamed, tainted tomb in the ancient mountain range. The Sith in question had been in plenty of tombs but this one unsettled them in how barren, how lacking in markings or adornment, just a cold brutalism in its structuring, sharp angles of gray stone.

The Sith worked, feverishly, even when they began to realize the horrid nature of the spells they were tainting it with, spells that would harm them also, they did not stop, so broken into servitude and fear they were. They worked, even when it was all too obvious they were signing their death warrants finishing the spells on the walls and ceiling and floor, often in creative combinations of ink and their own blood. Eventually the day came when the bleeding body in the middle of the alter could be tainted no further. The Sith had all gotten into position at seperate points of the pentagram, beginning the final chant to summon the monster, offering their own blood in a sacrificial basin. Purple fire erupted from it as they chanted and a naked, and curvy Togrutan female with purple skin and no face slinked out of the fire.

"So much, so much, to prepare for this day. You have all served me most excellently. Normally, I might consider offering you...at least, 'some' of you...clemency in exchange for forever remaining my servants. But for my champion to live, you all must die..." it some how managed to say in a dark, seductive voice without a mouth.

"But go with a sense of accomplishment! For your knowledge shall not only live on in your greatest work, it shall go on to corrupt and kill many. You have been given the honor of crafting a fearsome beast. Begin. I have given you enough honor in even this brief exchange."

Only mortal terror made the eighteen Sith present hesitate...for a second, and then, when the Monster clenched its fist they began to chant. All it took were a few horrible, unnatural syllables from each to get the process started. The screaming from the Sith started shortly thereafter, the Sith wailing in pain and fear and hatred as the wards on the surfaces of the tomb forcibly tore their Sith knowledge out of their skull and transferred it to the skinless being at the altar. The very muscles became completely tainted, yet self sustaining from its intense, growing, sneering hatred of life.

The Sith rotted where they sat in meditation, their finely tailored robes and armors crumpling and falling inward. But it all went to the creature.

The monster strode forward, a violet light appearing at a purple fingertip. It touched the light to the forehead of The Human based Sithspawn they had crafted from...from a woman whose original identity and motives were now forever lost to history.

The light traveled down the skinless Sith Spawn's body, and the piles of flesh shivered and then flung themselves in clumps onto it, flattening and spreading out, sinewy fibers rooting into veins. The creature's malevolence swelled.

"This is the time of plague. A time of disarray, a time to draw others to the majesty of The Bogan. These Sith who helped make you, yes, their knowledge was considerable. Immense. But when it's all poured into an empty vessel such as you...lets just say their power can do more gathered than it ever could apart..."

The flesh rippled across the body, bits of it finally settling into something that could be called something and didn't wriggle like maggots were underneath. Dark red strands of hair finally sprouted over a settled scalp, growing thicker and curling. The creature didn't quite look like a woman yet...the flesh in some parts was still lumping, had not yet found the connective points.

Both heard the snap hiss of a lightsaber in the distance. The unfinished creature on the alter stood up, a bloodied, sulphurous eye glinting at the calm Jedi, a mirialan man in white robes, holding a simple, green bladed lightsaber. His hair was cropped, but graying at the sides. He too had been led by nightmares here, courtesy of the unfinished creature's mistress. He had resisted until he could not. He had not fallen, but that wasn't much help here. When he saw the intensity of the Darkness in the lumpy looking monster, whose muscles and bones still were showing in most cases he realized this might well be his only chance to destroy it.

"By the Force...what monstrosity have you made?" The Jedi Master asked himself more than he asked The Brain Demon, who only snickered in amusement. It had timed his arrival perfectly.

"A champion, dear Jedi..." the spirit hissed. "But it will mean little if it cannot survive even you. So here is my bargain...if you can kill what I have spent months forcing others to create...I shall set you free of my nightly torments. If you do not...then your soul belongs to me through her."

The Jedi looked at the unfinished creature, which looked at him, and then slowly, hesitantly nodded, knowing he would never get a better shot than now.

The Brain Demon let out a harsh, demonic cackle and proceeded to retreat back into the purple flame it had been summoned from.

"You may begin when ready..." the Jedi heard it's voice in the air.

No need for mercy. Not for an abomination. The Jedi sprinted forward with the Force, saber raised in a killing strike, but the creature was fast, dodging the swipe, Force Pushing him backward. He landed expertly and threw his lightsaber at it. But the creature caught the blade with a butcher's mind, stopping it with telekinesis and flinging it back at him. He himself barely caught it and then found himself ripping parts of the tomb ceiling down with the Force and hurling them with all his mental might at the creature, giving himself a nosebleed as he sped the impromptu projectiles to lethal speeds.

The unfinished creature hissed in hate and amusement, sprinting forward, leaving blood as it did so on the ground in thick corrupted black drops, phasing through the debris.

The Jedi nearly missed the fire twister to his right that the monster conjured. A hissing, deadly twister that sped to him, shooting out tiny little fireballs at random. He retreated, conjuring a very strong Force Armor that would at least allow him to withstand the heat for a short while. A short one.

It also served to save him from the bolt of lightning that struck his chest from a bloody, deformed hand. He lost all air and was sent hurling to the ground. The creature waddled towards him, the purple light of the unholy flame the sorcerers had conjured highlighting the disgusting deformities of The Sithspawn. He wanted to be sick physically as much as he was spiritually just being near it.

The creature beckoned silently with a finger. He exhaled, guarding with his blade, holding it at bay. Then he held out his hand, and a soft white light erupted from the palm.

The creature snarled in pain, being driven backward, parts of it starting to literally sizzle. He could feel it weakening, parts of the skin starting to fall off and decay on the spot, resembling rancid meat that then burst into purple flame. The creature began to howl in fury, bloody, exposed teeth gnashing together, no flash surrounding the jawbone.

The Jedi Master did not dare grow confident, because ordinarily the Force Light he was producing would have absolutely floored a normal sithspawn. This creature wasn't even on its knees. Just screeching and burning. It was that saturated with the dark. It was that completely owned by Evil.

Fire erupted from its throat, a siren call of fury from its spirit belching out out a jet of flame that made him break his concentration, torching the robes of the sorcerers whose knowledge had been fatally absorbed, as well as half the chamber. The air grew hot, than sweltering, and the Jedi Master found it difficult to breathe.

The unfinished monster advanced, almost feminine in its slink, still silent, but he could tell it was getting confident...he had just exposed it to the strongest Force Light he could and it had already recovered. The Magic giving it such resistance to the light was foul enough to be a Sith effort certainly. He didn't know what its specific purpose was but all he knew was that if it was allowed to leave this tomb alive many more would suffer. And from the utter malevolence he sensed in it, the glee of a psychopath, he knew it would enjoy terrible things being done to the innocent.

The Jedi, as per tradition passed down from his forebears, did not care if he died, for he knew there was no death. There was only the Force. He had known he was a dead man the moment he smuggled himself to Korriban. No way he would leave intact. It had been a suicide mission from the start of it, just to make the nightmares and dreaming torture stop. Now it had become something else.

The Jedi steadied, prepared himself for becoming one with it, as the monster advanced, conjuring more fire, from which hideous shapes started to emerge. The Jedi backed further away, focusing all his power on the tomb ceiling above to try and collapse it utterly, crushing them both. He was not fast enough. The fire was everywhere, burning him, rushing around and eating his alien skin. He did not scream, merely thrashed about on the ground as the creature stood over him, this first act of cruelty, watching a man slowly burn to death, being the final catalyst necessary for completion. The flesh wriggled and stretched taught over a slim, athletic figure, the hair finally finished growing just as the tongue did and the creature opened its eyes, complete at last.

The woman looked at the thrashing corpse which suddenly went still and smiled, conjuring a ball of fire in a hand with skin of bronze.

"If this is how murder feels...I must do it more often..." the woman gloated, before ceasing the fire with a snap of her fingers. She turned her focus to the purple blaze still going, and went to one knee.

"What is thy bidding, my master?" The Woman asked.

"Your heart is filled with Sin. You derive only pleasure from cruelty. You must spread that cruelty like the fire you conjure, and gather ever more to serve me and the Darkness. You are made of Sith, but you could not truly be declared one until you took the life of a Jedi. This shall be but one of many Jedi you shall corrupt and kill in my name..." the voice of the Brain Demon hissed in the flames. "Henceforth, you shall be known as Darth...Phyre.."

Darth Phyre smiled and rose to her feet.

"They shall worship you or they shall serve as kindling for my flames. I shall allow no middle..." Phyre promised, already dreaming of slaughters to occur.

The purple flame ceased and the redheaded Sithspawn, crafted to look like an ordinary human, stared at a package one of the Sith talented at armoring while making her had crafted. She slipped the latch on it, stared, and smirked, pulling out something that gleamed white and gold...

A few minutes later...

Darth Phyre stepped out of the tomb in the rocky, narrow canyon it had been hidden in. Her armor fit snug, skin tight, reflective like chromium and posessing gold color on the chest, gloves, and boots. She had taken one of The Sith's lightsabers, a curved one that caught her eye, and set out to find a ship. Any ship would do. It was not like any would attempt to stop her. This was the first of many things Darth Phyre would be ultimately proven incorrect about.

"You! Hey you!"

Patiently, Lady Phyre glanced in the direction of the young man, a boy really, who had spoken. He was clad in the black robes of a Sith apprentice, his eyes a glassy brown that scowled, face pale from his growing darkness, hair black and tied in a thick, elaborate tail.

"Yes?" She asked simply.

"My master has come to this place nearly every day for half a year now, and I never knew what he was up to..." the boy stopped, taking a step back as he felt the sheer power of the darkness boiling in her.

"The...the Dark Side is strong in you...stronger than my own master! How...how can this be?"

"Your master is dead, boy." she explained with more patience than he deserved. But he was already using the Darkness, it would be a waste to kill a potential ally for mere impudence. "I am that which he labored over. So in a sense...you are now my apprentice, as all that was his is now mine, by right of succession."

"You lie..." the boy snarled, red lightsaber activating. "I will not bow to some dog that I never saw before now."

Again, Phyre was more patient then she had cause to be. It would be a simple matter, to crush this one. But the newly anointed Sith was in the market for an apprentice. The boy would do nicely.

Phyre's own lightsaber went to the side of her hip, a purple blade hissing out.

"You..." she trailed, angling her blade at him. "Kneel and accept your master. I command it."

The boy Force leapt, his loose movements giving away his dedication to Niman. Makashi came naturally to her, having pilfered it from one of the sorcerers who had also been a bladesman. Sith magic powered her very muscles, making her anticipate and parry his attacks with unnerving alacrity. He was good, in spite of his styles traditional weaknesses against her own...he innovated enough in his attempted assassination that he was genuinely difficult to predict, and Phyre genuinely had to think out her defense rather than simply roast him alive. But her own retaliation, a series of vicious, focused stabs and slices at his torso, which he barely fended off, eventually stumbling backward after a feinting slash to his torso caught him off guard, destroying his lightsaber. As Niman was the preference of those who who relied on the Force more than an actual saber, she did not let her guard down, but the lightning that erupted from his hands was still powerful enough to rip the blade from her hand.

The lightning struck her and the boy smiled...but the smile did not last long, as Darth Phyre did not drop to the ground, instead the flesh on her face and body wriggled as though filled with rats, the lightning being ground against a completely polluted body. Horror went across his face. What the hell was she? Her aura radiated hatred and malice that put his own master to shame. He still desperately kept firing the lightning, desperate to do some, any kind of damage. It only made the monster's flesh squirm a little harder under the suit.

Phyre staggered forward, the flesh on the Sithspawn's face cracked open and bleeding black corrupted blood that only smoked against the lightning, running down her face. He drove himself harder into the Dark Side, upping the voltage. At last Darth Phyre's face was blasted off, revealing a disturbingly white, unmarred skull with rotting yellow eyes, part of her hair catching ablaze. But it still didn't stop her from staggering forward, clenching a hand whose skin wriggled on the bone and the boy found himself gasping for air, but refused to break his concentration. It did not help. His strength, along with his oxygen, eventually gave out, and he stopped firing lightning at her.

"Oh, such a strong one...you will do nicely..." Phyre hissed. "You fought with everything you had...I can respect that."

"I cannot stand against you..." the boy gasped. "I am your servant, spare me, so I may follow your will."

"Your first lesson will be to 'never' grovel in my presence. I 'despise' groveling." Phyre hissed in cold malice, rotted yellow eyes raking his gasping figure. The flesh wriggling across her body eventually ceased moving and settled back into place, though the front of her skull was still exposed, pieces of face hanging off of it.

Her gold gloved finger dipped into black blood and drew a jagged crescent across his forehead. Phyre had baptized him with it, marking him as her personal property. He screamed as the blood sizzled into his skin, leaving the crescent as a permanent symbol.

"You are now my apprentice. I expect only obedience. In exchange for your unswerving loyalty, you shall know more power under me than you ever would under another."

"It seems I've much to learn if I am to eventually slay one so gifted in The Darkness." The boy replied.

"The Bogan..." Phyre corrected coldly. "And IF you ever become powerful enough to slay me, than the fight you shall have will truly prove whether you really are worthy of the Bogan, or merely yet another pretender."

The boy had already decided to deal with her the sneaky way, as opposed to the direct. Frontal confrontation was officially out of the question. No, to kill this one he'd have to pull a Darth Malak, but he didn't think she would make it that easy, just blasting her from afar. He'd have to get more creative.

A lot more creative.

If the wretched Sithspawn that eventually became Syd Celsius was aware, even on an unconscious level, that in taking this boy, she had sown the seeds of her own downfall, she did not show it. Instead, she pulled him from the ground.

"Your master's ship is nearby, I believe. Take me to it." Phyre ordered.

Knowing she--it--would tolerate no hesitation on his part, her new apprentice complied, leading the hideous monster out of the canyon, past the old tombs of Sith no one remembered anymore, yet the spirits were reacting to the rotting presence in the body of the creature that resembled a woman. Phyre walked up to one tomb, breathed deep, and fed on the small nexus of the tomb, using it to repair the flesh on her face. She could sustain her body (As long as there was enough of it) with the darkness, but repairing it was not something she could do without feeding on another energy source. The boy made note of this as her face fixed, creeped out beyond words as her corrupted muscles vanished under a beautiful, exotic face.

"What are you? Who are you?" He asked.

The woman smiled.

"I am Darth Phyre, The Gathered."

"Gathered?"

"From the legacies of others, your former master included." She explained patiently, even friendly, as though their previous altercation had been nothing but a minor dispute. From her perspective, perhaps, it probably was.

The boy could only shrug. There was much he did not know about the Dark Side. Much that Darth Phyre would end up teaching him.

The pair resumed their trek out of the canyon, the boy feeling her rotting yellow eyes on him as they walked. He suppressed a shiver, not wanting to show weakness.

"It is alright, apprentice." she chuckled nastily.

"What is?" He asked.

"Your fear of me is 'exactly' the appropriate response you should be having. It will lead to anger. Then hatred...and if you are worthy..."

"...The Bogan..." the boy finished.

Phyre smiled. "Excellent. I can see your masters memories...he felt you were special..."

The boy knew she was trying to build up his ego, blind him with it. He knew the game.

"If you are a legacy of my master, why were you made?"

"To drive the cause of the Bogan forward...and to awaken any adept who is willing to listen, and kill and torment those who won't..." Phyre answered silkenly.

"Bull. He wouldn't just 'make' his own destroyer..."

"Would he? Isn't that what a Sith does every time they take a successful apprentice?" Phyre questioned, more familiar with the memories of this boy's master by the moment. She grew a little concerned as she started to realize he was more skilled than she had thought. The knowledge was trickling in, certainly. Fairly advanced...for apprentice. She would have to keep both eyes on him.

The boy merely shrugged at this. "I will kill you someday." He warned. "Your death will be a protracted one, I think."

Darth Phyre only smiled in a hideously affable manner.

"Oh, that's such a long way off. Don't make threats you can't enforce."

The boy scowled and turned his back continuing to lead his new master out of the canyon, her sharp nasty chuckles occasionally breaking the silence as she watched him sulk...



Present Day

Syd snapped out of the memory as she phased through the wall to the criminal hideout inside an old nightclub.

Darth Phyre's memories, as she caught little glimpses of them over the weeks, made her, a killing machine formed from that Sithspawn's torn apart remains, so hated she was at the end of her death, want to be genuinely sick.

Phyre had been a beast. A monster. No excuse, nothing tragic to explain why she was so horrible. She had been a beast at birth. That was all. A vicious witch whose first, last, and only delights were cruelty. A killer in death...

...and in rebirth.

Very little of the beast once known as Darth Phyre remained. Certainly not the personality...what snippets the Flame Geist could recall of its flesh and blood self (Or whatever the hell had passed for Phyre's flesh and blood) revolted it beyond its ability to articulate. Phyre was the sort of person Syd would have put to the torch without a second thought.

A faint sense of shame from greatly reduced emotions clouded her thoughts as she floated a few inches off the ground silently, in her skintight red and gold chrome suit that reflected everything around her, her orange eyes glowing as she floated forward, a floor above her targets. The Hell Dart gang had been among the most exceptionally vicious street criminals of Irith. No one was safe from them. They took what they wanted, when they wanted, and how they wanted.

Just like Darth Phyre.

Syd had seen their rap sheet. Everyone in here was a major criminal, guilty of some atrocity or another against a beaten down population. It made for some unpleasant moments of introspection. Of self-conscious disgust.

The nightclub was gaudy, an art deco style that was out of date even when the Geist herself had been newly created. She felt the faint echoes of the tortures and murders that occured on immaculately maintained floors of white marble. Most of the interior was a stark, gleaming white. It reminded her of Phyre's armor. She had found it, of course, and purified it, unable to bear any trace of Phyre's evil. But the suit itself was useful enough. Too bad she had not the nerve to put it back on.

Syd heard chatter a floor below her, and sensed distress. Many of the prescences found here belonged. One did not. It was far below her, though. But the criminals, a motley collection of human men and women in tattoos and ramshackle combat gear were apparently preparing for a skirmish...there was a reason she had been sent. The Hell Darts had been crazy aggressive since the arrival of the Silver Jedi. They'd killed a few knights. After number four died doing the exact same thing she was doing currently was when they had decided to send her in.

Syd wasn't Darth Phyre. Phyre would have just torched them all. She might not have even bothered with entering the building before commencing with the torching.

Syd, genuinely trying to make a conscious effort to act more like a normal Jedi as opposed to just a living weapon created by Jedi after killing a Sith Lord to do it, would give them 'one' chance to end this peacefully. One.

Then she might have to torch them.

She felt a sudden disquiet that for all her musing of wanting to be different, of wanting to be better, her solutions were nearly the same as that of the creature that had been murdered to make her.

It was one more limitation of being a weapon. One Syd was slow growing more aware of.

And slowly starting to resent.

The Hell Darts, busy loading their blasters, making final checks on their plans to attack a makeshift medical area set up by the Silvers, did not look up until Syd coughed.

She floated above them, arms folded across her chest.

"I offer you one chance to surrender. I suggest you take it..." Syd spoke, floating down towards them.

"Like it or not, your time of murder and mayhem is at an end." She explained calmly, rationally. "Even without me as a factor, you will all eventually be killed. Giving up your life of crime is likely the only way any of you can survive."

If only someone, anyone, had been around to tell Darth Phyre something like that when she had first gone on a rampage, Syd mused bitterly. Phyre probably would not have listened, but it was still ironic in a horrible way that the one lecturing these people about murder and mayhem could have written an encyclopedia on how to do it correctly. They would have been amatuers to Phyre. They were amatuers to Syd, nearly, but she kept in mind that four Jedi were now dead thanks to them.

"You will face the consequences in a court or you can face them now. I measure consequences in terms of temperature differentials. Which do you prefer? The gavel? Or the blowtorch?" Syd asked, conjuring a slowly churning ring of flame around her hands.

One gang member, a surly man whose face was covered in tattooed on images of ancient Atrisian Demons spat on the ground in front of her.

"Oh piss off!" He snapped. "This ain't Kashyykk! The Silvers aren't the Gods. This? This is Hell Dart territory. Its always been Hell Dart territory, and its always gonna be."

"Until someone bigger and nastier come along, and they have." Syd replied dryly.

"You? I'm supposed to fear one Jedi--even if she does dress a tad more wistfully than her counterparts and acts a little meaner and does parlor tricks? Nah, you're just one more footsoldier. We kill footsoldiers all the time. Now buzz off."

"Make me, chithead." was Syd's acidic reply.

This prompted the thug, who she presumed the leader as he was the first to speak, to pull out his blaster pistol, a westar model, and point it directly at her head and open fire.

The bolt impacted against Syd's face, but it only caused the psychic shell that gave her body definition to make her face ripple as she absorbed the energy of the shot, face stretching and deforming momentarily before resetting in place as the gang leader backed away, surprised and horrified.

Syd wasted no time, floating over to him and touching a glove of golden chrome to his face. He screamed as her touch burned, screamed as an eyeball went ablaze. He collapsed in agony. It was about the same as if she had cut off a limb. She ceased the flames on his unconscious body, staring at them.

Syd, wordlessly, conjured a large fireball in her hand. One that slowly grew larger...

Every other gang member present threw down their blasters. Whatever she was, she'd cook them, with no debate.

Syd was honestly surprised they had thrown down their weapons. Most people just fired at her at this point. Within minutes they had voluntarily bound each other and were waiting patiently for the authorities, who Syd contacted soon afterward. It was then she went down to their basement, as there was one life force still unaccounted for.

It was dark down here, and Syd was so stunned that a situation where she had been deemed necessary had 'not' ended in a bloodbath. She had been so ready to kill them at that point. So ready. Not even eager, just fully expecting it. Then again, she had never tried to get ordinary cannon fodder to drop her weapons. It had simply never occured to her to try before now.

It was a cold comfort to Syd knowing Phyre had never tried at all. Did that count as progress?

Syd floated down white marble steps, the lights dim. She felt it. The call of The Force within another.

He was in chains. Had been in chains since they had caught him earlier. He was dressed in torn dirty clothes. No more than fifteen, maximum. One of the civilians who been displaced by gang activity. That wasn't what caught her eye. It was his face.

Syd hesitantly approached, even as that face made more memories of her mortal existence as Darth Phyre coalesce. The boy stared at her. "Have you...have you come to rescue me?" he asked, the face of the boy Phyre had found and trained so long ago recreated on his features. He looked tired. Scared.

After a few moments of silence, Syd hesitantly approached him.

"Y-yes. Yes I have..." she admitted. "You're going to be okay. My name is Celsius. Syd Celsius."

(Clip of Bond Theme Plays)

The boy plaintively held up his manacled hands.

"Can you break these chains?"

If the boy only knew how loaded a question like that was to someone like her. Nevertheless, One of Syd's blue lightsabers flashed on and severed the chain from the floor. It was telekinesis from Syd that removed the manacles themselves. The boy stood up, backing away slowly.

"I won't hurt you. You're safe now." Syd promised him.

So stunned was she at who the boy looked like, and so caught up was she in her reminiscing, that she did not sense the assailant sneaking up on her...

A sword pierced the back of her head and exited out through the middle of Syd's face, tearing the psychic shell opened as Syd yelled in pain, fire leaking and spewing out from where her face had once been.

The one who had stabbed her was the lone gang member who had put on a stealth generator while Syd had been busy scaring their leader into submission. He had to have been good at concealing his intent to, because Syd had genuinely not gotten a hint at all.

Unfortunately, there was a bit of an con to every pro of this admittedly quite successful attack.

It was like a leaking fuel tank, stabbing Syd. Sure, you damaged the shell, but if you were too close you could get burned also...

Syd shook in place, still stunned, an unnatural, metallic scream erupting from where her face had once been, as she immediately turned, siezing her attacker and directing fire from her torn open face into his, setting him on fire. He screamed in pain and fear, thrashing about in her golden chrome arms, before falling to her feat, crispy and quite dead.

The Flame Geist turned to look for the boy that resembled Phyre's first apprentice, but he had fled in the commotion.

Syd could not go after him like this. Her face had to be friendly as possible. She spent the next few minutes using her attacker's still burning body, draining its flame to repair her shell. She was soon immaculate once more, floating up the steps. She heard one of the gangmembers call out, presumably to the one who attacked her.

"Jadis?! You get her? Is she dead? Come untie me!"

When she floated to the top of the stairs everyone sighed.

"You are damn lucky its the new me you are dealing with..." she remarked angrily to them as she floated out of the nightclub through the front entrance, just as the authorities approached. One of the Swat members went over to her.

"One dead, one severely injured. The rest are secured." Syd told him. "Did you see a boy run out here?"

"Yeah, but he ran down an alley before we could catch him..." the officer responded.

"Leave him to me..." Syd replied stoically, floating down an alley where she sensed faint traces of him...

[member="Nida Perl"]

[member="Thirdas Heavenshield"]

[member="Quint Salis"]

[member="Ruby Jaxx"]

[member="Rupert Kingswood"]

 

[Thirdas Heavenshield]

It was nice to hear Nida laugh and see her relax a bit; an aspiring Jedi coupled with her timid and gentle nature seemed to not leave much room for expressing herself as she perhaps should in most cases. He chuckled along with her, until the word "marriage" left her pink lips and it became his turn to blush more than a little. Despite her having uttered it in jest, the thought of perhaps one day committing to such a relationship was something he hadn't considered until now. Marriage did seem to be a big part of his family, happy marriages which then led to childbirth. Gods, it's way too early to be thinking about that!

Their moment to themselves was soon interrupted however, by the appearance of what seemed to be just another physician. He didn't recognise the man's face, but then again he'd scarcely bothered to remember any of the staff's faces. He could feel Nida tense up a bit where she sat on his knee, her nerves and uncertainty getting the better of her once more. And to be called out like that, judged by her race and appearance rather than who she is! It made Thirdas' blood boil.

"Hey!" He gently slid Nida off his lap before getting up to confront the doctor. "How dare you speak ill of her, you faen! Not only is she innocent of what you suggest, but she is also Jedi. Show some respect, if not for her title then for all she's done to help out around here all day!"

He knew better than to start a brawl inside of a clinic though, and rather than throw a punch at the doctor he instead grabbed him by the lapel of his white coat and shoved him hard. "Get the hell away from her! Don't let me catch you speaking ill of her again, you hear?" The commotion had certainly grabbed the attention of several nurses who came to the doctor's aid, however they knew better than to challenge an armed Ranger and instead simply cast accusatory glances his way. Thirdas could take such scolding looks; he'd been given them throughout his childhood, and as such their intended effect was lost on him.

Turning back to Nida, he let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry..." He sat down beside her, fighting the urge to go punch that guy in the face. Once Valkyri battlelust is stirred, it is not easily quenched. "Can you believe that guy, though? What an nerf herder, doctor or no."

As if to defy the offending doctor further, he placed his arm around Nida for all to see. "Hey," he whispered for her ears only. "I'm not gonna let anyone mistreat you like that. You're the best person I know."

[member="Nida Perl"] | [member="Quint Salis"]​

 

[Syd Celsius]

Syd walked the alleys of the city planet, beset by persistent, though dull emotions regarding the boy she had tried to rescue. Part of her wondered if she should go any further but Syd,was positive them meeting was the will of the Force. If only that jerk of a thug had not interfered she might have been able to get to the bottom of it then and there.

As it stood, Syd was a chrome suited anomaly walking a crime infested alley. It was inevitable she would attract attention. This was Hell Dart territory after all.

It mattered little who they were, to Syd. Syd had been killing these types when it really actually was going out of style. When you have killed one band of in over their head violent felons worth 30 XP a piece, you have killed all bands of criminals worth 30 XP a piece.

The red headed living weapon saw eyes watching her as she rounded a corner down another alley. Her senses told her the psychos had smelled easy prey. Syd was patient. She had been practicing that recently, trying to give the SJO the impression she was more than a chainsaw for killing demons.

But its so hard to be anything else when the galaxy just never stops producing bloodthirsty gangs of criminals.

The click of a switchblade made her pause, not reach for her lightsaber. They came in from the darkness all around her.

"Something you boys wanna discuss?"

"Silver Jedi ain't welcome in Hell Dart territory..." one gangmember, a lanzy Zabrak growled.

"Silver Jedi go anywhere criminal scum like you set up shop, chithead. You're lucky I'm in such a hurry. There was a boy. A teenager. He fled into these parts. Why he did was beyond me but I'm not leaving him in your territory after finding him chained. You tell this boys name, and I forget I saw you. Best deal you're gonna get."

"I got a better one. How about we cut that pretty face off and pin it to that camp you feths set up?" The Zabrak sneered.

Syd beckoned. "Bring it."

Out came his switchblade. Syd twisted to the side, hard punches in Stava designed to shatter one side of his ribs hammering him into submission. The sensation of danger let her twist around, swinging legs covered in chrome into the jaws of thugs. It wouldn't do if the boy saw her burning down the neighborhood. She increased the temperature of her shell to heat the chrome like material her suit was made of to burn on contact, leaving second degree burns as well as broken bones. The thugs, unskilled but numerous, forced her to chant a speed spell to match the number they threw at her from all directions, her knuckles smashing and burning at the same time, knee being driven into stomach, flipping, twirling, ducking to evade blows, elbows breaking collarbones.

A pipe slammed into the top of her head, deforming it, making Syd stumble for a moment before her head went back to normal. She saw something glinting, a blaster.

Her suit was built to withstand such weapons but Syd did not take it for granted. People seemed able to get their hands on nearly anything these days. Just last week Syd had fought someone using what had looked like an old sport pistol. Turned out it was a fething charric. Syd had nearly died. Just because a weapon was small doesn't mean it could not do damage many times what it should be capable of. She repelled the bolts with her lightsabers, occasionally reflecting them back on its source, hitting people in the limbs.

The glint of a sword caught Syd's attention and she was suddenly not only repelling blasters, but vibrosword attacks from two different sides.

Syd whirled blue blades of plasma around her, moving only as much as she had to to defend herself, blades decapitating both sword fighters as she used Force flight to twirl over them getting closer and closer to the remaining shooters. Twin blades criss crossed through twelve different people in eight seconds, until only one remained. Syd floated to him.

"The boy."

"He's a street thief. Lifted from us one time too many and we caught him. Kid's so brazen he ran through our territory after escaping just to taunt us."

"Where would he go?" Syd asked.

"North. Into swoop gang territory. He sells spare parts there."

Syd didn't say anything at this. She simply gestured wordlessly for him to go and he ran. Syd looked among the dead and wounded, having grown to understand it was wise to scavenge. Jedi in the battlefield often had to see to their own requisition. She found as usual the same hodgepodge of guns from all over the galaxy. Ever since being forced to learn blaster pistols, Syd had grown intrigued at the number and variety available...and also quickly discovered she wasn't a run and gun type, instead preferring precise, careful shots, or firing from behind cover if it was automatic.

Speaking of automatic...

Syd spotted a dead gang member with an SE-14C Repeating Pistol. She picked it up. Nickle plated. Officer's model. Selective fire. Charge mode. No scope, but one could be added. She took the holster and strapped it to her leg then went off to find him...