Visitation Rights.

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Near Kashyyyk Space.

Well, needless to say that was a rather silent grouping of hours spent alone. Nejaa had been unable to completely refuse his padawan's help out of the docking bay before, the rough-soft touch of human skin having shocked upon contact. That said, it didn't take Nejaa long to shake himself free and merely exist in his stubborn state of self-help-only. Beyond that, Nejaa had shut himself away from the human almost entirely, avoiding conversation at all costs and only reappearing now and again to check their destination arrival times-- but it was in the cockpit, out of the cockpit, and without much smiling involved. As he saw it, Torin had violated Nejaa's first and only test, an adamant proof of his lack luster trust worthiness. Sure, the padawan held power with his blade, and a clear determination to do right by the damed council, but the trade offs were not equal.

Each thought tossed about in his head without much control, somehow too real yet not tangible enough to yank them out all at once. His crossed legs, straight back, and folded hands were unmoving. Only his eyes, eyes which were closed, flinched like stormy waters as if awake for a nightmare. The recycled air, the smell of cleaned durasteel and polished desh metals. The hummmmm of his own Scimitar, and the overpowering sucking of hyperspace. Anything and everything seemed to tug at his attention, poking him repeatedly until his eyes would open, scan, relax, and close again.

Void. Emptiness. These was never the state of his mind, nor did he believe they ever would be. Instead, violence clashed swords with justification therein, each trying to take hold of the young Clawdite and push him further towards whatever perversion they offered. Violence boasted of power and fearlessness, so much a desired outcome though hardly an easy path to travel. Justification clung to his code, his love for peace, and his admiration of the order's elders. No one side of things was ever able to grip Nejaa completely, aways hanging him out to be vulnerable to everything instead of impervious to anything.

Voices and images all seemed to collage together without meaning or pattern. Images, images of people he had never seen before. Images of people he might one day meet, and the faces of those he had placed into eternal slumber. Screams, a low reaching grumble of pain-- his voice, his own voice calling for help and the sound of a female laughing behind it. Black hair became blackness and his mind devolved into chaos once more. It had to mean something, everything had to mean something.

Although it was just the next excuse, a bump of turbulence shook him into consciousness and out of concentration once more, eyes opening and a large breath of exhale clearly depicting annoyance. Eyes which hung now half open touched on a growing frustration. Perhaps it was time to check on their progress again-- for the third time.

Pushing up and off the metal bench and unraveling from the meditative position, he walked light footed to the door, opened it, and made his way towards the cockpit. The dual toned ssschht sound of the hatch closing behind him felt louder and less comforting than he had remembered. This Scimitar was large. Large enough to have storage space and two levels, holding cells and passenger chambers, yet small enough to remain agile in its movement-- a true beauty in aerial combat when given to the hands of a master. Certainly not himself, that is to suggest. Pausing just a minute before entering the same space as his learner, and swallowing three times consecutively, he pushed forward. He would not initiate conversation, as had been the case previously, only scan for the information himself. It wasn't that Nejaa was afraid of speaking with the human, it was more that he feared repulsing himself further-- he was less a fan of his own thinking than Torin might even be, had the padawan some strange way of knowing Nejaa's mind.

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

Stretched bands of light reflected in Torin's absent eyes. They looked lost, broken. Deep in thought, he reflected on what had happened in Mygeeto space. What he had done, it was not right. It was not the Jedi way. Yet, his hesitation to spare the monster's life for the sake of justice had only made things worse. He had been a padawan of the Order for over twenty standard years. So why wasn't he strong enough? Why couldn't he have prevented the pain he had caused his master? He had given Nejaa his word, but how could he have predicted such a complicated and dangerous situation to arise? He felt as though he had already failed in the younger Jedi's eyes, and so early in his training too. At this rate, he would not live to become a master, let a lone a knight. He wanted so badly to show his new master his devotion to serving peace and the Republic. But, somehow, he had failed to show Nejaa the loyalty and integrity he promised. He replayed each moment over and over in his head.

Stretching his toned arms up, he folded them, and laced his fingers behind his head. With a heavy sigh he allowed his weight to relax back into the seat which squeaked in retaliation. He had removed his arms from the sleeves of his torn pilot suit and tied them around his waist -leaving a white, sleeveless undershirt to cover his torso. Also torn, the shirt failed to cover a bandage stuck to his upper pectoral. Leaning his head into his hands, he closed his eyes. But only for a moment before the smell of smoke touched his nose. He jolted up right and sniffed again. Apparently the ion blast had taken its toll on the Scimitar. He quickly pinpointed the smell - just below the control panel was a blown fuse and exposed wires a subtle trail of smoke leaking from within. Torin tightened his face in concentration and pulled himself from his seat. He crouched down, yanking the metal panel that hindered his access to the problem. In his mind, he took it apart, defined, analyzed, and reassembled it. A wire fray was a common problem, especially after taking damage. So he always kept a bit of puddy in his pocket for this sort of thing. Taking a small container from one of the many pockets in his suit, he pinched a small piece of gooey brown material and sealed the exposed areas. It was a temporary fix. The whole ship would require much more repair when they returned to Kashyyyk.

As Torin snapped the panel back into place, he heard the door slide open. Nejaa entered, hovering in silence. His eyes bore wholes in the padawan's back before he stood to face him. "Welcome back." His tone attempted lightness as he offered a friendly look. He hoped that this visit would prove to be more inviting. "It looks like one of the control panel's front-face fuses blew out and burnt through a few of the wires in charge of the LD coms. I was able to fix it up for now but it's definitely gunna need more attention when we arrive." Perhaps his explanation was more than necessary, but he wouldn't be aware of that. As he explained, he moved back to the seat. "Let me guess, you want to know how close we are." His words were light, playful. They tried covering the sickening worry that irked him to the bone.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Near Kashyyyk Space.

And he might have responded, too. Might have shed something of an attitude in order to confirm Torin's assumptions of disappointment. Instead, he was barely able to complete a smile before it fell into the likes of a scowl. Low hanging eyes warned off further attempts at casual conversation, pushing further into the cockpits interior and eyeing the area Torin had been working. He was uncomfortable with the idea of homemade mechanic tricks undergoing use on his craft, and less comfortable still with the idea of flying through hyperspace in a damaged, sparking vessel. A fading nod dismissed the welcome, as well as the update, small tendrils of nervousness forcing a breathy exhale.

"Let me guess, you want to know how close we are."

"I've taken this route before, I need not stare at modules to understand our location..."

And that was it, slender fingers rasping against metals from a few different terminal panels. Part of him wanted to turn and speak. Turn and inspect the human who now brandished bare arms, thickly muscled with long years of physical activity. He craved the anatomy for himself, thirsted for such an appearance as this, yet sank inwards at the thought of such impossibilities. Forever he would be doomed to this smaller frame, always a stone's throw away from the perfection he desired. And yet, instead of kindness or any form of admitted admiration, he fell victim to the fires of jealousy. A choking heat which always caught him off guard, and always boiled in the pits of his stomach.

But the pettiness couldn't last for long, it seemed there was always something more dramatic and so much less desirable to be thrust at the youth. In an ear splitting shriek, the Scimitar lurched forward, tossing Nejaa against the dashboards. Another belch of cracking durasteel and Nejaa's light footed balance was entirely uprooted, stumbling backwards and slamming against the human's thick torso behind. His own voice cut off at a rather abrasive "Kuhh--!!" before he hit metal flooring hard. Robes wrapped around him as if trying to hinder him by all means provided, and he was forced to take a slowed second before staggering back to his feet.

"T-Torin-- Wha--"

But they shook again, and he was forced to grip panels lining the spherical walls around them so as to remain standing, wide eyed as they were spit from hyperspace and into a debris field. Chunks of torn apart metal hurtled themselves at an already damaged hull. Around the parameters, separated by miles of pitch blackness, were much larger ships hanging in obsolete silence. Their design was so clearly not of Republic concept--

"Sith--!? Torin-- have we been spotted? Get those cloaking shields up, now!"

[member="Torin Varik"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

[SIZE=14pt]Kashyyyk[/SIZE]
[SIZE=14pt]Outside Former Republic Stronghold[/SIZE]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1X4YcqKcSE

[SIZE=12pt] Kashyyyk was broken, great Wroshyr trees smoking and charred rising above the Shadowlands below, darkness from which emanated the sounds of sithspawn and fallen Vong devouring those Jedi foolish enough to believe it an escape route. The Sith’s victory was not even a day old. The bodies of fallen Wookiees and Jedi lay scattered, limbs at unnatural angles, strewn about the surface of the branch on which she had seen their victory secured. The smell of burnt flesh, singed fur, blood…the end-product of war, surrounded her as she slowly cut a path through the light smoke hanging in the air from the burning trees. Those Sith who had been injured were evacuated. Xenia had gotten to her fighter and was no doubt receiving medical attention for her eye now that the conflict was over; the woman had impressed Matsu, something the petite Atrisian would not be forgetting any time soon. Gabriel was somewhere below, coordinating the subjugation of the planet under Sith control and overseeing what was to become of the Jedi that did not escape imprisonment and Vrag had gone to order her troops in helping the takeover. They would celebrate their victory later. Those Wookiees that had survived had been carted off in chains. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] But Matsu was above, in the quiet, amidst a field of bodies, alone.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] She sat down by the corpse of a young Jedi, face frozen in the death throes of pain. Situating herself behind the young woman’s head, she crossed her legs and got comfortable. Reaching out, she ran her fingers along the girl’s neck, searching not for a pulse as it was long gone, but for heat. The artificial nerve endings in her cybernetics calculated body heat which in turn let Matsu judge the girl had not been dead too long, at least not for her purposes. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] Extending the claws of her right hand an inch or so, she began the slow process of removing the woman’s scalp and parietal bone, an easy task to cut through with phrik. Done within moments she pulled the bone away with a harsh cracking noise, placing the curved piece almost reverently to the side before retracting her claws and reaching her fingers to curl around brain. For a long time she’d experimented with the human brain, manipulating certain areas to see if the effects of her mental techniques could be amplified if sent directly to certain parts. This girl was dead, but she had been alive recently enough to get some information out of her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] Flashes, memories not so whole as her brain cooled. Wookiees roaring in rage and pain. The searing sound of lightsabers clashing. Fear. Panic. Hiding behind the door way of the stronghold and convincing herself to go out and join her brothers and sisters. A Jedi does not know fear, right? They do what is right, no matter the cost. Their peace brings them victory against the dark. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I…am not afraid.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] The last thing she saw was the maw of a Vong, horrifying and hungry, before it tore through her chest to get to her heart.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Something interrupted Matsu’s concentration, a faint voice, a sense of surprise. Eyes closed, she did not move but listened to the vision provided to her by the Force.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] “Sith? – Tor? – been spotted? – shields – now!”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] Tilting her head up, wrist-deep in gore, she opened amber eyes to the sky.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt][member="Nejaa Niynx"] | [member="Torin Varik"][/SIZE]​

 

[Torin Varik]

His master's response was short, as was his tone. It was to be expected. And who was to say Torin didn't deserve it? Regardless, the padawan got the massage. "Right..." His eyes sank with his heart and he tried to focus on the task at hand. He thought about inquiring about the condition of the younger man's leg but was interrupted by a sudden lurch of movement. At the mercy of gravity, Torin was thrown against the seat's back only to be joined by the smaller Jedi. Muscles engaged, his arms grabbed Nejaa's shoulders to cushion the collision. Like rag dolls they were tossed again, Nejaa crashing to the floor and Torin lunging against the control panel. He braced himself against it's durasteel edge but nearly ended up on the floor as well.

"Are you alright?!" Only a flustered stutter of words answered him before horror took hold of Nejaa's gaze. Torin whirled around to face the the space before them littered with debris and battle ships. It was a battle field - one he knew well. Those ships. He remembered them. How could he forget? Silent breathless words wrenched from his gut and out of gaping lips, "No..." The nightmare had returned. Nejaa's command shook the padawan from his horror and into action. "On it!" He fell back into the seat with great urgency. The pilot multitasked - he punched in the sequence for the cloaking device and steered through the debris while reading the scanners. "We haven't been detected. Not yet..." Yanking at the yoke, he gracefully navigated the now invisible ship toward the planet. He could not get there fast enough. His friends, his mentors, the masters, the younglings. They were all down there, hopefully still fighting. He had to believe they were still fighting. But the reality of the feeling that weighed on his gut forced something uncontrollable to boil within him. A sickening sadness that bred an uncontainable anger. He knew not to allow this to take hold of him. So he hung on to hope as it were life or death.

Like a serpent lurking in the depths of the marsh, its words slid through his mind. As if taunting him from the grave, the monster laughed at him.
...Kashyyyk... burns... your Jedi... buuurn...

"Nejaa..." He didn't avert his gaze from the path ahead. Determination burned in his hazel eyes, emotion growled in his words. "We cannot allow them to win. We cannot allow them to take Kashyyyk." It was obvious, he knew that. As Jedi, it was their duty. But he wanted to hear it. He needed to hear it.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]
[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Near Kashyyyk Space.

"We haven't been detected. Not yet..."

"G-Good-- let's keep it like that--"

Another smashing screech and the vessel lurched once more. His footing, now more firm than before, was able to sustain the jarring shock and remain upright. By the sunken expression on Torin's face, it was clear he was aware of just who their company was. The dangerous sith who had taken everything from him once before. It was like flying through a storm ridden ocean of obstacles, bobbing and weaving left and right so as not to join the broken bits in their now eternal dance around Kashyyyk's gravitational pull.

"Nejaa..."

"Kinda busy--"

"We cannot allow them to win. We cannot allow them to take Kashyyyk."

He had nothing to say. So much he wanted to say and even more he wanted to do, but nothing to actually act upon. To follow his instincts would be to turn tail now, to leave this place and never return. Where there was bloodshed, there was darkness, and where there was darkness, there was irreparable danger. The sith lingered here, the screams began to surface in his mind. The pleas for help, the hopeless slaughter of hundreds-- thousands. That same laughing from before, that same raven haired grin, and those same eyes which bore holes into his mind. Searing their visage therein without letting up. Something terrible awaited them below, but he was already stuck in the falling motion.

"Keep your mind here, Torin--!! we cannot afford--!!"

Another crack, this one sounding much closer, much more sudden, resonating in a vibrating echo along the top of the cockpit's surface. Their viewport was cluttered, heating as they pushed through atmosphere. He was not in control. He needed to be in control. Why wasn't he in control!? Quivering lips were unable to complete what they had started just previously, instead falling to a trembling silence. A stomach held tight, abdominal muscles flexing and pulling against one another, he could only train his focus just ahead.

Trees-- no, burning trees. Smoke rose so as to match the ship yards and factories of Corellia, in massive stacks of tar filled, gaseous waves. "What... what happened here..." Hands covered his mouth and further distorted the low, chafed whisper of a young teen. And again, like the throb of a migraine, those eyes lay before him, directly ahead almost real enough to swat at and touch. The wet sound of lips stretching into smile, and the wrinkles of twisted pleasure born with sickened darkness.

"There-- land, land at once--!!"

Kashyyyk's unique architecture was littered with the signs of war. They were not far from where, only hours previous, Vong and Jedi had clashed and thrown themselves about in the bloodbath of war. Bodies lay like a carpet over the thick branches of once holy trees. He could feel the thick chunks of bile threatening his throat and closing his air ways, retreating from what he saw and staring down, tanned skin relinquishing its color to something much more green and pale. And he remained like this until the click of landing gear signaled their attachment to 'ground.' He couldn't move, his body would respond to his commands, weak legs becoming weaker at the idea of what lay beyond. The idea of that which he had spent his life avoiding, and consequently preparing for. The pulsating of his own midi-chlorians called out to that woman, that woman he knew not existed, but could feel reaching out to him. That woman he could feel his own mind grasping for, sucked toward the black hole abyss of power...

[member="Torin Varik"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Torin Varik]

There was nothing like it. The feeling of knowing all was lost.

The pilot did his best to navigate down to the planet. And he did well considering his unfamiliarity with the larger ship and the condition it was in. As they approached the surface, the calamity of the situation began to set in. The once lush, peaceful planet was now charred with the flames of war. Torin remained silent. His master's reaction beside him only made it more real. The padawan couldn't allow it to be that real. Not yet. Closer and closer, the virtually invisible ship glided over the body-littered planet until it reached it's destination. For the first time in ten years, the Ace activated the auto-piloting sequence. Not because he didn't feel confident in landing himself. But because he wanted to be at the entrance ramp the moment the ship touched down. Broad eye brows furrowed, the human's expression revealed so much more than a Jedi's should.

"We must find the others. There must be survivors. Even if prisoners are all that's left. We have to help them."

In one tenacious motion, he rose from the chair and moved toward the door. Each stride full of fixed purpose. He would not wait for his master as he assumed he would be close behind. The padawan's mind raced as he left the cockpit and hustled to the entrance ramp. His hand latched onto his blaster and yanked it from its place on his belt. Fear was not an option. There had to be someone left. Someone had to still be fighting, protecting, leading. And he would find them.

His ship was nearby, if it was still there. Despite his rank of padawan, his skill with a blade was nothing to be taken lightly. However, piloting was what he knew best - especially when handling his specialized Clawcraft. If he could get to it, their chances may look a bit better.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]
[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

[SIZE=12pt] She was still looking up as the ship broke through tree cover, her eyes tracking its course though she did not move her head, a sideways tilt of her gaze that might have been unsettling had anyone living been there to witness it. It came to a halt far cleaner than she might have predicted considering the panic that rang through the Force, setting down on the wider highway branch directly to her left. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] Closing her eyes, she reached for whomever sat within the craft.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] For a long time she’d been fascinated by the idea of black holes. Death was her calling, both giving and experiencing, sitting in someone’s mind and watching them expire. Black holes were death on the grandest scale, the result of a stellar giant collapsing on itself for thousands of years until it was so small it exploded. A couple thousand more years of spacedust floating through darkness, illuminated pink and yellow and green and blue by the light of the stars until one day its own gravity swallowed it whole. Black, a darkness so total there was no seeing to the other side. And in its own act of dying it took up the art of death. There was a poetry to that, the way its massive gravity devoured everything that got too close. It spent an eternity, a million lifetimes pulling all that glittered, all that lived, towards itself to destroy and thrive. Thrive. Thrive.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] One day she’d almost died. The same day she’d taken up the mantle of death. She was a black hole made sentient, a walking passage to the edge of nothing, drawing power to try their hand at collapse.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] And something on that ship made her starving.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] [/SIZE]"What... what happened here..."

[SIZE=12pt] There was more than one mind aboard the ship, each bouncing off the other. She touched both of their minds, speaking softly to them in answer to the question.[/SIZE]

I happened here.​

​

[SIZE=12pt] Upon letting go she opened her eyes, abandoning the corpse of the fallen Jedi. The quickest way across to the highway was along the hundreds of criss-crossed smaller branches directly beneath the one she stood on. She gave no thought to jumping down, landing lightly with help from the force in a cushioned blast under the balls of her feet. Sprinting along the branches she made it across the canopy to the highway in almost no time at all, extending her claws just as she made another leap. Her force-jump got her to the underside of the highway branch and she dug her phrik claws in to the bark, spidering her way along its surface. Up and around she came, appearing topside with limbs sharp and expression intent on the ship.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] Standing up, she kept her distance from the craft, claws retracting as she rested on hand on the hilt of her sword and the other at her side, tilting her head and blinking in reptilian fashion as she stood among the still-warm bodies of those who had perished for the Republic. Reaching out again she spoke to both of them, the hum of power inside the ship strange and enticing.[/SIZE]

Hello…​

​

[member="Torin Varik"] | [member="Nejaa Niynx"]​

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Near Kashyyyk Space.

The sound of unfolding landing gear couldn't have been less welcomed, Nejaa thought, until he heard the Scimitar's main hatch opening to the outside world shortly thereafter. And with it, all manner of other noises. Crackling and popping of burning branches, smoldering to a point of collapse. Far off shouts and rallying cries. A steady pound of engines and machinery thudding away behind the distant tree line. These were the noises of war, foreign yet all to familiar to the youth. When he moved, he felt as though intoxication had rendered him clumsy, fear drilling weakness into his body and causing him to stumble where he shouldn't.

"We must find the others. There must be survivors. Even if prisoners are all that's left. We have to help them."

"T-Torin--!!"

But there was no stopping him, he had already flung himself in an adamant direction before Nejaa could formulate a counter order. His stomach continued to churn, flickering eyes checking once more the outside world through his viewport, and once again realizing how grave a mistake it would be to simply toss himself out into exposure. "Torin, you mustn't-- we mustn't--" His raised hand only fell, a brief moment of chilled shock covering him in a cold sweat.

I happened here.

That voice. His legs bent, collapsed at the knees and he had to brace himself against the cluttered wall. A chaotically controlled pulse of the force crushed him down, sickened him. That voice, that darkness, this familiar feel of defeat before conflict. A sucked in, shaking breath and what felt like an hours time before he was able to look back up. "No, we can't..." but it was too late, his meek whispering would never reach Torin's ears at such a volume. Another step struggled to land its footing, then another, and finally he began his descent to the Scimitar's lower levels. Nausea corroded his natural grace and tore away any edge he might hold over an inferior opponent.

"Torin... she's..."

Hello…

Hands jettisoned to cover his head, a throbbing, pounding pain splitting his mind apart and boring entry through unwelcome force. He couldn't push forward, but he had to, so he tried. Dragging himself towards dread and making sure his weapons still hung side by side at the front of his left leg, Nejaa let the war baked air touch his skin, body hanging at the mouth of his vessel and the top of the loading ramp. An artificial heat and scattered landscape of others like him, those foolish enough to fall victim to the sith's conquest. Those too haunted by pride to admit their own weakness before it became their undoing, now nothing more than Kashyyyk's welcome mat. A dirty carpet of he's and she's, bloodied aliens and scorched wookies. Men, still clad in obviously useless armor, with their bodies flayed and strewn about. A conglomerate of hands, legs, and arms, some cauterized by a saber's blade, some torn and mangled. Jedi and soldiers alike, guns and deactivated hilts; now just littering a once peaceful world.

But when he saw her, when he saw that woman and felt her gaze befall him, the sickness in his gut ruled him. Bent him. And devoured him. The black hair and slender eyes, hooked forward to pierce him. His blade was lit and held before him before he knew what he was even doing, the emerald green of a consular's lightsaber hardly offering much protection against this particular foe. It would be impossible to miss, the sith's presence alone seemed to bend pitch darkness around her into fractured fractals, and invisible scream heard not by the ears. This was an entity of the force, a lord more powerful than those he had encountered before.

It was perhaps the case that Nejaa could not feel it himself, and therefore fact that he was not directly responsible for it, but his own midi-chlorians echoed that silent scream. Traveled the path she had already forged between minds. Took its form and hollow power before throwing that same intrusive crackle of mentalism towards the woman. A plea to greatness, limited by the million-ton-fear. A show of potential, though not refined enough to carry specific words such as 'I happened here,' or 'hello...' A belch of copied abilities which carried no specific message other than an overwhelming volume of raw, unrefined, and dangerous power. A coiling threat from a more threatened child.

"Torin-- on your guard. We're not alone here."

[member="Torin Varik"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Torin Varik]

No, they were not alone. They were surrounded...
...by still warm bodies, steadily cooling with each brush of the gentle breeze.
...by a stench that reeked of carnage.
...by a dark vibration that shook to the core.

Before Nejaa caught up, and after Torin stormed down the durasteel ramp, there was a moment. A moment when his feet felt the ground and his eyes were forced to take it all in. In that moment, nothing else existed but the body a young human Jedi which lay before him. One of many but this one no older than fifteen. He was limp like the rest but looked relatively unscathed from the back. Like some cruel joke being played, in the few seconds which torins gaze fell upon this particular victim the small body twitched with a cough. There was hope. Torin's heart slammed against its cage as he trotted to his aid, temporarily pushing everything else to the side and kneeling quickly to turn him over.

The light of hope that glazed his hazel eyes quickly faded to horror as the scene before him digested. The young boy's eyes were frozen in terror - frantic and only moments from death. Blood dripped from innocent lips, viscera spilled from tattered robes. The horrid signs of Vong engaged warfare. Before Torin could breathe, before he could offer some sort of comfort as the boy departed so unceremoniously, he felt life slip through his arms. Another guttural cough, the last this boy would give, and he was gone. Torin slid his hand down the small face pointer and middle fingers closing already film colored eyes. This and a prayer of safe passage was all he could offer him.

When Nejaa approached, trickling out of the ship's cover like a sickened beast, Torin stood, heeding his master's warning, and eyeing their surroundings. Bringing his hands together to better grip his blaster, he did as Nejaa said and kept alert. The disturbance which surrounded them could not be interpreted by someone with Torin's level of connection; Matsu's message mostly lost on him, so he was left to trust his master's judgement. The padawan backed up to join Nejaa's side and spoke in a hushed tone. "My ship is not far. If I can get to it, we may yet be able to salvage what life is still left on this planet." His words revealed more than they offered. So much sadness but even more determination.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]
[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

[SIZE=12pt] She watched the first to emerge from the ship with vested interest – not the source of such immense power within the craft, but someone with the Force nonetheless and therefore of great interest to her. She did not move as he knelt to comfort the dying Jedi, perhaps try to save him, instead merely watching. His sadness was sweet, candy made even more a treat when paired with the feeling of determination he gave off. Matsu fought for the Sith not because she hated Jedi. While she found them misguided and often an annoyance, she admired their fortitude to be sure. And she did not fight for the Sith because she believed in their Dark Lord either – no, in that sense she was a blasphemer, mostly unaware of the entity’s wants and desires. The only wants and desires she tended to were her own, and that was why she fought for the Sith. They waged war on a galactic scale. They took and they took and they took, nightmares before them and death to follow. Here, after the fall of Kashyyyk to Sith hands, the young man’s determination was chocolate, honey, ambrosia.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] It was the man that emerged second from the vessel…he was the Eta Carinae to the black-hole, a prize indescribable.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] When his eyes met hers she felt an enormous blast through the Force, return-mail to her greeting. Where usually such unfocused aim would result in nothing more than a bluster, this copying of her power came with a potential she’d never seen. She threw a wall up around her mind just as the screaming response of his ability blew around it, like thick smoke pressed tight against clear walls she stood behind. This was something different, and as the green of his lightsaber confirmed him Jedi her eyes went amber in response. (Emotion, always the trigger for a show of her corruption, clouds of dark-honey clouding her irises and invading towards pupils constricting with her excitement.) She was not so foolish to believe herself invincible, but she was demented enough to enjoy the prospect of tearing oneself apart in the pursuit of victory.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] By that time the two Jedi were standing near the ship together and Matsu cut through the smoke, a creature of grace built for carnage. “Welcome to Kashyyyk, gentleman,” she said with characteristic sea-glass softness, the sound of her sword as she pulled it from its sheath an answer to the drawing of lightsaber and held blaster. “I don’t believe that’s any way to greet a lady[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt].”[/SIZE]

[member="Nejaa Niynx"] | [member="Torin Varik"]​

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Near Kashyyyk Space.

"My ship is not far. If I can get to it, we may yet be able to salvage what life is still left on this planet."

"Do not be foolish as to belive that you alone hold any power here, padawan. You only insult the efforts of those around you."

“Welcome to Kashyyyk, gentleman.”

The was a point were anger met fear and collided with it there violently. Nejaa was sure Torin too sat in this awful feeling with him. The man, that human he had been assigned to, bent over the torn apart body of the innocent. Another Jedi casualty, ha, the peace keepers. This sith's voice, the simple cadence to her tone, it enraged him. That stench of ego which didn't belong here among the trees. This sense of entitlement only tightening the grip on his lightsaber.

“I don’t believe that’s any way to greet a lady[SIZE=12pt].”[/SIZE]

"You're not fooling anyone, Sith. Explain your presence at once."

There was no time to test this opponent. No time to hold back, or grow accustomed to her powers. His other hand grabbed the second blade from his belt, a handle which he attached to the first before activating. A dual bladed green saber, a staff of vibrant colors which he tore around his body gracefully and stepped into a readied position. Without removing his eyes from the threat, he spoke through low vocals to his padawan, a cocked neck to the left.

"Torin, any hesitation here will only kill you, do you understand. You'll become another victim here with the rest. Forget mercy, cast aside pity or lawfulness. When you strike, smash."

He didn't move at first, one last quick moment of hesitation before finally he stepped ahead and into the quiet before the storm. Petty words before bloodshed, a tradition he hated, and mostly used to escape or use reason to free himself from conflict.

[member="Torin Varik"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Torin Varik]

Crawling from her shroud and into the light, the woman appeared before them. Her presence spoke of a calmness only a powerful foe could possess. Torin’s grip tightened around the blaster as he whipped into position. His hazel eyes cast an analytical glare on his target. Her frame was petite, very feminine, and almost fragile. But her soulless gaze cold turn a beating heart to stone. Her physical beauty was shrouded in a thick darkness that hung in the air. It seemed to penetrate through him and into his mind. It was a feeling that was entirely invasive and unwelcome.

“I understand what’s at stake…” The pilot spoke firmly, insuring his master that he would not fail. There was no reason to hesitate this time. The number of innocent lives these monsters had stomped out far outweighed any justification for hesitation. He understood now -- why his perception of the Order’s principles was unrefined. Justice could not exist in their defeat. So he would protect Nejaa’s life and his own, at all costs. "Do not underestimate me, Master.”

Torin moved forward and toward the woman in a diagonal, away from Nejaa. With cautious but skilled steps he made his way across her view but gradually closed the distance between them. All the while, he aimed the blaster dead ahead and locked on. Keeping his distance with a ranged weapon would not prove to be useful for long. The Jedi duo had better chances if they focused in on close range. Their collective offensive power could overwhelm the smaller woman’s combat ability. Now only his left hand held the blaster in place, as his other found the hilt of his saber.

“Yes, Sith. Explain why you are here, acting as though you own the surface you walk on.” His tone was sharp, almost condescending. “As long as I'm breathing, Kashyyyk is not yours to welcome." He tightened his glare and pushed the barrel of the gun into his line of sight. He pulled the hilt of his saber from his belt kept his thumb ready for activation.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]
[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

[SIZE=12pt] She was made of micro-expressions, little gestures and movements almost imperceptible. She’d been accused of lying about her species. She was unnatural, holding herself at odd angles, watching others with reptilian curiosity. As the Jedi closer to the ship ignited a dual-bladed lightsaber she watched the graceful movement, knowing her skill with a saber did not match. She was capable of grace but with her lightsaber she stuck primarily to defensive and a small amount of offensive prowess with the blade. With a sword or her fists she was far more proficient, and with the Force she was deadly. But she would have to watch this saberstaff of his.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] But then the Jedi she assumed was his Padawan slid in to her line of sight. Her head did not move as he tracked diagonally and then towards her, only the amber-bright of her eyes moving to follow his path. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] She smiled when he demanded she explain herself, making it two Jedi questioning her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] “Then I suppose you should stop breathing, because I do own the surface I walk on. As of an hour ago, Kashyyyk and everything on it belongs to the One Sith. And by extension, me.” She wished he would try and shoot her as the barrel of his blaster stared dark in to her eyes. “Your Order fought well, until the end,” she said, waving a hand over the battlefield strewn with the corpses of their dead. “And where were you?” The answer mattered little to her. They were here now and they could meet the same fate as the rest of their people, avoid the shame that crippled guilty survivors who could have helped. If one looked at it that way, she was doing them a favor.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] Reaching out, she gripped at the Padawan’s mind, snaking her way in unseen. Illusion was her forte and in this she was nearly unstoppable – even Lords and Masters bent their knees to her. The best illusion was the most believable one, built from the surroundings, something that could truly happen even if she weren’t manufacturing it. So in his head she planted a vision not just with the prowess of her mentalism, but the added power of sith magic, an ability that allowed her illusions to fool even computers. Nejaa would scream, dropping his lightsaber as something roiled under his skin. Dropping to his knees, his hands shot to his head as if trying to stop it from splitting open and spilling its contents all over the ground. His agony was palpable, his screaming filled with the kind of animal terror only the dying know, the kind of sound that sends the rest of the herd backing away in horror – made limbs weak, true fear. “HELP ME – PLEASE, HELP ME!”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt][member="Nejaa Niynx"] | [member="Torin Varik"][/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Italics are illusions.[/SIZE]​

 

[Torin Varik]

A dangerous scowl pinched the handsome pilot's upper lip. Her words were like poison as they dripped from thick lips. There was such an unsettling calm to her tone as she explained the reality of the nightmare at hand. His heart cringed at the thought of being the lone survivors of yet another Sith invasion. The more she explained the more bleak the situation became. If the One Sith had in fact been victorious as she claimed, he and Nejaa had little to no chance of survival if they remained on Kashyyyk. They had to find a way off the planet and quickly. Torin would not allow another Jedi to die. There was no reason to die for the Republic here, like this. No, the best they could do now was to survive. He kept an awareness of the strong hold's layout in an attempt to route a method of escape. But there was little time to think and even littler time to react.

"There is no end to The Order. We will always fight, and you will continue to fail."

His hand held blaster steady. Torin was not unfazed by death and did not underestimate her capability. But he understood that fear had no place here. He approached her only to be halted by her raised hand. He braced himself for her oncoming attack. But this sort of attack was not one you could prepare for. It was a dark magic, far more invasive than any physical force. And far more dangerous. The curdling scream that erupted behind him sent chills through the padawan's spine. He whirled around to see Nejaa crippled, pleading for his life as panic writhed in his eyes.

It would appear as though she had brought a Jedi knight to his knees with a single raised hand. It was a power he had ever experienced before. Some form of dark sorcery; a horribly twisted use of the force. His pleas and wicked cries were all too real. There was nothing that could cause Torin to think otherwise. "N-Nejaa! No!" She was killing him. He had to stop her. Whipping his head to face her once again, the padawan fired his blaster one, two, three times without hesitation. "Stop it! What are you doing to him?!" His aim was true and he shot to kill. He closed in on the woman, the energetic buzz warned of his weapon change. As he charged into close range, his blue blade tore through the air, whirling over his left shoulder and crashing down on the small woman. His aggressive Ataru form, paired with a protective determination, made for powerful and swift attacks.

"I am your opponent."


[member="Nejaa Niynx"]
[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Near Kashyyyk Space.

There was a moment, only a moment, of faltering breath. That silent, pitch black drop of the stomach before war began. Those few seconds when you were certainly still living; those few seconds before death became too real a possibility. Hooked together, both normally-separate hilts of his lightsaber swiveled on their axis, completing a fan motion of blurred green. He was a child fighting for an army, accompanied only by his greatest weakness and most powerful ally. Respectively, his padawan, and fear.

“Then I suppose you should stop breathing, because I do own the surface I walk on. As of an hour ago, Kashyyyk and everything on it belongs to the One Sith. And by extension, me.”

"N-Nejaa! No!"

“Your Order fought well, until the end... And where were you?”

In a maddened, locomotive action, Torin waved his body round full circle to stare, horrified, directly at Nejaa. The youth faltered, skipped a breath, and could only stare back in what appeared as though his own moment of confusion. Whispers cut at the Knight through the force, warning him of a lingering darkness. Of invisible dangers, powers unlike those he had seen thus far. His grip tightened, and his gaze fell towards their opponent. The coy woman, one hand raised, and her eyes trained on his apprentice.

"Stop it! What are you doing to him?!"

"Torin--!! Stop!"

But Nejaa's words were muted half-realities to the older man. It was clear nothing was getting through, nothing even made sense. His words could be heard only by himself. Himself and that horrid creature who claimed humanoid form. A Sith, like those he had seen before, and so much different. "Torin s-sto-- you mustn't alone!" Even with impressive sword skills, the male was only a padawan, nothing could be accomplished by charging in head first. He had no time to wait around, no time to continue sizing up his enemy, or play around with preliminary powers. She had removed that pleasantry. And he hated the idea of anything direct.

End this, boy, the force whispered...
Destroy this woman, survive, live...
Save your kind, save the human...
Ruin the woman...

Burn her in fire...

There was no room for secrets, no room for error or failure of any kind. His apprentice, his padawan, the last Jedi in sight among piles of dead brethren, charged towards death with open arms. Alone, he couldn't last a second, either of them. Not under the circumstances. Beyond that, there was no telling what kind of shocking surprises this woman had lingering around her. With enough power to bring a planet to her knees, she couldn't be the only enemy here. Leaping forward with the same aggressive lunge given by Torin, he made an attempt to aid the attack-- but something was wrong. Off enough to notice only in the seconds before fatality itself. When Torin's attacks were made, they left no room for accompaniment. As if he was blinded to Nejaa's presence, unaware of his proximity. Whirling pounds of ataru style lightsaber combat skidded uncomfortably close to the master's chest, then face, one such strike actually requiring Nejaa to put up a meager deflection and falter backwards. Torin didn't stop, caught up in something all too unnatural.

"Torin-- cease this madness!"

But he was lost.

"Sith! What magic poisons him? You coward! Have you not killed enough?!"

[member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

[SIZE=12pt] So many Sith found love and affection a weakness. Matsu happened to find such spurning of a useful sensation wasteful. It was a dangerous thing to entertain, a tool that could be used against oneself by enemies abundant. But how could one understand how to wield it as a weapon if they’d never felt it? Matsu knew love for her old Master, she knew unconditional love for her closest friend, and she knew deep, powerful love for Gabriel. So when the Padawan (Torin, she breathes in her mind, garnered from his master’s screams for him to cease) immediately took action she was satisfied. Love was a worthy emotion, and a worthy weapon. The difference was as Sith she would not let it get in her way.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] Blaster bolts burned through the air and she snatched up the body of the Jedi closest to her with a quick telekinetic tug, a human shield the charges burned in to. She dropped the corpse without ceremony as the familiar sound of a saber humming to life cut through the air. It swung from over his shoulder, a height greater than her own, and as it descended she reached up and caught it along the broadside of her forearm. She’d lost one too many limbs on the battlefield and these replacements were made to counteract just that – laced with phrik they could withstand short contacts with a lightsaber. Blocking his downward stroke with the right arm, she let the claws spring from the left with a metallic unveiling, a shock like ice water. Swinging wide she tried to dig her claws in to his side, spill his guts on the branch for them to slop off and feed the hungry creatures populating Kashyyk’s underworld. But she could only block a lightsaber for so long before it began to warp the metal of her arm so instead of standing there with him, she gathered a telekinetic repulse she let fly with abandnon, hoping to use the imbalance her counterattack may have caused to knock him back and off his feet. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] [/SIZE]"Sith! What magic poisons him? You coward! Have you not killed enough?!"

[SIZE=12pt]The Knight’s words cut through the haze of her power, a sensation like a high that overtook her as she communed with the dark side. Turning her amber gaze to him in the moment she had between attacks, she gave him a look as if she could not possibly comprehend his confusion.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] “It will never be enough.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt] Almost immediately ancient Sith poured from her lips, an incantation she’d recited a million times. The voices of hundreds of Jedi, Republic soldiers, and Wookiees screamed and roared at her, threatened to pull her down in to ruin as she wove her spell, but she used their anger and despair as fuel. For the second time that day great tendrils, inky black and curling like smoke, rose from the bark. The smell of sulfur accompanied them, hell rising from all around as they reached for the Jedi. The body parts strewn around the branches were evidence of their destructive power – if they managed to touch either Jedi, they would burn limbs right off, burn down to organs.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt][member="Nejaa Niynx"] | [member="Torin Varik"][/SIZE]​

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Near Kashyyyk Space.

It was a terrible noise. The straining of a tired lightsaber core against mildly resistant metal weavings. Grunts and guttural squirts of unnatural noise, sparks in a surprising array of colors. The woman had merely raised her arm, and only then did Nejaa really understand what surely he saw before. Both of them were fake, she was partially mechanical herself, and whatever defensive weapon she raised now was enough to deflect the anger filled strike of fully honed ataru style. Nejaa's eyes seemed a bit more dim now, not full of their normal gleaming. Any creative or mind-inspiring intellect now was busy being used elsewhere. Anything he could do in order to understand what was happening. How he could help. Anything.

It seemed as if only a second went by, no less, before her counter strike fell. Claws like an animal's sprung from metallic fingertips, pointed towards the Padawan's gut. It was rare that metals were able to counteract a lightsaber's edge. Rarer still to do so with such ease, and he knew of only a few which could do so. Vibro weapons were normally generated from highly resistant metals, forged strong, and made stronger by a vibration generator. But this, on an arm, was she so capable? Surely if Torin's strength and speed were countered his own might be as well. Despite the difference in their technique and over all prowess, it seemed there was little weapons alone could accomplish here.

It wasn't until he could hear the drawl of something all too unfamiliar that he understood just how dangerous the woman before them was. The language of the sith was one not easily mistaken, and this was clearly just that. Words which called out to something else, and something bent only on the darkest of purposes. Even the tree beneath his feet seemed to scream out through the force as what followed bubbled and oozed forth. Black, almost like smoke but too sticky, and carrying an odd scent, subtle and nauseating.

"Torin-- don't--"

But before he could finish he had already deemed it useless. Something clearly kept Torin elsewhere, a clouded mind which rendered him incapable of performing as one of two men present. The air whipped the tattered fabric of dark brown cloak around him, their altitude alone inviting colds winds which blew through the youth. There was no choice. Ugh-- idiot!

All it took was one clawed hand. Fingers wrapped around air like bars to a cage, and the force mimicked it with its own fingers around Torin. His blind eagerness would only get him killed, or turn him into more of a liability. Harming himself, or worse, would only weaken Nejaa and his chances of survival. Yanking hard and tossing his arm back towards the ship, the human look alike jerked his elder's body backwards and roughly spit him out against the hull of his Infiltrator. Nejaa could almost feel the heaving framework of Torin's blood pumped body without touching him, something in the back of his mind telling him that the pain of such a collision might in fact wake him up from whatever daze had become of him.

And in the same motion, that very same hand fell forward in an elongated swoop. Another call to the force, though this one made not with such basic commands. Without muddering commands, or speaking in the language of sith, he crossed the line of light and stepped into darkness' embrace. Crimson flame matched in power only by turbo laser-fire cannons, the kind posted alongside ships of war, sprung forth and bore deeply into the black mist. An explosion which might shatter the branch upon which they stood in its totality, and then another blast of the same sinister power to follow closely behind. His power was not nearly as refined as Matsu's own, the product of his own experience with the dark side, with magic-- where only he had managed to teach himself. His incantation was not spoken, but felt, but he had never used the flame like this before. Displaying this power here was a testament only towards his will to survive. Never had he meant for a Jedi to see his secrets. Torin's eyes, misguided though they may have been, had never been given permission to gaze on what lay before them.

Nejaa stood among flame and smoking ruin, the smell of corpses, and the ghastly visage of fields of bodies falling from around the edges as his own power had shaken the ground where they had rested. They would fall for full minutes, it looked like, before they'd find the floor. The bottom of a world which would eat them even in their marred state, armor and all. The double bladed lightsaber hung at his side so that the second line of emerald rose up along his back at a slight angle and the first fell back towards the bark. His left hand, the one from which he had brought forth the flame, lay now empty at his side, skin red from where the heat had also made its mark on him. It seemed the plague of that raw power which he possessed claimed him as well as his enemies, only at a slower pace. If he was to fight without the aid of his padawan, then he would do so with the weapons he had developed long before this troublesome assignment of an apprentice.

[member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

What happened next was a series of unexpected things, beginning with the immediate rejection of Torin's saber against the petite woman's arm. He had underestimated her endurance. She wore some sort of armor that resisted the blade of a light saber - not quite Cortosis, but something that could stand against a full power strike. Keeping good timing, she slid her own counter attack into play. She swept her clawed fingers across his torso, taking advantage of his moment of confusion.

One second he was sure he was done for, and the next he was seeing black. A compelling and desperate grasp of the force had launched him from imminent death and into Nejaa's ship. But how? Was it her? No, it couldn't have been. Why push him away when she knew her attack would hit? And it could not have been the work of his master... right? A grunt was forced from the pilot's lungs with the rest of his breath as his solid frame made contact with the ship. His feet hit the wood surface but his legs refused to support and he slumped over. He was barely able to catch himself on shaky arms to prevent his head from hitting the floor. His breath heaved back into his lungs and he blinked repetitively, desperately trying to regain clarity.

His eyes lifted to meet his master, seemingly recovered, and now standing between the enemy and Torin. Although it would go unnoticed, the pilot had returned to reality thanks to Nejaa's creative method of "cognitive recalibration." And just in time to witness a power the padawan had never imagined a Jedi capable of. In an explosive burst of force, a storm of flames erupted from Nejaa's hand and out across the landing pad. In protective reaction, Torin curled his head in and braced himself as the bright blast devoured the area in fire. When it was over he struggled to a standing position using the side of the ship for support. Where had Nejaa learned such a power? How was it possible?

He approached his master, hesitation dragging his steps. His eyes still danced around the landing pad in witness of the incredible damage before they fell upon the boy. "Are... are you alright? Are you hurt?" Concern, confusion, and a little pain edged his words. Smoke and debris hung thick in the air around them. Visibility was low and there was no telling if the blast had in fact taken out its target. Torin's blue bladed light saber had been flung somewhere about the landing pad when he was thrown, perhaps even off the edge. Regardless, he hadn't the means or the time to look for it. He reached behind and grabbed the light saber he had acquired from the Sith in Mandolorian space and activated it. The energy blade glowed a sinister red that spoke of it's origin.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]
[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Near Kashyyyk Space.

It was hard to sympathize with his padawan while he remained such a liability. His eyes traced the distance between them as Torin approached, skepticism keeping him safe. In battle, seconds seemed to spin by in an instant. Safety never lasted for long.

"Are... are you alright? Are you hurt?"
"Leave at once--!!"

Nejaa anticipated resistance. His human counterpart was not showing himself to be very receptive to the idea of master and student. His eyes wasted only a moment in contact with the older, larger male.

"Don't make me repeat myself, leave at once. You're nothing but a danger to me here. Find your ship, we'll need a reliable method of getting off world. The infiltrator cannot defend itself against a blockade in its current state."

Raising his blade toward the fire and shadows, his squinting eyes peered through crackling smoke. Whatever enemy this was, she fought not like a Jedi or a conventional dark Jedi. Her skills were perhaps more derived from the arcane.

"Now."

[member="Torin Varik"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]