Private Weighed and Measured | Arkryion

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Wolfsbane | Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Arkryion Malachar

The lupine was a curious sort. He needed to know who it was that his mistress Srina Talon surrounded himself with. It was a compulsion born from a need to protect and care for what was his. Those who assumed that the wolf belonged to the Echani did not understand the nature of the relationship. She was his as much as he was hers. His loyalty was not born from the position she carried or occupied, but rather she had saved his life. The action had made him her wolf, and she a member of his pack.

Her apprentice was unknown to him. Gerwald did not care that she had brought the humanoid into her inner circle. Whether a puppet or not, it did not matter. What concerned him the most was that Gerwald knew nothing of him, other than Srina had chosen to take him on as an apprentice. That alone was significant. The white lady never did anything without purpose or thought. If she had taken an apprentice for the first time since the wolf had known her, it was important.

He was important.

That did not mean Gerwald trusted him. It was not in his nature to trust, not any longer. The Lord Commander had seen his ability to trust decimated by those who had been closest to him.

His family.

Those who he should have been able to trust the most had all lied to him. They had all betrayed him. Gerwald questioned whether he truly trusted Srina and Lunara, but knew any misgivings were not because of any action on their part. Simply, he had long been afraid to allow people to get close to him. Darth Omnia had more than earned his trust, so he gave it. She had earned far more than that. There was not one thing she deserved from the wolf that he had not freely given.

This was why he was protective.

Today Gerwald had arranged a test of sorts. He would weigh and measure this apprentice and see if he was worthy of the attention his mistress gave him. His help against the Terentateks had been invaluable. It had been enough to earn the benefit of the doubt. Coupled with Srina’s decision to employ the man under her tutelage, Gerwald had decided to give him a worthy chance.

Slavers.

As far as the wolf was concerned they were the lowest form of scum known to the galaxy. It was one thing to subject one's will and dominance over another, it was entirely something different to make free peoples as nothing more than chattel. The wolf hated slavery in any form it took, and he knew that his mistress did not approve either. Was it her will they leave Jutrand to deal with a band of slavers setting up operations just outside of Sith space?

Did it matter?

The Sith cruiser came to a standstill. Heavy boots echoed with each step as the large and imposing image of the Emperor’s Wrath made his way to the transport which would take them both to the surface. For the moment he was silent. They did not need to exchange pleasantries and platitudes like others in their situation may attempt to do. The wolf was smart enough to know this one knew why they were here.

It was not just to kill slavers.

Gerwald was also confident Arkryion knew that Srina had not ordered this strike. It did not matter. The lupine had been given freedom and full autonomy. He may have born the crest of the Eternalists, but that was as far as his loyalty to them went. Empyrean knew Gerwald well enough to know that his unyielding devotion to the Empress made Gerwald a better ally than most. He did not have to be convinced to advance Empyrean’s agenda, provided it remained to be what was best for the Dread Queen.

“You will show no mercy and give no quarter today. Hesitate, and I will cut you down.”

The evaluation had begun.

 

[Arkryion Malachar]

It was a test. Another test. There was no mistaking the intentions, no confounding the purpose, Gerwald Lechner , for as far as Arkyrion could tell, was a man of discipline. A monolith of ruthless animality, a sentinel that stood as yet another gateway that he needed to cross. These were things that the young man did not find, by any manner or means, daunting. Rather, he seemed quite thoroughly to embrace any and all evaluations.

But what would the lupine Lord have witnessed thus far, on their crisp journey beyond the borders of the Order?

At first glance, Arkyrion embodied the ascetic and zealous demeanor that was expected of a Sith Apprentice. His unwavering commitment to the Sith Order—perhaps only outweighed by his reverence for Srina Talon herself—and his dedication to mastering the dark side of the Force were evident. It was unmistakable, oft displaying a rigorous training regimen that showed a deep respect for his Masters' traditions. He honed his lightsaber and martial skills with a precision that exceeded the norm for an individual of his age, routinely working himself to ragged wheezing in the Hangar Bay of the Cruiser that had been commandeered.

However, there was also another side of the pale, tall, teen. Arkyrion had a unique ability to maintain a balance between a spartan and, almost playful, nature. While most Sith were consumed by their fathomless hunger for power and greed, he was seen to enjoy moments of relaxation and camaraderie. He could often be found among the soldiers, engaging in casual conversations and even partaking in the regimental duties they were routinely assigned.

Perhaps it would be this ability, to switch between many seemingly contradictory aspects of his personality, that might hint at a level of adaptability and cunning that could be harnessed for Srina's, or his, benefit. Or, perhaps Arkyrion's moments of leisure were a facade, concealing a hidden agenda, or ulterior motives—something to be wary of? Or something to embrace and further stoke, until this ability was honed in to a controlled and unstoppable inferno?

What he would not have known, however, was that they shared a certain sort of commonality between them. Oh, his story was quite undoubtedly, not nearly as inspiring or fraught with triumph and loss—he'd never deign to state otherwise. But as Gerwald had been saved, so too had the Dread Queen saved him.

It had been her that was the beacon that had rescued young Arkyrion from the dreary depths of academia. From the hallowed halls of scholastic pursuits, where his mind once wandered aimlessly, she had emerged like a radiant star in the darkest firmament, guiding him towards a destiny he could scarcely have imagined. Under her tutelage, Arkyrion discovered that learning was not merely about the accumulation of facts and figures but an odyssey into the essence of existence itself. The books he had once perused with detachment now revealed their secrets, their pages alive with hidden meanings and profound truths.

Yet, it was not just the scholarly realm that she rescued him from; it was the abyss of mediocrity, the complacency that had threatened to consume his potential. Perhaps Srina saw in him an ember of greatness, and thus far she had fanned it with her unwavering belief. She challenged him to transcend his limits, to harness the power of the Force, and to unlock the formidable potential that lay dormant within.

Something the young man had never experienced before, there in the doldrums of Jutrand, and it was for those reasons alone that his loyalty would never falter—no matter the risk or cost.

“You will show no mercy and give no quarter today. Hesitate, and I will cut you down. ”

A billowing cloak of midnight fabric, as if woven from the very essence of night itself, shrouded his lithe and lanky form. From beneath its draping hood, the braided tendrils of his hair spilled forth, a stark contrast to the obsidian canopy above. The hood's edge framed his face, casting his visage in a spectral half-light. His eyes, like twin sapphire jewels, gleamed from the shadowed recesses, burrowing deeply in to his ally's gaze.

No sooner than the lupines' words had been given, did the ramp of the transport ship slowly began to ascend, sealing the vessel like an airtight tomb. The motion was deliberate, a seamless dance of mechanical precision, accompanied by the low hum of hydraulic systems and the subtle hiss of sealed connections. Durasteel plating clanged shut, sliding into place with a resonant finality, encapsulating the two of them safely within.

The transport ship's engines roared to life, an explosive crescendo that reverberated through the hangar like the awakening of some ferocious fiend. Arkyrion could feel the deep bass of the thrusters resonating ferociously in his chest, as his pale lips bent into a smile, and his head tipped respectfully to Gerwald, who was seated directly across the aisle.

"As you command, Lord Lechner, " his profoundly deep voice called over the booming noise, "so shall I obey. "

As the vessel detached from its docking clamps and glided toward the hangar's exit, the universe outside began to envelop it. Stars and galaxies swirled, forming an ever-expanding canvas of cosmic majesty. The transport was as a mere speck in the grand expanse of the 'verse, hurtling forward with relentless determination. The pilot's voice echoed through the transport's crimson lit interior, brisk and authoritative. Orders were relayed, trajectories calculated, and coordinates locked. With a final surge of power, the vessel breached the threshold of the planet's atmosphere vanishing into the cloud coverage that swirled just below.

Arkyrion was ready to meet whatever challenge this esteemed warrior set before him.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Wolfsbane | Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Arkryion Malachar

“Lord Lechner.”

Gerwald hated the way the words sounded coming out of the young humanoid’s mouth. He had grown so accustomed to hearing Lord Commander that his last name sounded far too unfamiliar with the title. The wolf should have been beaming with pride as it was a statement to how far he had come, but among the Sith, their titles carried a weight that seemed to be lacking when using his own name. Too many opted to go by a given name, but it spoke of who they had become. Gerwald Lechner was still the same wolf he had always been.

But he was also so much more…

One thing which had not changed was how much the wolf hated space travel. Oh he had adjusted to larger ships, but as the smaller shuttle released from the main vessel Gerwald was reminded that his paws belonged on firm and solid ground.

Soil.

Those who knew him from Stewjon were always found staring in disbelief when they realized the young Lechner had gone into the galaxy and made a name for himself. It was not always a name spoken with respect or honor, but it was known. His efforts to help the Confederacy rid his home of the Dark Ones had never been forgotten. He was always welcome there, but what he longed for the most was the forest he knew more intimately than anything else. It was his forest, the site of his first kill still vivid in his mind. The wolf could still smell the dew in the air, and the iron rich blood as it spilled from his prey.

He was a predator.

Gerwald always would be.

“Tell me young one, what is your view on slavery?”

It was not too often Gerwald would poll his subordinates with philosophical questions, but as this was Omnia’s apprentice, Gerwald made the exception. It was important the wolf knew where he stood on such matters. Srina was a particular kind of Sith, and she needed a particular kind of apprentice. While it was not his place to constantly judge, the wolf did so without reservation. He was not the only one which would examine the boy closely. Srina had far too many around her circle which would take notice.

His head turned, giving the white haired apprentice his attention. Gerwald leaned into the answer, almost anticipating it like he was hunting, stalking. In a sense he was. The young Sith was not simply on the mission to kill, or even to be tested in combat. As Gerwald was determined to see what the boy was made of, many games of this sort would abound.

 

[Arkryion Malachar]

The transport ship, a jagged dagger tearing through the thick, pregnant clouds, descended into a realm of shadows and tempests. Arkyrion, his young heart pounding in his chest, was belted into his seat, feeling the vessel quiver and shudder with each abrupt course correction. The once-vibrant white sea of clouds had transformed into an ominous expanse of grey and black, as if the heavens themselves had become cloaked in a shroud of despair.

The transition was swift and merciless. The light of day was extinguished by the encroaching storm, casting the transport into an unnatural twilight. At first, the clouds clung to an otherworldly calm, like a morose congregation of mourners awaiting a somber ceremony. But as the ship plunged deeper into the abyss, the clouds boiled and roiled, twisting and churning into monstrous formations of relentless, wanton, fury.

Lightning, as vivid and unrelenting as the saber clashes of some heroic duel, worthy of legend and song—pierced the heavens. The electric tendrils lashed out, illuminating the vessel in fleeting bursts of bluish-white brilliance. Thunder, colossal roars, accompanied each flash, resonating through the ship like the harrowing howls of midnight monsters that lurked in the darkest corners of the most nightmarish dreams. Rain lashed the transport with an intensity that was nearly palpable. The steady, piercing patter of water drops escalated into a cacophony, like the drums of war urging them forward. Each droplet bore the weight of the storm, their impact a reminder of nature's fury; a relentless assault that defied both gravity and reason.

"Hol' fast, lads, " the pilot hummed over a tinny comm, "t'ings are goin' ta be choppy fahr a spell! " The man informed, his outer-rim accent thick and savage.

Arkyrion couldn't help but marvel at the sheer ferocity of the storm, his pale and slender hands moving to deftly adjust the harness straps around his shoulders. Each motion was a delicate dance between precision and urgency, his fingers nimble despite the tumultuous ride. Yet, amid the chaos, the Apprentice stole a glance at Gerwald, the man who had thrust him into this turbulent journey. The Lord Commander, a colossus of power and authority, exuded an aura of unwavering resolve. His very presence seemed to challenge the tempest that surrounded them, defying the storm with an indomitable will.

If the man did indeed feel a sense of fear, or unease, Arkyrion was not yet powerful enough to sense it.

"Slavery? " Arkyrion fired back, when Gerwald Lechner finally chose to break the comfortable silence between them. "I see the power behind it—the idea of power. I understand the opulence, the magnitude of wealth, the substantiality of the flesh trade. " Arkyrion's voice, like the slow and deliberate passage of an ancient, wizened tree's roots through the hidden crevices of an untamed forest, had a deep resonance that boomed with a sense of profound timelessness far beyond his stinted age.

"As a tool to break your enemy? Much like torture, there is an art to it, I believe. As a means to build an Empire? To allow such a practice upon the people you mean to inspire to your cause, both politically and morally, you will find no weaker foundation. To allow it, to look away, to let it seep in to the cracks and crevasses—you will be doomed to ruin and revolt. There is no need—and there has not been one for more centuries than any of us have existed—to lord over people in such a manner. With a single Droid, you can achieve the work of 1,000 men. You need not ever even worry about when their mind or body will break, or when the knives will come out to pierce you in the dark—because finally, they have suffered enough under your reign, and now seek to take the pound of flesh they are rightly owed. "

A sudden jolt of turbulence was like a malevolent spirit that had descended upon the transport vessel. It seized Arkyrion, tossing him against the unforgiving straps of his harness as if he were a puppet manipulated by some unseen force, no sooner than the final words had fleeted from behind his lips. His once-composed figure was thrown into disarray, his obsidian cloak billowing like a wind-tossed sail. His hood, once a shadowy cerement concealing his visage, became a wild creature of its own. It writhed and flailed, like a caged beast yearning for freedom.

In the midst of the chaotic dance, Arkyrion's pale hands sought to regain their grip on the harness, fingers weaving through the straps like a skilled harpist plucking the strings of his instrument. The hood, seemingly possessed by a spirit of defiance, continued its frenzied rebellion, as if refusing to bow to the forces of nature their Transport was slicing through, before settling to a calm around the crest of his countenance once more.

"We'll clear tha storm soon, an' begin descent ta tha insertion point. "

"To me, I find no pleasure in slavery. Making men bow because the weight of the coin in your purse can afford you enough guns to point at them, is an act of cowardice beyond reproach. Every man, woman, and child deserves the decency of living free or dying hard—there is no honor in chains, only disgrace. I will take great pleasure in killing these men, Lord Lechner, I won't hide nor deny it. I believe such beings to be beneath even the lowliest scum of the Galaxy. "

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Wolfsbane | Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Arkryion Malachar

Gerwald's stomach churned as the ship ran into the rough air and gasses of the atmosphere. The storm threatened to tear the ship apart, and the wolf wished desperately to have his feet on the grass. It would not simply do to be off the metal box which flew through the sky. His boots needed to be off and his skin feeling the cool of the green blades and moisture of the rich soil between his toes. It would be the only thing which would settle the animal within.

He tried to allow the answer which the young acolyte was giving distract his anxious mind, but it only worked to a degree. At least it was not an annoying answer, or one which Gerwald would have to kill him over.

The white haired Sith hated slavery. It was clear in his tone and the way he described it. If that had not been clear, his final words on the matter were crystal. There was no pleasure in the practice. Those who practiced his arts were cowards, and that sentiment pulled a smile from the lupine's lips as the ship finally settled.

"Avoid the storm next time," he barked in response to the pilot.

His eyes turned back to the apprentice at his side. So far, Srina had chosen well and found a better match than Gerwald had anticipated. She was a particular Sith which required a particular pupil. It had taken years, but at least their thoughts on one matter seemed to be in alignment.

A large hand rested on the lad's shoulder.

"I would see it no other way."

He nodded and let the quiet settle before posing his next question.

"What if you discover those among our Sith Order that prefer the practice, and employ it all too readily?"

This was a different question, driving at a different outcome. Gerwald had no doubt the boy would kill every slaver on the planet which they were infiltrating. His passion was clear, and the resolve with which he spoke was steadfast. What the wolf wondered now was whether he would stand against those he was supposed to fight beside. Was he the kind of Sith that stood by his convictions, and would he fear cutting down any that challenged them?

Sith or not, how would he behave?

A loud creak bellowed from the metal as it groaned once more. The air began to beat against it with fury once more. Had the storm changed its course, or was the ship about to give way.

"Land this thing now!"

"Not possible bossman… gun havta jump…"

Gerwald rolled his eyes as he walked to the release for the bay door.

"It looks like you are learning how to slow your descent with the force, if you do not already know how to do so."

The wolf smirked as he hit the red button. An alarm blared as red lights flashed indicating they needed to stand back. Wind rushed into the hold where they had been standing. Pressure was released as it seemed every second brought them closer to being sucked out of the dropship against their will.

<< "Do not disappoint your master," >> he forced the words into the young man's mind as he ran for the exit and leaped toward the ground below.

 

[Arkryion Malachar]

Arkyrion sat there, his slender form bathed in the dim, trembling light of the transport ship, as the weight of Gerwald's hand descended upon his shoulder. It was a heavy touch, both physical and metaphorical, laden with a gravity that transcended mere flesh and bone. In that fleeting moment, he could feel the world around him shift and spin, the tumultuous descent of the vessel almost an afterthought as he contemplated the essence of the older man's question.

Arkyrion's tanzanite eyes searched for Gerwald around the edge of his draped hood, a silent acknowledgement passing between them. The question, profound in its implications, unraveled in his mind, each syllable dissected and examined. What if his comrades, those bound by the same Sith creed, embraced the very practices he abhorred? Would he stand against them, even if it meant clashing with his own kind? The conundrum danced before him, and he felt like a pawn on the grand chessboard of the galaxy, poised for a move that could alter the course of destinies.

Would he confront them with righteous anger, attempting to shatter the chains they imposed? Or would he resort to more cunning, subversive means, weaving webs of intrigue and manipulation to erode the foundations of their cruel enterprises?

"That, Gerwald, is the deepest of conundrum's I oft ponder. " Perhaps it was unwise, dropping all manner of decorum, and using the man's name. But there it was. "I don't see that there is a simple answer to provide, in that regard. Do I partake in the practice of decimating our own people, thus further burying our ability to wage war against the enemies of this crumbling Empire? Or do I allow them to hobble our standing in the face of the masses, the ones that are the actual backbone beneath our banner? "

There was a reflective pause, a hushed moment of contemplative restraint, he'd never engage in such deep subject matter haphazardly. "I would do what I must. Extract the poison, cut out the cancer—so that the host may survive. I don't revel in laying waste to those that are meant to be an ally to the cause, but for the greater good, there is very little I would not do. If there are those among us that cannot see the grander picture, then they are as much an enemy as any other. "

"Land this thing now! "

"Not possible bossman… gun havta jump… "

For now, it seemed, whether his answer met the approval of the esteemed and valiant warrior, or if it was entirely unsatisfactory and meant his death was on the horizon, he'd have to wait. There was never rest for the wicked.

The storm raged on with unrelenting fury, a lawless squall that painted the heavens in shades of ominous black and tumultuous gray. Lightning rent the sky, illuminating the chaos in jagged streaks of white-hot brilliance, while thunder followed in its wake, a resounding roar that echoed through the very fabric of the atmosphere. Rain lashed against the transport ship's reinforced hull, forming a blustery veil of cascading water that distorted the world beyond.

Inside the transport cabin, the atmosphere was a whirlwind of sensory overload. The air pressure fluctuated wildly as the vessel maneuvered through the storm, causing a disorienting sense of weightlessness. The low-frequency vibrations of the ship's engines reverberated through the metal walls, creating a constant, resonating hum that was both a testament to engineering and an eerie reminder of the precarious situation.

As the ramp deployment sequence was initiated mid-flight by Gerwald Lechner , the cabin's internal systems whirred to life with a cacophony of mechanical sounds. Hydraulic pistons extended and retracted, their pneumatic hissing adding to the symphony of high-stress metal on metal. The clatter of servos and servomotors echoed in the confined space, a covenant to the precise orchestration required for such an operation. The ship's auto-compensators strained to maintain stability, counteracting the sudden change in airflow and the shifting center of gravity as the ramp descended.

In the midst of this orchestrated chaos, Arkyrion braced himself against the rising turbulence, his body responding to the shifting forces and the frantic movement of the ship. The roar of the storm outside seemed to penetrate the very cabin, a constant reminder of the gale's uncompromising grip. The flashing warning lights and blaring alarms added to the overwhelming sensory assault, leaving no doubt that they were barreling through the heart of the storm with the ramp exposed. No. Doubt. At. All.

As the ramp fully lowered, the wind howled through the open maw, adding an extra layer of frenzy to the already tremulous ride. "Right behind you, " was all the pale teen managed to say as he hastily doffed his safety rigging and strode upwards, moving ever closer to the roaring wail at the end of the cabin.

As Arkyrion leaped from the ship's open ramp, he was engulfed by the relentless maelstrom. The storm's fury whipped at his cloak and tugged at his body, threatening to tear him asunder. Rain lashed at his form, drenching him within seconds, and the fierce winds contorted his figure, twisting him in the sky. Through the chaos, he maintained his focus and harnessed the Force. It was as if time slowed, and he felt an invisible hand cradle him, piloting his plummet with a powerful telekinetic grasp. Lightning crackled all around, painting the tempestuous heavens in electric tendrils, and thunder bellowed like an enraged titan.

His descent became a delicate dance with the storm. He controlled his path, carefully attempting to navigate through the wild currents of air, his limbs and robes billowing like a phantasmal spirit. Raindrops glistened like liquid crystals around him—a kaleidoscope of shining jewels in the riotous night.

The ground rushed up to meet him, but just as it seemed inevitable that he would collide with brutal force, Arkyrion exerted his will upon the Force even more fervently. With his pale, wet hands, thrusting towards the surface of the planet with a sudden explosion of energy he arrested his descent a mere blink of an eye before his lean flesh would have been little more than a puddle of crimson gore.

His breathing was labored, eyes unfocused, that had been a horrid reminder that he still had many mountains to climb before he could ever even begin to believe himself worthy of true warrior status. He'd faced it without hesitation, but the exertion was evident. From within his sodden robes, his hand produced a cylindric navigation device, upon which his trembling fingers sprang its function to life.

"We're 11 kilometers west of our target. " He used the mission data almost reflexively, letting it soothe his nerves back to composure.

Casting his gaze through the rainfall, towards Gerwald, Arkyrion rose up to his full height, tucking his shoulders back neatly. The vast plains they had landed upon, stretched out before them—a sea of blue-purple grass that stood taller than most men. Just beyond it, in the direction they needed to travel,a bamboo forest loomed in all its dark and ominous grandeur. A vast expanse of tortured splendor where nature's hand had woven an oppressive realm of shadows. It stood as an impenetrable fortress of ceaseless whispers; creaking in the wind and rain. The dense grove rose like titanic columns, their joints swathed in rivulets of moisture, glistening in the pallid gloom.

The endless rows of bamboo stretched far and wide, their towering spires plunging into the heavens, obscured by the relentless rain and were veiled in perpetual obscurity. The thickets cast formidable shadows, each pole a prison of its own, a dark and dreary sentry guarding the secrets held within.

They had a lot of ground to cover, and there was no telling what horrors they may find hidden ahead of them.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Wolfsbane | Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Arkryion Malachar

His answer was satisfactory, more than. Gerwald simply had no time to express it. There needed to be some mystery. It would be good for the boy to wonder for a time if the wolf had found his response acceptable or not. The thoughts one’s mind could produce when they knew they were being scrutinized was enough to keep the Sith paralyzed if he cared about such things as praise from his superiors.

No, Gerwald had not intended to test him in this manner, but a test it was all the same.

The Sith Lord was decisive in his landing. Unlike the acolyte, Gerwald did not move about the storm or catch the wind in a way that would make it seem as though he danced atop the lightning. The forest was his domain, this was but a path. As though he were lightning himself the Lord Commander shot to the ground with a speed that would be difficult for the eye to perceive. Most would not have survived the fall, but Gerwald had made jumps like these far too many times to miss.

The force padded his landing at just the right moment as the drops of water his weight had displaced encircled the air around him, rising as far as gravity would allow before splashing back to their place. He stood to his full height as the boy landed, giving him a simple nod.

“Yes, it would seem we are.”

The rain would make it difficult for Gerwald to pick any kind of scent on the air which would be of any help or concern to them. His instruments told them the direction, which was all the Lord Commander needed. It would have been a long walk for them, and even with the aid of the force in speeding their movements, the wolf knew he could cover more ground with at least one of them remaining fresh.

He grinned before running ahead in the direction they needed to travel. A quick leap into the air and Gerwald’s bones began to pop and crack. The sound of it harmonized with the thunderous trumpeting of the storm which raged around them. If the boy had not known what Gerwald was, he did at that moment. Srina Talon did not call him her wolf because he was a beast of a man, but rather because it was his nature.

It had been another of his kind which helped him to reconcile the truth. He was neither man or wolf, human or animal, but he was both at once. He was not one without the other, and to separate them was not an altruistic representation of who, what, he was.

A howl could be heard echoing through the air. It served as a warning to those who heard it that the lupine was coming. They were in danger if they stood in his way. The sound also served as an invitation. Gerwald stopped, and the gray head of the wolf turned to regard the white haired sith. His mind, stronger with the wolf, pressed his thoughts into the young apprentice.

<< “Get on.” >>

Whatever tone carried through the mental speech indicated it was not a request. They had a lot of ground to cover as the human had indicated. This was the fastest way to cover it. The gray wolf, almost two times the size of a normal wolf, waited for the boy to comply. When it seemed the acolyte was secured, Gerwald took off.

Now he danced.

The way he moved through the trees and forests was nothing short of masterful. It was as though Gerwald had run the forest many times, enough to have it memorized. All of it was new, and the wonderment of it all was exhilarating to the furry beast. The weight of Arkryion did not make much of a difference. It was only slightly taxing on his muscles. Each one shifted with each step and each adjustment which needed to be made. Trees and limbs blew past in a blur as they wolf covered the ground in a matter of minutes.

He howled again as they approached the compound. Gerwald did not slow. It seemed he was heading straight for the front gate. No matter what the young sith tried he would not be able to stop the wolf. Today they would not stalk their pray, but rather tear them from limb to limb without warning or hesitation. Surprise was already on their surprise they did not need to hide their intentions any further.

Gerwald charged ahead, leaping into the air once again. Whatever Arkryion was going to do, he would need to do it soon. The time for battle was upon them.

 

[Arkryion Malachar]

Srina Talon , in some way, had intimated his affliction—but not in any formal, nor in-depth, manner. Most of the information she had shared about her close ally, dealt with his merit, his skill, his strength. So when this transformation began, it did indeed, take Arkyrion aback for but the most brief of moments.

He stood transfixed in silence, a witness to the unspeakable metamorphosis of Gerwald Lechner , buffeted ceaselessly by wind and rain. He watched as his form twisted and rippled,and hair sprouted from every pore. Listened as limbs contorted, joints popped, and elongated into monstrous appendages. Observed cautiously as Gerwald's visage warped into a lupine horror, with fangs like daggers protruding from his drawn out maw. It was shocking.

It was beautiful.

When those words, those powerful words, brushed through his subconscious mind—there was no questioning, no hesitation. With calculated precision, he mounted Gerwald's back, ensuring he would secure himself for the impending journey into the unknown. He straddled the wolf's broad shoulders, his legs gripping the muscular flanks, reaching his hands out to hold onto the thicker fur around the creature's neck—preparing himself to maintain a stable and steady posture.

Then they were off.

The relentless rain lashed against Arkyrion as he clung to Gerwald's back, drenching him to the bone. Barreling through the storm's fury at breakneck speed, cutting cleanly through the dense bamboo forest. The icy water soaked through his cloak, its once-protective fabric now a clinging, heavy shroud against his body. But none of that mattered as the wolf hurtled forward with unmatched haste.

The sensation was exhilarating, even as the rain stung his face and blurred his vision. The sheer velocity of their movement was awe-inspiring, a testament to Gerwald's primal power and the fearlessness that drove the wolf. Arkyrion clung to the wet fur, his lanky frame hardly making a dent in the creature's burden. He felt the raw energy coursing through the wolf's muscles, the pounding of his heart matching the thunderous roars of the storm. The rhythmic pounding of paws against the rain-soaked earth resonated through his body, merging with the eerie chorus of the bamboo trees as they swayed and creaked in the wind.

It was a wild and untamed ride, and as the waterlogged world blurred around him, Arkyrion couldn't help but feel an ever growing surge of exhilaration.

Within no time, the slaving compound appeared in the distance, a wretched monstrosity that stood as an affront to all decency. Its walls, once stout and imposing, had weathered the test of time, but they now stood cracked and crumbling. The purpose of the compound was a dark stain on the face of the planet, a place where human souls were commodified and their lives reduced to mere chattel. The walls of the compound served as both a prison and a marketplace, an unholy union where the cries of the oppressed mingled with the cruel laughter of their oppressors.

The rains poured relentlessly, soaking the miserable slaves to the bone as they toiled in the muck, their tattered rags clinging to their emaciated frames. The downpour mirrored their despair. The slaves, once men and women of dignity and purpose, were now reduced to a pitiful existence, stripped of their humanity and subjected to the harshest of cruelties.

The guards throughout this battered structure were the harbingers of misery, their cold, unfeeling eyes fixed upon the downtrodden masses they lorded over. These guards, who had long since lost their humanity, were now instruments of oppression, enforcers of a brutal regime that pushed their flesh wares deep in to Sith Space.

The gates of the compound hung open lazily, a fresh caravan of flesh, being driven like cattle through its open mouth—the latest purchase of doomed souls, destined for a fate too cruel to even mention. Bound and in chains, they hobbled along, most of them women. They were surrounded on four sides, being prodded and viciously derided with every mournful step they took.

"I got top! " Was all the young Apprentice bellowed, as Gerwald drove forward into a vast and vigorous leap.

With a burst of adrenaline and ferocity, Arkyrion launched himself from the back of Gerwald. His spindly frame soared through the air like a hawk in pursuit of its prey, driven by determination and the thrill of the chase. He felt his muscles strain as he reached the zenith of his leap, the world around him momentarily frozen in time.

As he began to descend, his silhouette stark against the stormy sky, he heard a cry of fevered fury. "AMBUSH! "

The wet surface of the wall glistened in the rain, the stones slick and unforgiving. He felt the jarring shock of impact travel up his legs, as his boots came crashing down upon the parapet, but he paid it no mind. From a distance to his left, a lone Slaver, clad in well-worn white and black armor that bore the abhorrent symbol of the Broken Horn Collective, raised his blaster rifle with mechanical precision. The weapon's barrel hummed with deadly intent, discharging a searing bolt of energy that sizzled through the rain.

With unequaled grace, the pale teen flung his lightsaber to life with one categorically fluid motion. Letting the howling, crimson blade, impel the blaster beam back with proficient ease. The bolt struck its mark with horrifying precision, impacting the man's face in a cataclysmic explosion of molten energy and broiling flesh. His visage was obliterated in an instant. The searing bolt tore through skin and bone, melting the delicate architecture of the face like a ghoulish sculpture of shattered nightmares. The man's scream, a wretched and garbled cry of torment, echoed over the compound. His features, once human, now transformed into an abominable mask of deformity.

"Ten more, coming for the gate! " He cried down vociferously for Gerwald to hear, before only the crimson glow of his swirling saber atop the wall was all that sang of his whereabouts.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Wolfsbane | Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Arkryion Malachar

The run was everything the wolf needed. It did not matter the added weight of this mistresses' apprentice slowed him slightly, the new world and forest offered new sights and aromas which could not have been experienced any other way. The need to run had always dug into the core of the lupine with every new planet that it stirred his wolf at the start. Gerwald rarely allowed his wolf the thrill of an immediate run, so to say he was elated would be an extravagant understatement.

Rain pelted the beast's fur, and the places still covered in armor. The gift had been a necessity, a valuable tool which allowed Gerwald to freely transform as he wanted or needed in battle without fear of exposing himself. Clothing did not easily survive his shifting, but the armor had been made to adapt with him, and so the Wolf wore it into battle.

His wolf did not find the extra material restricting. On the contrary there had been many situations where the wolf had lived because of the battle accouterments it provided for him. Many of the animal's vulnerable places were shielded from harm, which only made killing harder. Gerwald was dangerous as a wolf, and even more so because he would not be felled so easily.

He felt the boy leap from his back. Gerwald did not wait for instructions or coordination. The hunter attacked the first guard he came into contact with as though they were prey he had been stalking for some time. Sharp incisors sank into the jugular of the guard without warning, and the wolf reveled in its first kill of the day.

Systematically he would work through the guards until none of them stood. Red and rain pooled together without a sure distinction of where one ended and the other began. The white haired apprentice made quick work of the guards above the gate.

There was a trap.

This did not keep the wolf from charging at the first of the enemy which charged from the gate. Arkryion would join him soon, and until then the beast would demonstrate the raw and visceral power he possessed. Gerwald managed to kill three of them before the white haired Sith could find his way back to the wolf. They would kill together, spill blood together. Bonds were often forged in battle, and this would be no different. One generation invested in the other, taught the way of war to the other. It was something Gerwald had not done in earnest since the collapse of the Confederacy. Perhaps it was time to take up the same mantle Srina Talon had chosen.

Arkryion would inspire Gerwald to take an apprentice yet.

"Well done," the lupine said as he stood before the boy, human again. "You know how to kill, and what is more important, for someone so young, you are not afraid of it."

The wolf wondered what had the young one so. There were few experiences in life for one so malleable that would produce the ferocity Arkryion had demonstrated. Gerwald would hear the story some time, but not today. Their attack on the compound would not have gone unnoticed. There had been nothing silent or stealthy about it. If they did not hurry the slavers would begin to exterminate their cargo in order to make a clean escape.

The two could not allow it.

Gerwald pulled Wolfsbane, the first lightsaber he had constructed, from his belt and threw it toward the boy.

"We do not have time, and you need a weapon that works faster. Not whatever thing it was you gained from the academy."

Srina had not informed him whether her apprentice had been trained in the art of lightsaber combat. Gerwald did not care. If he did not know how to use the weapon he would learn. The black unstable plasma blade of the lightsaber would be a stark contrast to the white hair the boy boasted. The wolf found the idea amusing and ironic. It was why he tossed that weapon to him in the first place.

Again, there was no waiting, no explaining. With a wave of the force, Gerwald crushed the durasteel gate in front of them. What had been a barrier to them seconds before no longer was. Such was the power of the dark side. Such was the strength of the wolf.

Gerwald ignited the yellow blade of the lightsaber in his hand as he charged into the warehouse. They were not there to show mercy on the slaver, and Gerwald could kill every last one.

"You had better hurry if you want some of this glory for yourself!"