Xeonon Solomon
The First Order
Posts: 2,206 
Affiliation: First Order
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Post by Xeonon Solomon on Feb 27, 2014 10:24:34 GMT -8
It had been a few days since Fels arrival and in the time since then Erebus had requested a change of scenery. Maybe the beauracy was working extraordinary quick, or perhaps it was due to his injuries. Either way he was now on the roster for guards. Walking down the corridor he peered into the different cells. Some where human, others aliens. All of them criminals of the state, stuck so deep down the hole they would never see the light of day. Peering into the one across from Galdaarts he unconsciously grabbed onto his gun a little tighter.
Rumor had it he was the only one to almost get out of here, he had taken down dozens of men and absorbed enough firepower to destroy a TIE/IN. Then he took a stray stun round and he had just dropped and hasn't moved since. Despite this the power to the electric grid was turned on full blast something that would light the average being on fire. Shuddering beneath his armour he turned around and looked at the most recent addition. If this guy so much as stirs in his sleep I want you to tell someone. Shout until you can't anymore, it may save your life. Not that it was a lot to live for right now but most people enjoyed whatever life they could eck out.
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Venin
The Organization
Om nom nom!!!
Posts: 52
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Venin on Feb 27, 2014 12:03:33 GMT -8
Silence. Cold, yet welcoming silence hung through Venin's mind as his body repaired itself. It had been several weeks now, or perhaps months, since Toxoid's escape attempt. Venin couldn't tell as time came to a crawl while in the healing hibernation state. Venin always found these time the most relaxing as Toxoid's presence was always quiet, as though repelled by the mental silence of the trance.*
*Then, it seemed, a new voice could be faintly heard, ringing through the emptiness of his thoughts.If this guy so much as stirs in his sleep I want you to tell someone. Shout until you can't anymore, it may save your life.
*Deducting that the voice was coming from directly across from himself, he rose his head up to see a guard standing between himself and the cell across from him, no doubt talking to the inmate that resided there. Sitting up right and folding his legs underneath him butterfly style, he began to do some simple stretches to get his muscles out of the semi-rigor mortis state they usually assume during extended hibernation. However there was no popping as one would assume for there were no bones in Venin's body to "pop," only muscles and nerves.*
*Holding onto the last few moments of silence he could before Toxoid awoke from within his subconscious, Venin simply remained quiet, cherishing the moment while it lasted.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor 
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Mar 4, 2014 7:42:23 GMT -8
It had been a long time since Fel could have been considered 'incarcerated.' It was amazing to the veteran spacer how quickly the self-imposed routines came back to him. Nobody had been to interrogate him, or raise the spectre of charges, and so he had mostly been left to his own devices. A dozen years ago, on a sub-light freighter bound for Kessel, he had done nothing but exercise. Pullups, pushups, situps, over and over and over and over. All the while, keeping track of who had wronged him, and how he pay them back. Hate fueled his every waking moment, and fear kept him from sleeping.
This was different. He was oddly peaceful, calm even. There were still pullups, and pushups, and situps, over and over and over and over and over. But this time, he didn't rail against his captors. He didn't yell and scream and bash at the door of his cell until someone came to beat him into submission. When food arrived, he ate. When his muscles ached and his chest burned and he could taste the crimson in the back of his mouth, he rested. He did not pace. Here was where he was meant to be. In this place, at this time, he was paying penance.
One thing differed from his last stretch 'behind bars.' He allowed his mind to wander. There was no singular purpose driving him. He thought of the reason he was here -- even if it wasn't the same reason the Imperials had him. In Fel's mind, he was here because of Dantooine, and he spent a great deal of time thinking of the souls lost that day, so long ago. He also thought of Malora. Quite a lot.
It was the fourth day, deep into his never-ending pushups, lost in thought, when the voice echoed from outside, in the hallway. Fel paused, and stood, bare-chested, and tied his scruffy mane into a loose ponytail before peering out into the hall, where Erebus stood.
You're gonna save my life, soldier?
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Xeonon Solomon
The First Order
Posts: 2,206
Affiliation: First Order
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Post by Xeonon Solomon on Mar 5, 2014 14:58:35 GMT -8
Oh boy what a great first day on the job. He wished that Fel was kidding, that he was just being a playful little scoundrel but his tone said otherwise. Turning around slowly his blood curdled at Venin. Swallowing he smiled before realizing he was wearing a helmet and it was pointless. Stiffening he sent a private message to his commanders that the beast was awake before speaking to the muscle mass. I hope you had a good rest dude. It was pointless but he started to walk away and continue he rounds, praying to whichever gods there were the shields would keep him down for now.
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Venin
The Organization
Om nom nom!!!
Posts: 52
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Post by Venin on Mar 6, 2014 12:43:00 GMT -8
As the guard's voice rang through his mind, Venin noticeably flinched. The breaking of the silence awoke Toxoid. Then, before the guard's, and any other prisoners of the block, the athletically built humanoid began growing, both in height and muscle mass. The previously loose fitting jumpsuit quickly became filled to stretching and the head mask he wore before now stretched only far enough to cover down to over his mouth, now showing a gnarled set of teeth. In an instant, the mass now identified as Toxoid leaped from Venin's previous butterfly sitting position and slammed his fist into the barrier, roaring first with anger and then a sharply yelping at the sensory overload. Stepping back, he only glared then at the guard as he walked away. As the pain lapsed, calmer voice, one of different tone to that of the roaring beast before, said.
Damn it Tox....I was enjoying the quiet.
Toxoid scoffed, before dropping to the cot.
Don't care. You prevented our escape Ven! What in the name of the Nine Hells is wrong with you?
I'm tired of the killing Tox, you know that!
Toxoid began laughing hysterically for sometime before finally getting some semblance of "control," and when he did, he didn't bother following up, Venin had gotten the message.
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Xeonon Solomon
The First Order
Posts: 2,206
Affiliation: First Order
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Post by Xeonon Solomon on Mar 18, 2014 12:10:11 GMT -8
Walking down the corridors silently a small skinny man payed little attention to the boos and jeers of the inmates. With each boot fall he drew closest to Fel pausing in front of a plastic sheet he checked his features being the vain man he was. His balding gray hair was comes over to hide his bald spot on the top. Ignoring the scar that ran over his peircing blue eye on the right of his face. It wa then that a creature jumped towards the glass startling the man. Sneering he righted his suit and turned the corner his hawk like appearance peering in at Fel.
Well I'll be damned son, isnt this a pleasant surprise. His words came out slow and drawn, like those of a man more used to making speeches than action. He was used to both, but this ghost from Fels past had come far to see him here. (Nearly 12 hours since Erebus talked about Venin). Of course when one couldn't see the light time didn't mean much. I've come quite a ways to see you boy.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Mar 19, 2014 15:13:19 GMT -8
Fel was seated on his cot, head hung forward limply and elbows resting on knees, catching his breath and allowing the blood to stop dripping from his mouth after another in a never-ending series of workouts. At the sound of the voice echoing through the door comm -- the first voice he had heard aside from his own grunts of exertion in what seemed like a long time -- Fel turned his head ever-so-slightly toward the door. He'd know the voice anywhere. Heard it in his sleep most nights... when he managed to sleep. Janos Bokette. Captain Janos Bokette (at least, he had been a Captain twelve years ago, the last time they'd been in the same room together.)
Daala might've come up with the operation on Dantooine, but it was Bokette, hungry to insert his nose even farther up Daala's ass in hopes that she'd fart a promotion in his direction, who sent the 181st to mop up the 'resistance.' He'd been Fel's CO for a number of months, after he had been busted down to Lieutenant. The Navy had been right to discipline him, but they weren't stupid enough to remove him as Flight Lead of the 181. Dealings with Bokette had been the one reason Fel regretted the demotion. Before his insubordination and 'gross misconduct' charges (refusing orders that would have resulted in the deaths of half his squadron,) he would've outranked Bokette and the Captain had lorded it over Fel every chance he got, assigning Fel's wing every shitty, dangerous, foolhardy, no-win mission that came down the pipe. After that day over Dantooine, Fel had 'earned' six broken ribs, a broken orbital bone and dislocated jaw, the burn scar that covered most of his back, part of his torso and left arm, and the Murder / Treason charge that ended one life, and began another. (He had also lost three men that day, killed over two hundred unarmed civilians and refugees, and killed one of his own. But who's keeping score?)
The prisoner stood and faced the door, as was protocol when addressed by a guard or officer. He swept matted hair out of his face and tied it into a makeshift knot. Bare to the waist, his prison coveralls tied off, the man facing Bokette was most certainly the same man he had sent to his death twelve years earlier -- only a little older, a little harder, a little more pissed off. Muscled clenched and unclenched under scar tissue and ruined tattoos, and Fel set his cold stare on the door.
Fel, 189247-002. What the fuck do you want, Bokette?
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Post by Demarus on Apr 5, 2014 20:01:59 GMT -8
The hallways were long and narrow, with just enough room for Demarus and Melia to walk shoulder to shoulder behind the guard to the appointed cell. The warden on duty wasn't exactly pleased with the situation. They had Fel, he was rotting in a cell where he belonged. The Imperial Remnant might have been absorbed into the Galactic Empire, but he felt strongly that this capture belonged them. He had killed Imperial men, not Dark Tide. The Empire was just a rebranded Sith faction and it galled him to think they were breezing in here to take their star prisoner. The Empire had no skin in the game, but since they were all supposed to be one happy family, he had no choice but to acknowledge the prisoner transfer. That didn't sit well with him either. Neither the Cathar or the woman looked like guards, but the orders with them came from the top. His hands were tied.
They all stopped in front of the cell, the guard knocking loudly to get Fel's attention, as Demarus and Mel took up position on either side of the door. They didn't expect there to be trouble coming out of the tiny room, but if Fel was going to make a move, this could be a opportune time. Another pair of guards joined them, carrying weapons and a set of binders to make sure Fel couldn't get too far. Demarus growled at the man inside the room, his deep bass rumbling slight louder than the storm coming outside.
"Galdaart Fel, may we have the honor of your company?"
There was something diabolically dark about the voice of the tall captain. It purred from him, his accent marking him as a resident of Coruscant for a least long enough that it marked his speech patterns. He asked politely, as was his way. The Cathar was always polite. His hands were tucked loosely behind his back, his eyes looking over at Mel while they waited for their guest of honor to answer them.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Apr 6, 2014 13:47:50 GMT -8
There was sound from inside the cell, as Fel grunted through another set of pushups. He had heard the footfalls approaching, as they had many times before. Sometimes it was a lone set of boots -- most often a trooper or guard delivering meals, sometimes a group of boots -- usually this was to escort a prisoner for interrogation or execution. It was easy to figure which was which, based on the reaction of the inmate, or the size of the group moving down the hall. These were different. Different pace, and the sound of the boots wasn't standard-issue. At least, not all of them.
He didn't look up when the deep baritone called out to him, but kept pushing. He had fifty to go in this set, and he wasn't about to stop for nothing.
...between breaths and sounds of exertion Who's asking?
Fel pushed several more times, a small rivulet of sweat and blood rolling off his lower lip, until the Warden who had accompanied the two visitors lit up his stun baton, rapping it against the cells' mag-barrier. This caused some angry arcing of electrostatic energy which all inmates knew. If you didn't follow standard protocol when being addressed from 'outside' you got lit up by the baton. The severity of the beating usually fit the crime, but not always.
The inmate stood, barefoot and bare-chested and stepped onto the symbol of two feet drawn onto the floor, directly facing the portal. Lights immediately illuminated his gaunt visage, the dark hollows under his eyes, and the masses of scar tissue on his torso. His knotted hair was mostly tied up, and he wore several months' growth of scraggly, dreadlocked beard. He momentarily glared at the warden, equal parts disdain, frustration and malice, before locking eyes with the Cathar. Sure enough, he didn't look to be Imperial of any sort, though there was an undeniable air of authority about him. Ex-military maybe? The inmate took a deep breath and exhaled on his reply, and turned over his left forearm to reveal a faded Imperial Navy barcode tattoo. This routine was something he had done many times before.
Fel, 189247-002. Like I said... who's asking, and what could you possibly want with me?
His voice held no real contempt. There was ice behind his one natural eye, and his demeanor suggested a man used to being on the offensive, but his breaths sounded labored, bronchial -- as if he suffered from pneumonia, and there was a very unhealthy pallor to his skin. This was a man not defeated, but who understood that he was where he should be.
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Post by Demarus on Apr 6, 2014 15:27:37 GMT -8
The Cathar cast an eye toward the warden as he lit the baton and Fel stepped into the dim light. He was filthy, sickly and malnourished. Demarus made a mental note to include this in his reports but he didn't say anything in front of the prisoner. Instead, he tugged the great lips apart to show his pronounced canines, but not in a predatory way. He chuckled through his very toothy grin as he stepped forward to the mag barrier. Demarus was roughly 6 feet tall, broad of shoulder with a large mane of white fur. He was well groomed, no mats in his fur, but he was dusty and dirty in spots. His baritone remained cordial and at ease although his golden eyes took in every bit of Galdaart Fel as he stood there.
Fel was defiant to authority although having just been incarcerated himself, Demarus couldn't say he begrudged the prisoner anything. He had delighted in confounding his captors. Just as Demarus had been liberated by the shorter woman standing to his side, he would be Fel's. Although it remained to be seen if he was jumping from the pot into the fire. Knowing his employers, it could go either way.
"My name is Demarus. This is my associate, Melia. We are here to escort you to an appointment. Please gather your personal effects and prepare for transport off Aargau."
He wasn't sure that Fel knew where he was, but he hoped it would piss off the warden. The guy just rubbed Demarus the wrong way.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Apr 7, 2014 7:47:14 GMT -8
Fel kept his eyes locked on the Cathar, trying to read a motive behind his words, but there was nothing. Just entirely even-keeled speech. If the spacer was even half-right, this being didn't have anything in particular to hide, which should have put Fel at his ease, but instead launched a hundred other thoughts.
Do I know these two? I don't know the Cathar - Demarus, he said his name was. The woman - Melia? I might, but I can't place her. I have a good memory for faces... no, I don't know her. They aren't in uniform. Imps? ...can't imagine that's the case. If not Imps, then who's got the coin to pay off an Imperial regiment and snatch me out from under lock and key? And besides, who even knows I'm here besides Darkwell... unless Darkwell sold that intel to a high bidder who wants me bad enough to pay good credits to do a snatch-and-grab off Imperial soil... The Hutts have that kind of leverage... Zadicus, maybe... Bloodrage, certainly... but I can't imagine most've the low-lifes that want me dead could afford to be standing here without being in binders themselves...
Out is out. Out is one step closer to my boat.
But what about Dantooine? Surely, I haven't paid my debt. The voices... the voices have been quiet since I've been inside. The voices are at peace when I'm suffering. Oh, God...
Malora...
There was no need to look back, or collect anything from the room. There was nothing.
Alright, Demarus. Wouldn't want to keep someone waiting. Let's go.
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Mel Tervho
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 169 
Affiliation: Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Mel Tervho on Apr 7, 2014 8:38:01 GMT -8
She didn't need much encouragement from Demarus to get moving, as the warden dropped the mag-barrier, she took the binders and stepped forward to get him secured. Mel was maybe five and half feet tall, her long black hair was straight and even, but she was deeply tanned. A month in the desert of Korriban in a POW camp had darkened her skin, making her ice blue eyes pop. Where Demarus was all smiles and congeniality, Mel was clearly not happy to be there. She was dressed in black cargo pants, combat boots and worn green leather jacket over a knit v neck. The elbows were scuffed, the zipper was busted, but it was tailored to a woman's form, flaring out at her hips.
She attached the binders carefully, making sure the locking mechanism clicked before she checked the handiwork of the guard putting ones around his ankles. Satisfied that he was ready to go, she stepped aside dipping her head to the cat.
"He's good. Let's roll."
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Post by Demarus on Apr 7, 2014 9:23:52 GMT -8
Demarus inclined his head the warden who took up the lead as they walked back down the corridor. So far, so good. There were guards in front of Fel and two behind him as they moved along. Demarus was letting his mind wander again. The bastards on Lianna had put him in someplace like this at first. They had tried to break him. There were many things the Cathar would love to do to the jerkchains that had keep him locked up and he thought about them long and hard. He was sure that Fel probably had his own sweet thoughts of vengeance for the abuse he's suffered.
The walk to the check-in area was somewhat brief and there was paperwork to be signed. Demarus handled everything whilethe guards waited with Fel. Mel had disappeared to go get the ship going. They had a tight schedule after all. The warden, a man named Cyril, had soured as the transaction was completed. He began to rant, barking about how this prisoner should be kept on Aargau, that it was a secure facility and he didn't appreciate anyone going over his head. Cyril started in on the people on Kuat and in particular, the Emperor. Demarus just smiled, close mouthed and calm, his attention focused on making sure all was in order.
When they finally exited the warden's office, he was worked in a pretty good froth but Demarus simply inclined his head in respect and looked over at the returning Melia with a raised eyebrow. His growling purr was good natured still as he extended a hand.
"Warden, perhaps you would like to accompany us as we escort the prisoner to the ship?"
Cyril looked pensive for a moment, but nodded in agreement. He wanted to get a last word into Fel. He had already made up his mind. He didn't care if he had to appeal it all the way up to that new bitch of an Emperor. He was not going to let some new goons come in and take over his facility. Together, they headed out to the landing pads.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Apr 7, 2014 13:18:13 GMT -8
Fel stood by, silently watching the goings-on between the warden and these two. He kept his eyes cast to the floor, but kept tabs on reactions and looks exchanged between the two interlopers who were taking him away, and the established personnel of the facility, some of whom he had seen before making the rounds in the cell blocks. The superior peripheral vision afforded him by his bio-system eye allowed him to appear fully submissive, while watching intently. He wasn't able to overhear the entire conversation, but as the warden's volume increased, he got significant chunks of the exchange between he and Demarus. It was mostly one-sided, Demarus standing idly by while the warden let off steam. It would seem there had been some shift in power in the Imperial ranks. Fel caught the term 'Emperor' a couple of times, which was news to him. There hadn't been an Emperor, or a Galactic Empire, in a long time. Maybe these two were Imps after all. Or at least, Imps of a new breed, from the new regime. That would explain the odd pair's uncontested presence, the terse exchange with the command centre's staff, and the grudging acceptance of orders to move him. If there was a new Galactic Empire, and if his two new guardians were a part of it, he would have to move carefully. These two weren't standard infantry, not military brass... it was all starting to make sense. The situation was beginning to stink of a covert op. Under cover movement of a prisoner was not unheard of. Hell -- it's how he would do it...The binders on his ankles didn't allow for a full range of motion, and so when they were underway again, he shuffled, bare feet trying desperately to keep up with the brisk pace set by the guards. The spacer tried to take in his surroundings, but truth be told he had to keep his concentration pretty firmly on his feet to keep from tripping up. After what seemed like a very long walk, but was more likely less than 1000 meters, the small group emerged onto the landing platform, where a 3-Z light freighter stood waiting. A good ship, if his insight was correct. An undercover op demanded a low-key transport, and squinting through the glare, this ship fit the bill perfectly. Try as he might, Fel had to pause for several moments, as his eyes tried to adjust to daylight after months in isolation. Eventually one of the guards had to take him by an elbow to keep moving clumsily forward.
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Lord Jud'dayus: The Debase
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 749
Affiliation: To only a meager few, his motives are his own.
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Post by Lord Jud'dayus: The Debase on Dec 9, 2014 21:37:10 GMT -8
How long had it been?
A week?
A month?
A year?
Did it really matter? He was "here", and it seemed "here" he would stay; though where "here" was was a mystery. The nude man looked up, his single eye focusing as best it could on his stark white surroundings. They hadn't changed aside for a new bucket to piss in; not that he really needed it. Creature comforts, the Old Sith thought to himself with a forced smirk; his body bound in Force-restraints, sealing him nearly completely from the Force. His ancient body ached with the lack of the soothing salve of the Force. He was - for lack of a better word - dying... even with the incantations etched into his parchment thin skin and the sorcerous amulets placed under, he was beginning to slowly decay. The Force imbued artifacts that made up his innards were also slowly losing their functionality. The Force truly does bind all things, he thought lulling his head a bit, knowing he'd gladly turn into a pile of dust before allowing his life's work to be pillaged.
"Oh, so we're awake? good..." Came the male voice he had become acustomed to from within his geodesic sphered prison. "Shall we continue, Jud'dayus?"
"If it makes you feel better, sure, have at it sweet heart." The Sith replied hoarsely, before spasming violently, the collar around his neck emitting a shock for his insubordination.
"Let me ask again... are you ready to continue?"
"Come on in here, face to face..." Jud chuckled. "Take my restraints off. Then I'll continue." He replied; which immediately resulted in another shock.
"Where are the artifacts?"
"Someplace safe." Jud replied with a pained grin as another longer current ran though his husk-like body.
"Just tell us, and you'll be freed."
"Just let me out, and I'll let you live... I think that's a much better offer, no?"
"Your threats mean nothing to me. Only your knowledge of the stolen Jedi artifacts matters. So, where are they?"
"It was a promise not a threat..." Jud shrugged as best he could. "but the items you seek are somewhere between here and go fug yourself. So, good luck with that sweetums." Jud replied with a laugh before the tiny cell was filled with the sounds of crackling electric energy.
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Panno
The First Order
Posts: 365
Affiliation: Imperial Knights
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Post by Panno on Dec 11, 2014 16:21:09 GMT -8
Watching from a hidden microsecurity camera in a wall the higher ups just shook their head. They knew they were playing with fire, it was obvious that Jud was dying. When he came in the Sith was strongish, his skin was not so pale and he appeared healthy. Or near enough for what passed when someone was as old as he was. Now though. It was written on the walls, this tactic was not working. Torture only worked when the person had nothing to lose and when it came to force users it was always "More powerful than you will ever imagine" or "I will be back and you will suffer". Pressing the button an older man spoke into the microheadphone the "guard" had in his ear and told him to leave.
Well it seems our time here is cut short today pal.
Not that he would truly need a response, after all the thrumming electricity and convulsing body of the old Sith was enough for him to get his jollies off. Waiting a few minutes he turned the power down slightly so he would not expire before his time he walked away. He left the view port on. There had been more than enough breakouts in the past couple years. From the monstrous Venin to the prolific smuggler Galdaart Fel they were not taking chances with this one. Despite the bare white walls, lack of a visible door, or even amenities they did not want him to get out. After all the Force was a strange thing.
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Lord Jud'dayus: The Debase
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 749
Affiliation: To only a meager few, his motives are his own.
Traffic Light: Yellow
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Post by Lord Jud'dayus: The Debase on Dec 12, 2014 19:27:38 GMT -8
Jud's body slackened in its restraints, as wisps of smoke evaporated off his skin. The magic etchings tingled and moved as they were supposed to, but they did little to dull the pain or renew his emaciated form. With each shock "treatment" he was losing valuable energy that had been stored within his body. Where others needed food, water, and air... all he needed was the Force. In hindsight it seemed the perfect Achilles' heel, a lynchpin in an otherwise perfectly evolved being - it really was rather quite ironic, almost whimsically so.
"Yah..." Jud managed, his voice low and only just above a whisper. "Yah, parting is such sweet sorrow... we'll be sure to talk again soon."
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Lord Jud'dayus: The Debase
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 749
Affiliation: To only a meager few, his motives are his own.
Traffic Light: Yellow
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Post by Lord Jud'dayus: The Debase on Dec 15, 2014 11:50:46 GMT -8
Father
Jud stirred slightly, another day's interrogations done. This time they thought it's be more lucrative to try a serum of sorts. It had been administered via a droid that seemed to enter from the ceiling. The Sith had laughed. They had already tried sodium penithol with no effect; he had no "blood" to speak of to carry the drug to his organic brain. But this was different as an icy cold shiver ran up the Sith's spine, just before his muscles sieved all at once. He let out a scream, his muscles not untensing... and it went on like that, and there were no questions asked, just pain.
Father...
The Old Sith came out of his dreaming only enough to look up and see a young woman standing before him. His eye adjusted in shock to see someone in his cell, only to focus finally on the person that it couldn't be... "Sylvis?" He voiced in a whisper.
Yes, she answered with her telltale smile, her emerald green eyes just a loving as they ever were. You have to go.
"Don't you think I know that?" Jud shook his head. "What I'm I saying? You're not here, there's no way you're here," Jud snapped at the apparition. "There isn't enough of the Force in here even to maintain myself. There's no way you could manifest, you're just the after effects of that serum..."
But I am here, I'm always here... Sylvis answered, stepping forward to lay a pale hand on the Old Sith's cheek. Her touch was warm and soothing and genuine, and that was the hardest part to swallow; she was gone because of him.
"You and Gywren... I am sorry, forgive me child." Jud choked out, his single eye welling up with tears. Tears not truly shed when he had the chance too. No, he was too stoic for that, but now - in this place - he had to let go.
You always taught us that there was a path. There were different ways to navigate it, but you'd always end up exactly where you were supposed to be. She cupped his face and raised it to look her in the eyes. Our paths came to an end, but they always were supposed to, she finished, giving Jud a loving kiss on the forehead.
Jud closed his eye and just breathed before speaking again. "But how have you manifested? I haven't been able to exploit this cell yet."
I'm using you. Syl answered, pointing to were Jud's heart would be. You're still like a burning beacon through the Force. It is ebbing, but that is how I found you, but I must be leaving... you are already weak.
"But how wil- ?"
Tutaminus, of course... Syl smirked a knowing smirk before disappearing into the Force.
With Sylvis' absence the room seemed to darken, and the warmth that accompanied her disappeared. Maybe it was the effect of having more energy drawn form him, but it was more than likely the knowledge that she was gone; gone for all time.
"Tutaminis..." Jud whispered under his breath... a wicked smile crossing his face.
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Panno
The First Order
Posts: 365
Affiliation: Imperial Knights
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Post by Panno on Dec 16, 2014 14:48:28 GMT -8
Todays interrogation was brought to you by Eie. The Imperial Knight stood outside looking into the view screen. What he saw was an old decrepit dying Sith. Hopefully what Jud saw was something other than a bucket and six white walls. A bead of perspiration trickled down the blonde mans forehead as he concentrated on the illusion. He was the most skilled in the order when creating force illusions.
When going from memory, creating one such illusion is nothing. Its shit simple. What takes years to even begin to master was creating an illusion from scratch. Thats what he was doing now. Creating a world from scratch.
The world inside the cell was a jungle. Birds chirped, bugs cheeked and somewhere off in the distance a large beast roared as if it was in a titanic struggle. Vines hung off trees, sap and water dripping from them. Overhead the trees stopped a light rain from drenching Jud from head to toe. Somewhere close to Jud something large stalked him, something he did not know what. All he knew was that it was close. This was the third hour straight of the illusion, that he hoped Jud had taken the bait and believed. He hoped the old Sith believed he had gotten free and was currently running somewhere to safety.
All the while he slowly, slowly attempted to worm his way into the Siths mind to find the location of the hidden Jedi artefacts.
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Lord Jud'dayus: The Debase
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 749
Affiliation: To only a meager few, his motives are his own.
Traffic Light: Yellow
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Post by Lord Jud'dayus: The Debase on Jan 2, 2015 19:56:10 GMT -8
The Sith's breaths were labored as he hung there. He could still smell Sylvis; the sweet spicy scent of Corellian honey. Yet he wasn't so sure to trust it. His body was spent, but now it seemed that his keen mind was following suit. Centuries of knowledge told him to be weary of anything now. He was too far gone, and his dying brain was sure to allow for hallucinations. Jud smirked, the years were going to be unkind to him now - in this state. All the sins of the world were sure to play out before his addled eyes. Every possible ghost locked away was sure to pay homage to the man as he hung dying, his brain firing off images of a torrid life.
Jud picked his head up and looked around his cell... it was his cell, sterile and white.
No.
Jud's eye blinked, the dank recesses of a jungle his surroundings. His hands pushed him up from the spongy undergrowth, and onto his feet.
"My hands..." He spoke hoarsely, placing them on his face soothingly. "Standing," He stated, as if it was a new sensation to be on his own two legs. ".....how?" Jud asked, as a lite rain beat rhythmically on the canopy above his pallid nude form.
This was wrong, all wrong... yet, maybe. Jud sniffed at the air, its cloying sickly sweetness of decaying vegetation all too familiar for his location. Jud looked up into the nearly impenetrable canopy. "No damage," the Sith mused, his eye searching around him for the telltale markings of being dragged; since it seemed he hadn't been dropped in. But there was nothing, only the fact that he was in the midst of a jungle somewhere.
Somewhere...
The Old Sith thought, his eye narrowing. The feeling of being watched suddenly washing over him like a cold chill. Something was close, watching, waiting... scheming. The last word struck Jud as odd. A scheming predator? Surly there were apex predators worthy of the word "cunning" or even "calculating", but scheming? No, that seemed an all too sentient trait. Jud knew how to scheme. To wait, and bide one's time for the most opportune moment to strike. He smiled. He'd basically written the book on it.
He continued to scan his surroundings, blading his body off in a Teräs Käsi stance as something within the dense dark foliage seemed to catch his eye. It was a shade, a shape nearly indistinguishable from the living world around it, but it was there, something was there; maybe something he should be afraid of. He was after all weak, weaker than he'd been in centuries... yet, uncaged, that could be remedied quickly. Jud closed his eye and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he began his meditative kata to draw the Force to him; only to stop suddenly, his eye opening with awareness.
"A parlor trick..." He whispered to the shape. "You try parlor tricks on ME!" The Sith spat, the jungle around him undulating as if made of Hutt innards. "You mock me," Jud continued, the world around him slowly dissipating like smoke into the confines he'd become accustomed to. "Very strong you must be... I'll give you that. Very strong." Jud admitted ruefully, the illusion nearly perfect in every way. "But the Devil is in the details..." Jud drily laughed, his body "returned" to it's hanging position.
"Better luck next time," Jud said with a smile. "Better luck next time..." He finished, his body going lank as if a switch had been turned off. All the while the Sith grinned, his single eye glinting with a spark of energy...
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