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Post by Whill Shaman Xixo on Feb 27, 2013 16:21:07 GMT -8
*The hypnotic blue and white swirls of hyperspace are all that exist here.*
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Bloodshot
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Affiliation: Chaos and credits, baby.
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Post by Bloodshot on May 26, 2013 0:20:23 GMT -8
PING. PING. PING. PING.
The chime of the comlink drove a sharp wedge of noise into the silence of the gunship with each sounding of the tone as the mercenary slid his tall frame into the black, form-fitting jumpsuit. The garment hugged his skin and did nothing to hide the fact that his body was that of an exceedingly fit near-human, but it did hide anything that would tell onlookers exactly which near-human species that might be, and that was enough for now.
Next came the helmet, which he gripped in one hand and raised to his head, then lowered it to conceal his features as the seam down the center pulled together and sealed with a faint hiss. Next, he lowered himself into the gunship's command chair and tapped several controls, checking the status of the ship's hyperdrive and his current location within the galaxy. It always paid to be aware. Finally, he reached out and keyed the comm unit and the head and chest of a Ryn appeared hovering over the console in front of him.
What do you have for me? His voice would have come out mechanical through the mask regardless of the use of comm systems, so there was no need to disguise it further.
It's about gorram time. There was a pause, as if the Ryn on the other end was considering adding more to that statement, but when it spoke again the information was what had been requested. I just got wind of another potential contract, this one on Dressel. Turns out some mando boys were causing trouble, and now somebody wants a little payback. The payoff isn't much, and I wouldn't have even bothered mentioning it, except...
Except what?
Except there's a second party interested in a suit of mandalorian armor and a force user. I figure if you get lucky, you just might be able to cash in all three in one go. And there's also a couple open bounties on groups. The republic put a bounty on the exchange, and they retaliated by doing the same for the republic, so keep your eyes open. The Ryn glanced down to look over something in front of him, then exhaled heavily and looked back to the mercenary. Looks like that's about it for now, apart from the usual small stuff. Let me know what you decide.
I will. Thank you.
The mercenary cut off the call and ended the conversation, then opened the data packet the Ryn had sent with all of the details that could be found on the bounties without actually going to the employer to accept them. He would need to change course to reach Dressel, but that could wait until he reached his current destination. Dropping out mid-jump was always a risky proposition.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 10, 2013 15:20:07 GMT -8
With that, the Shard left. He went back up to the bridge, where things were nice and peaceful, and where there were no crazy broads trying to kill each other. The course was punched into the navcomp, and the ship flickered into hyperspace.
Everything upon her, every bit of it, was poised to cause momentous harm, and still, this would not be enough. As the Queen of the Undead places heel in front of heel, she pulls on the white ribbon tied about her neck, undoing it and causing the blue rose pinned there to fall deckward. Nimble fingers clutch it from the sterilized air, as freezing temperatures filled the armory with a sense of dread unparalleled, and still it would not be enough."Ahhhhh, say you know, you say you know.
Ahhhh, say you know, you say you know, ahhhhh.
Hey, hey, hey, heeeya, heeeya, hey."The Witch pauses just as she is about to pass the pink nightmare, passing upon Smokey's left flank."Oh, excuse me, where are my manners?
Thank you for the wonderful offer."Diva turns to Kuroro, and tucks the blue rose she had just been squeezing like a knife into the Fire-demon's shocking shade of hair. Thankfully the pink monster wasn't human -it would have frozen solid at this point. A snow white hand tenderly clasps unto Kuroro's own left hand, and begins to pull it up unto the Manifesto's corpse colored lips. There is a tremor in the force, Dark Side energy jiggling all of the weapons in the armory within their mounts. Robocop's routine kicks it, locking them all at once, perceiving the manhandling as preparation for violence. Yet, all of this would not be enough. The witch recites, her voice cooing with an impression of love in earnest. "In another universe
I would love you endlessly,
hopelessly.
Everything that I could give would be yours to have.
You'd be smothered like you smother him,
and I'd love your every mistake.
worship your every sin,
freeze all you did not believe,
shot all you could not be
so there would only be you and me.
Death would not stop us,
tho it may try to unwind us.
One day, you'd stop and see
that what you hated,
truly, would be me,
and proceed to wither me away
with daggers, teeth, and flambe
just like that grand old day
when I killed all your enemies and whisked them away.
What more could there be
but to die by your hateful hands,
burning eternally?
Can't you see it?
Nope.
Hope lost.
There can be nothing to comprehend it,
but thank you for the dream,
one dream never-ending."She proceeds to kiss the Sithspawn's hand so lightly, it was barely perceptible. The bloody and black tears drip on to Kuroro's small hand, disgusting, creepy, causing the skin to itch as if a million tiny insects sprinted and begged for security. So light was her lip's touch that even these moribund drops, horrendous, cursed, and likened to even the worst piles of shit, felt like roaring raindrops -cold as the Hell that freezes over on the arctic moonlight. Malice returns, hatred in the glowing eyes waxing like the worst possible sunrise. All this, all these things, and it could never be enough. Diva lets her go, and begins to walk out of the armory. "Need a minute. Need to wash the devil off my face."Now in the hallways, she trots -one black Doc Marten stepping willfully in front of the other into the ultimate demise. She begins to whistle astrange sort of tunethat appeared to imitate the clunky nature of a piano, before alternating between sounds and sighs seeping with warped, magical persuasion. Down the corridors she sashays, a parody of a runway model, with those assassinating hips ostentatiously gliding left and right, step after step with her shoulders -white collarbones working- swaying with every bit of sensuality sub-zero chagrin offered. What's this, a measly locked door? A casual glance, a subtle incantation, and electronics sealing the door shut relent, falling prey to the hateful seduction touching every atom of the ship like putrid radiation poisoning. Oh? Could this be the reactor room? No, this was where the hyperdrive was housed. It hummed with a newfound awareness -something was stroking its currents of unfathomable energy, serenading what is emotionless into hypersensitive states of submission. A sigh, an exhuming corpse, and the shield projector that protects the core doesn't sputter, doesn't fail -it simply casts its energy into the gravity in front of it, and dies. "Oooooo, this ship's heart is a-flutter."Her face switches over from one of infinite seduction to sudden, twisted, grinning violence. But before that, a quip in Eralam's voice -the Witch copies his vocal patterns once again."Curiosity subroutines activated. . .""Huhn huhn huhn haa haaa haaa haa ahhhhhhhh......."Whip it out, cock it, show it to the world. Her new friend was trembling with anticipation. Squeeze.!BUAAAHH-GIISHHHHHHH!Damage. A dashboard flickers, the report bounces up and down the walls and up and down the ship. Aim this time, let the smoke fill her nose with the mesmerizing gunpowder, and aim for the Hyperdrive Motivator. Pull back the hammer to the firing position, and let your little helper roar.
Squeeze.!BUAAAHH-GIISHHHHHHH!!BUAAAHH-GIISHHHHHHH!!BUAAAHH-GIISHHHHHHH!!BUAAAHH-GIISHHHHHHH!Pretty colours, spiraling energies, warning klaxons."Oooooh no! Was that what that was for? Gasp. I diiiiiiiiiidn't knnnnnoooo-oooohhhHHHHHHhhhhh..."She snarls with wicked pleasure, slides out the 83's cylinder, and lets the spent casings platter the deck with its delicious music. Diva does a slow turn, and faces the long hallway leading to this room, smiling, pushing round after round comfortably into the five chambers. The Witch's sparkling glow orbs told it all: she was prepared for being wiped from the face of the universe. All was a game, since if the Shard engaged her in combat directly, she would simply tear apart the ship while in this space-time, damning them all to float and be rent by the speed after, no doubt, being torn asunder and sent into oblivion by his enraged hands. The damage was repairable, but would take at least a few hours to fix, hours the Roboninja did not have, because the ship's end would be the same as in the first -though he could certainly gamble it. Eralam and his minion had successfully nailed themselves into a steel coffin with a black hole -what the bloody Hell did they think would happen? And yet, still, all this, all this lashing out, all this hatred, this self styled suicide, this sorrow, was, is, and could never be enough. Diva was getting smarter -considering things on other levels besides killing them. Although it was difficult for those of average, Hell, even exceptional mind to not freak out and instantly attempt to destroy her, it would take something special to unravel this puzzle. Sure, the ship was shaking like an animal in its death throes, it was not the end. Darkness Manifested could had easily shot the drive core itself down, blowing them all to subatomic particles. She had not. Still, as it stands, they would not be able to jump out of hyperspace with the Motivator destroyed, nor could they stop, if, say, a star was on their course. To solve this little problem, it would take some math. |
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 10, 2013 21:19:16 GMT -8
The first alarms began to blare in the cockpit, warning that the hyperdrive was damaged. Eralam pulled up the security holo from engineering.
"That bitch..."
They were still in hyperspace, still going. That was a good thing. There didn't appear to be any temporal abnormalities either, also a plus. The ship wouldn't be able to drop out on its own, but there were contingencies for situations like this. The Shard knew his fate was in the hands of the fine folks of Dressel if he couldn't fix the problem himself. He dialed down the damaged hyperdrive down to its lowest functional setting to prevent further damage. If what came next went well, he could get it fixed in a few hours. If not, they'd reach Dressel in about three days.
All in all, it could have been a lot worse. In fact, Eralam was surprised it hadn't been; Diva clearly knew her way around a hyperdrive. She could have killed them all as easily as a kid killing his brother's pet hamster with a pellet gun. That wasn't her objective, then. So what was going through that icy brain of hers?
It was time to lay down the mantle of the Robot Space Ninja, the invincible Iron Knight that had taken on the baddest of the badass and came out on top. This situation called for the former Whill, Old Man Eralam, the cranky asshole that had nonetheless held his own on the Council for far longer than most. Once more the gunbelt came off. He pulled the lightsaber off of the clip and stuffed it into his jacket's massive pocket. The jacket itself was draped over the right shoulder.
The old Shard made his way back towards engineering, stopping only in the galley to pick up a bottle and a couple of cups. The bottle is an exceptionally rare Dantooine bourbon, at least a hundred years old. The whiskey had mellowed over time until it was a sweet, smoky little slice of heaven that went down so smoothly that even the most novice of drinkers could enjoy a glass. The bottle, like most of the rare things Eralam owned, had been bought new and forgotten until a lucky accident brought it back into his life.
As he made the final turn into the corridor that led to engineering, Eralam couldn't help but notice the pistol. It was one of his own, a curiosity purchased and dismissed as impractical. He tried very, very hard not to roll his eyes at the massive thing in Diva's tiny hand. He held the bottle out so she could see it clearly.
"Care for a drink?"
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Chloro
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Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
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Post by Chloro on Jun 11, 2013 6:11:03 GMT -8
Kuroro was challenging fate with the blunt edge of her forehead to the might of supersonic projectiles. Could she try and cook the bullet while it was still in the gun with a well-aimed gob? But, a little cross-eye'd, she watched the tip of the barrel lose interest, remember her and return to its mark. Smiling indolently, the Sithspawn took comfort in the she knew there was more to her than just that. Besides, for all Diva's talk of factory specifications, it almost sounded like she was jealous. Unlike the revolver and the hand that held it, she was both the weapon and the wielder. And she enjoyed ever minute of it, unlike the revolver which felt nothing.
There were things, that she couldn't take comfort in, the awkward fact that she had no face, no person, when she wasn't on fire. It was more disconcerting to look at that then down the barrel of a gun. And Eralam. Was the sickening dread because of him or because of her? Kuroro's usual fiery temperament seemed to have been plunged into a deep freezer. Technically fearless, she was slack jawed in the presence of something she couldn't explain. Stiffly trying to shuffle away from the terrifying transformation of Diva, she glumly looked for a word to describe the sudden and bizzarre turnabout.
"No fun..."
Cringing now, she shied away from the cold touch. It was a bit late now to start a fire to keep the frigid girl away now. Some chemicals in her body had turned to slush. Desperately, she hoped that this was not the way she'd meet her end - with a whimper and not a bang.
Crowned with Diva's flower and hand in hand with the witch, it was an icky perversion of a forced marriage, complete with a moving ceremonial oration to complete the macabre show.
Worse yet, she could not deny that Diva's siren call pulled at a different string in her heart that Eralam couldn't seem reach. If the marriage alone wasn't a betrayal enough to her devotion, the fact that it moved her was worse yet.
Her skin crawled, burning with a different kind of fire that seemed to reach her core of her being. The sun inspired awe, but this void, burnt her like no fire ever could. Fire was a beautiful was to go - the warmth was final comfort before the end, but the cold was a heartless bitch whose final gift was to remind you just how alone you were.
Alone.
There was a complete oval on her left hand where Diva had left her mark. Numbly, Kuroro looked at the blood on her hand. Eralam could never accept her. Now that she had been spoiled, her disgrace was complete. The guilt was overwhelming. She tried, she had tried so hard, but it would never be good enough. It was beginning of the self-destruct sequence to prevent this particular monster from going rogue. But something had been damaged. Kuroro had been exposed to things that she should have never been expected to face. She didn't gut herself, like a good girl would have.
Instead, she followed Diva's spoor, the gunshots and encountered Eralam on the way, with collecting a peace offering. Tucking the blemished hand behind her skirt, she followed the Shard on his way to engineering and crouched behind him.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 11, 2013 8:41:42 GMT -8
Guns were hilarious in their own, unfeeling way. Take the Sithspawn, for example, crouching like a timid rabbit behind its master. So much expression could come from one figure, and yet it was far easier to just stick to a shadow and cower. The Model 83, unremarkable in every way, would probably do the exact same thing if Diva would just let it -but naturally she wouldn't, and instead she would force it to be exposed and open to mockery which such gaudy and outclassed tools provided for the casual observer. Still, the sawed off barrel helped mitigate the ridiculous appearance of a little, delicate looking hand holding a heavy pistol designed for sport shooting. Really, to the Witch, it weighed no more than holding a plastic cup, and really made no difference other than the fact that it was one of the only weapons Eralam procured that fired the .50 round, that wasn't some over lengthened rifle that would fit right up a sniper's alley.
In all this, there was one thing that Diva had miscalculated. The Witch didn't expect Kuroro to be standing behind what was clearly her most ancient of foes, regardless if there was a lack of self awareness for either to admit, regardless if one of the two didn't even notice. How in the world? Was she to fail in absolutely everything she put her white digits to? Certainly all that before should had of at least bought her ten minutes of time to say her piece to Eralam. Incredible. Pink Hell. That's what was hidden behind the fake skin, hidden behind the fronts and shifting personalities worn like costumes: Pink, endless Hell. It had occurred to Diva, when she tumbled down to Chaos for what her was a decade ago, that this ship, these two beings, might be the death of her. She could feel it, feel it slowly chipping away as the strings of gravity that held her malice together snapped one at a time like cheap shoe laces. She was self-actualizing, tearing herself down with thoughtfulness. In the end, she would just be measly. She would not be a monster. Shudder at the thought: Diva would become human. Could they sense it? Could they see blocks of ice chipping away and dying, evaporating? There was a saying in Chaos, and all the devils and demons agreed: if you were slave to a second law, then of the first act you were free.
Here we go. Final stand. Relent, or death. For the Dark Side everything was absolutes. Smile.
"If it's any but blood,
any but essence
I assure you, Dread Judge,
I can't even hope to drink it.
Olive branch noted,
olive branch extended.
Stay but a moment,
do not yet end it.
Keep to your position,
for I have a most humble of propositions:
a wager."
Diva causally points her gun at Eralam, and points her free hand to herself.
"Force."
She then inverses the guesture, pointing her hand at them, and the gun at herself.
"Object."
Supercooled air begins to pass from her smirking maw, expelling clouds that resembled cigar smoke puffs.
"I am the Dark Side,
many forms and names do I take.
This particular form is only one of the latest,
in things finite, sand, forsaken, things abated.
I fight a limitless war against that which seeks to create.
But, you, Shard, are gray.
You bring together all that you wish
and all that you may.
Tho prize and rifle am I,
you cannot hope to satisfy with olive branches and lies.
Walk with me but a moment,
I'll be a quarter of your power.
Embrace only once, then always I'll remain.
Give me a piece of your essence,
a shard of a Shard, if you may;
this will satisfy and pave the way.
I will play your game and obey.
Prove to me your Math is correct,
show me that gray is balance in all things.
However, there is a price, for no one can internalize me and without losing respite.
Should you fail, should you falter,
should the day come that you are placed upon an altar,
dead, dying, killed, no more,
that your soul becomes mine,
mine forever more,
to bring down to Hell, to drink of like nectar,
for those who play God must know the woe of Hereafter."
Now the beast begins its decent. It's obvious that something is beginning to pass.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 11, 2013 10:24:01 GMT -8
"Shit."
A price. There is always a price. Eralam mentally flipped the Force the bird. It knew he'd do what needed to be done, regardless of the cost. And if it was his soul on the line this time, what of it? How many more had he consigned to the afterlife in the name of balance? It was unnerving, though, knowing that to go down this path was to willingly walk down the road to hell.
The Shard leaned against the wall, eyes closed. He pulled an ancient meerschaum pipe from the voluminous pocket of the jacket, filled the bowl with a rich, dark tobacco that smelled faintly of honey and citrus, and lit it with a wooden match. The fragrant smoke began to waft through the corridor, casting a blue-grey haze over the scene.
"You bitch," he muttered. Harsh though the words may have been, they lacked conviction. "My soul for your help. I give you a piece of my essence, and you throw in with the plan."
He puffed away thoughtfully for a moment, not trusting himself to speak. Half-shapes and ghostly images swirled through the smoke, thoughts leaking from the mind of an ancient soldier. What they meant was anyone's guess; the Shard himself wasn't going to tell.
"I'll do it. I'm not sure how you mean to go about it, seeing as how I have no blood, but I'll do it."
Without warning, the ancient Force presence of the Shard sprang forth once more. This, though, was subtly different from before. It wasn't just an expression of power, the RoboNinja baring his fangs. This was the Whill, impressing upon Diva the full, ancient weight of his soul. As heavy as a mountain, as deep as a sea, as vast and unstoppable as a tectonic plate, it was as also just as uncaring about the individual lives that brushed against it. The being known as Eralam was simply the three dimensional extrusion of something far greater.
"I want you to know exactly what you're getting yourself into. I can already feel the shift inside of you. My power is not born of light or dark, you know this. It will not mingle well with either. I might be risking my soul, but you're risking a whole hell of a lot more if you try to take this in."
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 12, 2013 8:04:47 GMT -8
Smoke continues to rattle off, now shaking off of the Ice Queen's skin, resembling clouds expelled from musket lines. She would have continued to speak off lines bearing her truth, but the process continued to wreck the formations -those ethereal armies poised, fighting, dying one by one, terrifying, slowly waning with a smile on each of their doomed, accursed faces.
"A soul like yours I haven't the pleasure to meet.
Use your power,
take out a fragment,
even the tiniest bit will suffice.
Give it . . . to me. Dámelo, Amante.
. . .
U-u-ugh.
Th-this will serve as your signed contract.
Eeeh-essence speaks truth where words. . . speak. . . sin."
Diva's knees buckle and press together as her body begins to hunch over. Suddenly the pistol feels too heavy; suddenly holding up your skin feels too heavy.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 12, 2013 9:12:00 GMT -8
Time freezes. Past, present, future, all suspended in this one pivotal moment.
"What do I do?"
That which you must.
"Really fucking helpful there guys. Seriously, I have no idea what I'm doing."
You must give a piece of yourself, give it freely. She is important. She cannot be lost.
The Shard shook his head.
"You don't get it. I DON'T KNOW HOW! Am I supposed to what, isolate a chunk of power and float it over?"
You can no more do that than she could take it from you.
"Will you stop being cryptic for once in your miserable ethereal existence and just tell me what the FUCK needs to happen?"
You must give a piece of yourself, give it freely. She is important. She cannot be lost.
"Yes, thanks, I get that. How?"
You must give a piece of yourself, give it freely. She is important. She cannot be lost.
"It's like trying to knock pears off a tree with your dick, I swear. Look, I know the transfer is supposed to be symbolic, something to substitute the blood. Do I give her a piece of my crystal? Cut off a finger? Rage fuck her up one end of the ship and down the other?"
There is a ghostly sigh, and the unmistakable sound of a facepalm.
The first, you imbecile.
Eralam chuckles.
"Oh, that never gets old."
Time resumes, much to the chagrin of the former Whill. He knew what had to be done, but it would not be easy. It would have been far more pleasant to converse in the timeless void. He began to direct his focus inward.
"I can do this. I can get what you need. But I have to warn you, I have no idea what's going to happen to you after."
There is an earsplitting crack. For a moment, reality seems to split in two. It's as though the universe cracked, was put together by a blind kindergartner, and then healed.
"There, it's done," he said, actually panting from the exertion. "How bad do you want this thing?"
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 12, 2013 20:51:02 GMT -8
There is a sharp sound, a clang which travels up and down the deck; the pistol has slipped out of her grasp. Down she topples, crashing on elbows and knees. Locks of hair cover her sleepy face, while the tips of bubbled and turned to sizzling ink. From underneath Diva, these pools of moribund blood begin to pull towards the Shard, traveling again as arrows on separate, senseless vectors, until they collected in an easy mass, forming a dark hand. It spreads outwards, fingers splayed, palm up, imploring the Whill to surrender the piece that would end and begin it all. It is nearly too late, for the Witch can barely muster strength to speak.
"Bad enough to admit I was wrong."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 12, 2013 21:47:47 GMT -8
The Shard chuckles.
"Good enough for me. Full disclosure, I have no idea what's going to happen when you get this."
There is a flash of light from the HRD's chest. A burning hot shard of crystal, about the size of a lightsaber crystal, bursts forth and lands gently in Diva's outstretched hand.
"Good luck, and goddamn you to hell."
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 13, 2013 6:14:35 GMT -8
She was mote of dust, dancing between two insanely powerful bodies. If she had been more self-aware than she was now, Kuroro might have felt her mind melt from anxiety - unable to bring to closure all the conflicting lines of thoughts that tied this bizzarre love triangle together. In such a moment of crises, Kuroro did what all humans did - they looked in their trusty toolbox for a problem solving tool that they always used, regardless whether it was appropriate or not. Fire. Mayhem. Destruction.
Even as the Sithspawn reached into her nigh-infinite well of burning, she had no idea who to direct it to. To Diva, the feeble collapsed black puddle, slowly dragging herself to the Shard? To Eralam, whose vastness seemed to fill the galaxy, a sun to her match-head? Neither option seemed to be the answer. Who did she love? The Shard, who gave her purpose? The Witch, who had stolen her heart? Kuroro was not capable of making a decision that included more than one person.
Except, there was one thing that was outside this equation - the crystal, the reason for all this upset. A piece of Eralam's, a token for Diva. A common enemy.
Kuroro caught the flash of light as Eralam cut a part of his heart out, something that should have belonged to her all along. If she couldn't have him offer it to her, it was fair then that she steal it. The piece of shard landed gently on Diva's hand. Rising like a silhouette, with the blazing light of Eralam behind her, Kuroro reached down and plucked the fragment from the Witch. The complexity of that manoeuvre nearly burnt her brain. But somehow, the Sithspawn knew it protecting Diva, another new bizzarre compulsion, but at the same time risked being abandoned by her. Eralam behind her, the bringer of light, it would be an act of treason, disloyalty to the purpose he gave her, an interference...
Too much. Much too much.
She popped the shard into her mouth and crunched down.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 13, 2013 9:01:33 GMT -8
The hand attempts to clutch after the Sprite. Damnation. It fails. She fails. The black hand relents and gives way. She has failed. She has failed. Kuroro bites down, crunching the essence, doing the unexpected. Diva knew it. She knew it when she saw that fake mouth smiling while holding that purple dress: Firestarter would be her demise. Fitting then, that Diva couldn't feel any malice. Simply put, since the time her wretched tears stained the Demon's hand, she knew: she was quite stricken with a case of love. Unselfish, undaunted, pure love. Damnation, she has failed. Stupid Demon. Why should something so vast care for something less than dust?
Then an altogether different presence touches upon Diva's mind, not like the legions she had consumed. No, this was something else. Something far worse.
Was ist los?
"Purfect timing. Help me."
Hilf mir? Curious. Apt choice of vwords, considering zyour proclivities.
Button pushed. Signal sent. Diva's trembling, undead body lights up like a body set for cremation -blue flames which expel from the core of her being. Surprise rips across her face, and all the little emotions play while in her weakened state.
"No, no, NO! Not yet! Stop it! Stop it! I can still be---"
---silence, Foul Beast, Traitor. Zyou think trying to serve einother Gebieter vouldt be acceptable? Nein. Ve hadt ein deal. Subject 67, zyou haf breached zyour contract. It vas signed by us both. Vhere I am from, treason equates to death.
"No, I'm still doing the mission! I am! Please....""
Far, far away, in a shadowy, huge theater, a screen flickers as blue flame causes the view to be obscured. From beyond the crackles and pops, stood a Sithspawn and a Shard. Not far from the screen stands a lanky silhouette, eyes obscured by the glowing white orbs, lenses reflecting. Behind her, a hundred onlookers stare in wonder at the screen. Many of them worked from consoles, gathering and labeling telemetry on all sorts of obscure data being produced by Diva. They chatter amongst themselves -hushed whispers, until the spidery looking woman standing in front turns to address them. One hand clutches what appears to be an antiqued rifle, the other holds a personal pad streaming with scrolling text. She stretches out a freakishly long arm and motions to the violence on screen.
"Beholdt, ladies unt gentlemen, deer death of ein beast, ein monster. Vitness! Vwatch as it begs for mercy. Mercy for a creature vwhich hast killed unt killed unt killed vithout cessation! See how ull ov its vworks are ruin, betrayal, cunning. Unt yet, even vwith ull ov its magnificence, its radiance, it is toppled like ein haus ov cards, by no less than ein mote -dust! Look at how she, it, ist defeated. Ve plan, ve prepare, ve endorse, ve manipulate, shtring together dousands of calculations, set parameters, set conditions, unt let her skip like a childt into demise. Deer river ov death, mein friends, flows as richly us deer river ov sweet irony."
"But, Major. She's a valuable resource. Extremely valuable. Can we truly afford to lose her?"Speaks another shadow, the red eyes and blue skin so vaguely seen denoting his Chiss decadency.
The one referred to as "Major" waves her white glove hand dismissively.
"Nonsense. This ist only ein power nap for deer likes of Subject 67. Ve vill restore her, set anotder test, perhaps even cast her against, vhat ist his name, this Eralam fellow. However, ve shouldt attempt to limit variables, see how far our control ov her can truly go. Mein friends, she vas extremely close to breaking away. Unt her vwrath kindled..... Vell, needt I remind zyou ov Allgemeine?"
A silent shudder shakes any of the humans present.
The Major now faces the screen, speaking unto the undead one once again.
Back on the ship, whatever name the Shard had given unto it.
Perhaps if zyou hadt asked to be free, Monster, then such ein vwish couldt be granted. Now perish in ugony, as ve living things, mere humans, prove any force can be destroyed. Smile for science, Blauteufel!
Chunks of conjured flesh fall off, turn to ash.
"You spoke to me, melted me from ice. You named me, gave me personality. Ripilan... I did all you ever asked. How can you take it away?"
Because I can. Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein. Tschüß, Fabelwesen. I vouldt tell zyou we'll meet again in Valhalla, but deer place ist reserved for humans, not monsters. Besides, like zyou so happily haf saidt before, I vouldn't mean it.
The glowing embers and bones reach out to Kuroro and Eralam, knooby tips fall and fade, and with her last words, she says:
"Loved one, I could never hate you."Then wisps away in a final crash. Ash remains, then that too scatters with some unknown gust, passing with a sigh.
The useless Model 83 still lays where it was dropped. And finally, the last thing of Diva that remains is the glittering blue rose tucked into Kuroro's head, as the ice that so smothered the ship for what seemed like years and years even dies.
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 13, 2013 23:58:14 GMT -8
"No!"
Kuroro knew that these unholy blue flames meant the end of the Witch. A funeral pyre. Abandoning any sense of self-preservation, the Sithspawn plunged into the inferno, trying to smother the flames that seemed come from within Diva. She felt the fire, not from the nerves in her skin, but directly from the monster than was in its last moments - the dispair, confusion. Was this what it was like to die aflame? The fire engulfed her as well, but Kuroro was unable to burn with the monster, to join her in her last moment, as a final demand dictated by her torn heart. The tighter she held onto the burning corpse, she felt to her horror her hands dig deeper and deeper into the disintergrating vessel. She cried, but the Sithspawn was a creature without any water to quench her own fire, how could she do anything to stop the fire of another?
The final words were but a token consolation to the bereaved. There was no ash to even mark her passing, except for the rose whose infinite cold seemed to hold off any flames..
For a moment Kuroro remained kneeled on the scorched deck-plates where Diva had burnt up, unable to comprend her loss, the rose . The bitterness, the malice from the Witch seemed to sink into her, replacing her mawkish sentimentality. She still glowed white-hot from the flames but that was nothing compared to the rage she felt at the galaxy for this great injustice.
It was impossible to breathe. Was that the sadness? Her bowels seemed to have been filled with a vicious canker that ate away at her insides. It was the shard of the Shard that felt as if it were eating at her insides. Her increadibly reactive insides that matched her namesake dissolved as it came into contact with the raw power that she ingested. Kuroro spat blood. But she wasn't planning on dying, not while she could still set fire to the world around her.
Finally, she felt the shard's descent slow and stop. She could feel as the balance of power contained within her body shift uncontrollably. It was a blazing euphoria, a spur digging into her sides, urging her own to destruction, fuelling her bitter anger. Standing now to face Eralam, this monster had no sense of morality or even the purpose that Eralam possessed, but it had the power that could wreck planets. Kuroro, the explosive, now had the detonator in her own hands. And she was a weapon that she wasn't afraid to use or had anything to lose.
She directed some of her bile at her god who had done nothing to save, using the hyper-lucid prose that belonged to the witch:
Why did you let her die?
Couldn't you save her?
You don't care, do you?
Not even for me...
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 14, 2013 11:33:56 GMT -8
As soon as the crystal crunched, Eralam knew he had maybe a minute to live. There was enough power in that thing to keep the lights burning on Coruscant for 6 or 7 hours. Once the last few chunks dissolved in Kuroro's stomach acid, the energy would be released, and they would both likely die. The Shard envied Diva. She, at least, wouldn't be alone with the psycho bitch for the last few moments of her life.
"You know, I kinda wish I'd killed you when I had the chance," he said, taking a final puff on the pipe. He can feel the reaction building, ready to blast him back to subatomic particles.
"There was a plan, you know. You do so love a plan."
The heat is building. Eralam can feel the power leaching from the hole in his own crystal body, adding fuel to the fire.
"The galaxy is getting stagnant. We were to fix that, the three of us. But you had to be a greedy little thing, couldn't leave well enough alone."
The pressure is unbearable.
"And now we're all going to die. I hope you're happy, you pathetic, stupid, insignificant little monster."
And with that, there is a flash of light, followed by nothing. The Shard is dead. But the story is not over...
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 14, 2013 23:55:40 GMT -8
To be sung along to the tune of the Skeleton SongEralam's serene indifference absorbed her tantrum, sobering her to the reality - the disintegrating ship, the ticking time bomb.
Kuroro looked away, a little embarrassed that it would be her stupidity that was going to kill them all. A touch wistful, she smiled to herself, thinking over the past few, wildly exciting days, where she had felt more alive then than in her entire lifetime. But most of all, she though about Eralam, what could have been. His robotic mind and body had been more human than most humans could have ever been. Someone that she aspired to, loved, unrequitedly, no matter all the perceived wrongs he had done to her. She had been filled with purpose. He had her, body and soul.
The only bond they shared was a contract that she had made to kill him, the moment he was no longer a god. And even in the last, he hated her, if he final words were not enough then his prior actions had been. There was no face that would make him happy, no hot meals to buy his affection. He shunned her in favour of a witch that simply and bloody-mindedly tried to be the death of him. Did he hate her because she had killed Diva? Even if he did, couldn't he see that that she could be her, if he wanted her to be? Nothing would be too much for her - except it would be better for him to die, than for her to live in a world where he disappointed her.
She had given him all the time and chances he needed to be what he needed to be, but it was his fault that he couldn't control his power. And now she would take control - doing what she should have done earlier.
As the runaway reaction burnt through her, she let it flow to her hands, lighting them with an intensity hurt her eyes to look at. Before an explosion would destroy the shard, she would be one to take what was rightfully hers. Lunging, she pummelled him repeatedly, her hands sinking into his chassis, melting his functional components to slag until finally Kuroro could drive the holed shard down to the deck and straddle him. Why was he suddenly so passive? He didn't probably see her as worth the effort. She hated that curious detachment that she had seen in his eyes. And that his eyes had been on others, instead of her. Kuroro jammed her flaming fingers into his photoreceptors - giving him one last sight of her, happy at last. Her hands bodily tore through his torso, digging furiously as the explosion neared. Finally, she reached the shard, the vessel that was inside the vessel and pulled it out, much the same as she had earlier offered to do for him.
She stood as the rolling flames came, Eralam's head in the one hand and the shard fragment in the other. They were going to birth a star in this moment and nothing would separate them.Forever.
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Will Sontir
The Jedi Order
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Post by Will Sontir on Jul 11, 2013 16:56:50 GMT -8
Aboard a Corellian YT-1760 transport freighter, Jedi Master Will Son'tir meditates in the Living Force, taking deep breaths inside the pilot's quarters, when another soft chime comes from a wall panel. Will takes a soft exhale before coming back into the conscious reality. Will gently replaces himself from the crosslegged levitation that he often finds himself in whilst meditating. He uncrosses his legs, and finds he needs to test the durability of his leg joints before continuing forward to see what the slaved information panel reads.
Will scoffs under his breath, and shakes his head a bit.
2 new bundles of information came to the Corellian Jedi Master.
The first being a message relayed to him from the communications station at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, with encryption specific exclusively to members of the High Council. It's a report confirming that Jedi Knight Joshua Kierra-Solo was, indeed, on Dressel. However, the Jedi Knight is currently on conscious and in a medical facility after seeking amnesty with the government of that system. A Republic government.
Will rubs his face to wipe the groggyness and stress he might have experienced before he read the other bundle of information.
The second message came in from the ship's navicomputer itself, informing the pilot that they are nearing the Dressel system in a manner of minutes.
Will takes a deep breath and a heavy exhale. He looks towards the dresser in the quarters and opens it. Luckily, this is a jedi owned vessel, stocked with jedi essentials, including standard issue robes. He looks down at his own that have happened to accumulated a good many wrinkles. If he is going to be communicating with any government officials to verify his identity, he will have to look the part. . . .
======
. . .After several minutes of disrobing and refreshing, Master Will Son'tir finds himself in prim and proper shape. He takes the pilot's chair once more and drops the ship out of hyperspeed. . . .
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Sept 16, 2013 10:57:17 GMT -8
Hyperspace, that wonderful realm which enabled the colonization of hundreds of planets across the galaxy, enabled the human race to survive from that first “Big Split” that set the home planet reeling, even enabled contact with other species, and finally enabled this messy set of circumstances and conflicts. Ultimately, hyperspace was a boring, cold, and lonely place. It was no small wonder then that this was no more than a transitory space in which its temporary inhabits wanted no more than to reach their destination. Appropriate then for nothing more than a single freighter was stuck navigating these unfathomably chilly avenues while in route to its final destination. The passengers on this humble craft had quite a lot in common with freezing pinpoints of light that one could gaze upon should they be so inclined to look out of a viewport.
So much to muse upon, so many events to categorize and dissect. The beginnings of these ruminations commenced with a mental debriefing, an internal situation report, on the events on Iziz. A monumental failure wasn’t even close to describing how utterly tepid the events were. Had she ever tasted such a crushing and complete defeat in the 25 years of her existence? Not even close. Reecee was a calculated loss in order to draw a dangerous enemy, another surviving Fallanassi, out and to destroy both her and her allies. It may have been a ruse, but it was a costly one, and one that did not cause the Major any sense of grief or regret, regardless if the planet was now choked in radioactive fallout –the large cities now crypts for a center of Fascism, with skyscrapers now serving as gray tombstones marking the spots where both soldier and civilian burned their shadows in the streets that would fade slowly over an eternity. It was a rather close call, but a little fewer than 15,000 brave soldiers lost in order to save the main body of retreating Fallschrimjäger –AND eliminate an entire threat- was hardly a loss.
And what of millions calling the planet home? Well, had they simply took up arms upon the first day of the invasion, then maybe the people themselves could have driven back and encircled the Republic’s forces. As it stood, the Fallanassi currently laying down and peering into the bulkhead had no compassion for those who refused to defend their homes. How cruel, because after all, the Major was counting on the civilians to serve as a target of precious value. Once again, those dominated by a semblance of empathy should not ever pretend that they could embrace war drums. There were other close calls as well: Myrkr, Tynna, Shili, and of course, the Fatherland. Still, she had managed to gain something of immense value which furthered her along this traitorous path. What had the gamble at the Zoo won her? Nothing. Nothing but debt. Nothing but doubt. Nothing but weakness. The Fallanassi was no longer in possession of the eralam crystal for her scrutiny and study, and now she was stuck with next to no control of her body due to its recovering state.
Up comes the remote that her caretaker was kind enough to leave upon the side of her more manageable arm. Music, there was a distinct need for music to be used for the purpose of clearing out the clutter of her mind. It seems like Dresden was not lying when he claimed that he had “everything” on here. How much data drive space did it take to hold all this? Wow, he even kept copies of music that was most obviously detailed as garbage. Her mind shudders with the thought that he could like all of this trash. Oh, but what’s this? Antiquated compositions? Closer now to the mark. Ah! Alexander Borodin’s ‘Polovstain Dances’ or, Polowetzer Tanze, and what’s more: a variant of the song as played by the High Imperial Philharmonic? A control is chinned, and soon enough the delicate work of a section of flutes fills the rather depressing room with an airy, dreamy hopefulness. A chorus of females follows suit, following along the same path begun with the flutes. A smile –this one a warm smile- spreads slowly upon Riplian’s face as her eyes close. The mind wanders aimlessly along the harmony of the voices, and then settles on the smell of Dresden’s chest and neck, of rough soap, subdued testosterone, and the slight twinge of musk on the fabric of his shirt.
Suddenly her eyes burst with a light of malevolence.
Bloody, fucking, Hell.
She forces a sigh through a clamped jaw. Usually she could stick a person, any person, into a category of usefulness, figure out how to best use them, how best to destroy them, and then move on confidently. Why was doing the same to this non-human impossibly difficult. Even with great strain and focusing, her mind simply faltered and stumbled before the thoughts of conquest could take root. It was as if she were tripping over herself. And to add further insult to this mental injury, the music erupted with angry trumpet calls and dark outpour of voices, as if to personify the anger that bubbled within for this new found weakness. This piece used to invoke thoughts of large, mighty landscapes, with stars twinkling above in magical inclination. Now it only caused her working hand to wring over her face and forehead in frustration.
Insanity. It must be. Cancer. Anything. Anything to scientifically explain her brain turning to red and gray oatmeal would be welcome. Instead, she received the notes of a flute spiraling downwards, somehow illustrating an endless fall in the chaos.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Sept 16, 2013 19:02:06 GMT -8
This time around, all seemed normal. The last time Dresden flew through this particular bit of hyperspace, he was still Eralam. And then he died.
Cheerful memories, eh?
One could understand why the former Shard was less than enthused to hear the music from down the corridor. He had always found the concept of orchestras to be oddly sad. Each and every musician in the ensemble was playing their heart out in what would likely be the culmination of decades of sweat and heartache. They would play at their absolute finest for the recording, and no one but the most discerning of critics would even be able to pick out their individual instrument from the beautiful cacophony. That performance would be the highlight of their career, and five years down the road, no one would even know.
He felt compelled, therefore, to collect as much of the music as possible. And not just the symphonies of the greats. Every bit of music he could find was stored and collected, despite the fact that the vast majority was garbage. Garbage though it may be, someone had poured their soul into that work, and even sitting unloved and unplayed in his massive databank was better than total annihilation. Wasn't it?
The fallen Whill was beginning to wonder.
Ugh. Anything but more depressing trains of thought. He hit the play button, summoning up a random song from his personal playlist, hoping for something a little more upbeat. Yeah, like that's going to happen.
(Ticking time's running out)
Lovely. Fucking lovely. Despite the cheerful, if sparse, instrumental work, the song wasn't exactly an ode to happiness and sunshine. Except, well, it kind of was.
Yesterday I found out the world was ending
Dresden knew he was dying. He had always known, in the abstract sense that all beings must die, whether they live a hundred or a hundred thousand years. But it had really hit home yesterday. It had really hit home that, despite his best efforts to the contrary, his world was going to end. It was going to end, and he wasn't going to just sit back and let it happen. He was going to go down fighting. This galaxy would be, perhaps not a better place, but certainly a more long-lived one because of this final year. Every day he could stave off societal entropy was another day that the planets would twinkle in the sky, artificially lit beacons of hope for the future.
These four walls are closing in
(Ticking time's running out)
Oh all the things that might have been
(Ticking time's running out)
Watching all the others walking by
(Ticking time's running out)
God forgive me if I cry
(Ticking time's running out)
At the end of the day though, that would be what bothered him the most: the fact that, despite all of his best efforts on the behalf of the galaxy, he had never had much of a life of his own. Few, if any, real friends. Koko was the closest thing he had to family; he had raised her as his own daughter, if such a thing were possible. The former Shard had never really appreciated those things that organics seemed to value so much. They lived their short lives in the often futile pursuit of love and belonging, by and large content with coming home at the end of the day to someone that they cared about, someone as comfortable as an old set of boots. He had always watched from the sidelines, marveling at the hell they put themselves through. It had always seemed so silly, but now, he envied them. Loneliness, he decided, was a bitch.
A little more
Every day
Falls apart and
Slips away
I don't mind
I'm okay
Nothing ever
Stays the same, well
Crisis precipitates change. Hadn't that always been his motto? So what if his life was falling apart? So what if his idea of normal had slipped away into the currents of life? Nothing ever stays the same. Whereas once he would have been alone for a task of this nature, he had inadvertently picked up a crew. Diva he had tried to recruit before. She would be an asset the likes of which he had never had before. He had also called in all of his favors. Hopefully, a few folks would be meeting him on Dressel.
But the one that perplexed and intrigued him the most was the Major. Riplian. Whatever her name was, she was a mystery. He could figure out why she had been there well enough. He knew that musket was trouble ever since he gave it to her. It was easy enough to extrapolate that Diva was the source of the cursed/blessed minie balls. It would stand to reason, given all that he had seen, that she had held that beautiful weapon and its accursed ammunition hostage, to be released as soon as the Major brought in the intended target: Eralam. Well, that had worked well enough, even if Eralam was dead and all that was left was his revenant, that meat-coated ghost that went by the name Dresden. And she had found herself trapped between Scylla and Charybdis, completely unable to escape. She was along for the ride, as much a prisoner as a collaborator.
While we can
Remember when
Always running
Even then
Was that why he had saved her? If the former Shard had let Riplian die, he would have lost an asset, yes, but that particular asset was more dangerous than useful. Letting her get shot to pieces was the smart thing to do, it really was. And yet, Dresden had pulled her ass out of the fire, patched her up, and brought her with him. She was on the ship. Just a few feet away, in fact.
Why?
Maybe it was because he knew he had a year left. One year, and the being best suited to understand the necessity of the mission was the female in the nearby room. The female with the unquestionable intelligence, strength, and ingenuity. The female with the questionable taste in music. He was keeping her close, partly because he didn't trust her, but mostly because he was...what? Lonely? How did the last few lines of the song go?
Stay with me
Hold me near
...
While I'm still here
Why was it that, at the end of his life, he just wanted someone who could understand what he had done to hold him? A part of the fallen Whill still suspsected that the desire wasn't entirely his own, but what was he to do about it? Even when his mind was occupied with the most absurd things, things designed to distract and divert the considerable intellect at his command, it still turned back to that long, lean body. To that face with the horror story for a smile. That smile that, while promising untold terrors upon those that beheld it, still captivated his attention in a way that was anything but fearful. The hair, long and smooth, even when filled with gunk from a full fledged shootout. Why did she captivate him so? It was illogical. Unreasonable. Unfathomable. And yet, it made more sense than anything he had ever done before, and he couldn't have told anyone why. Ok, so she was strong and met his standards for physical beauty. Was there supposed to be anything more? Some sort of deeper connection?
Hell if he knew. His idea of a deeper connection was a data linkup that went past the obligatory security layers and into the juicy data within. Bah humbug. The music was getting to him.
Dresden hit the skip button just as the saxophones started up at the end of the track. He kept going until he found something a bit more upbeat. Something, anything really, to distract him from his current line of thought. He didn't want to think about Riplian right now. He didn't want to thing about death, or duty. He wanted to lost himself in something else entirely.
"Hmm...nah. Next.
"Close, but not quite.
"Fuck it, that'll work.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Sept 19, 2013 22:40:08 GMT -8
What.
What in the bloody world is that noise?
What is this racket –aimless thrashing?
Remiss, take back, redo –but it’s too late. Her current line of twisting thought has been cut most unpleasantly as the tune, however discreet and softened by the various walls, has interfered with the mighty ruminations of the choir. Condemn that synthetic base to a deep, unsalvageable state within a frothing pit in the devil’s maw. That is what it deserves for attempting to compete with the mystical tirade as each individual musician poured their very lives into each chord and note. Ah, right, but this was not her world to control. How frightful; yet, not outside of her acceptable tolerances. At the moment, shot to proverbial quagmire, those tolerances have been momentarily redefined.
Off goes the music in her room with a sloppy thumb slide.
Positive: the Major’s migraine had subsided enough to enable certain forms of concentration, and what could this possibly mean. Information gathering time! Information was more powerful than blood, more potent than a thousand steel helmeted jackals poised to take a hidden bunker. Still, she would have to be most careful, because showing the demigod in the cockpit the wrong image could mean quite the sudden and violent death. After all, if Dresden was anything like her, he would at least have three hundred loopholes that entailed and defined the boundaries of a contract breach.
Trust. Trust. Omnipotent forces that do not exist, dissidents of honestly and disciples of truth, show me how to confer trust to something that could all too easily destroy you with a click of the fingers.
There was no response. Her rationale offered no quarter.
What came natural did whisper however, like tiny little machine parts clicking and oiling to prepare an ignition. You can turn him. You can distract him. If you earn his loyalty, he will follow. Everything in this universe is willing to pay a price for just a slice of assuredness. Why play this out to the soon to be dead god anyway? Surely, if there is any being in the entirety of existence that can change the desires of something so supernatural, it must, has to be, you.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
And then she wondered why she could not laugh aloud. She could not determine which was more disturbing: that her mind was willing to entertain suicidal thoughts just to escape the torturous fact that she was powerless against this thing in the form of a man, or that she realized it was all a large pile of horse manure used to disguise the truth of the matter. Oh, the horror.
“’Mann ist not meant live alone,’ how do feel about dis shtatement?”
Spoke a voice from directly behind Dresden’s seat, and should he turn to look, he would be greeted by –what else- a form of shadow in the inky outline of the Fallanassi. There are no details, no designer illusionist flairs, just blackness darker than the gaps between starlights. Perhaps in her awkward and terrible way it was a token of good faith: it was obviously a manifestation of light, and in this obviousness, there was possibly a message. Who could say how that wracked mind figured these works.
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