Alpharius
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Post by Alpharius on Oct 22, 2013 20:11:35 GMT -8
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Ghost
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 17
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Post by Ghost on Oct 22, 2013 21:14:59 GMT -8
Arhiia Concordia The Ice Queen
A distant expression played across Arhiia's delicate features as Ahriman spoke of Arkania and chided her for her ignorance. This whole situation felt hopeless to me more oft than not. It slowly chipped away at my willpower and broke my heart a little more each time I was reminded of my peoples' senseless suffering because that's all this was, senseless. There was no reason that had been attributed to this amount of slaughter and destruction.
The song of a planet dying is heartbreaking as it slowly fades from existence and its people are rendered silent. The silence was the worst part of all. If one listened carefully, it could be heard above the din of the struggle for mortality. The sounds of life had all but disappeared from Arkania.
Sitting there as protectorate over the Strider of Suns, Arhiia looked down at the feeble form of the man in her lap and a small weak smile briefly drifted across her lips as she found strength where there had previously been none. At the sound of Varro's voice Arhiia withdrew her presence from Arcanus' conscious, hoping she had at least planted the seeds of awareness as she slowly brought her eyes to bear upon the Son of Calistarious, the fires of determination obviously not yet extinguished. He was more machine now than man, that much was true. It was a bit of a shock to me when first I came face to face with my dearest of friends and that he could fall so far without me knowing, it was devastating. I had been his teacher at one point in time and from that moment on, I was supposed to protect him.
It was clear now that I had failed, but it was never too late to seek forgiveness.
"He may be more machine than man, but he is still a man beneath it all." Arhiia spoke softly, but confidently as she stared Varro down. Not going to any length to hide her spite for him, evident by the opening salvo in which she implied an absence of his manhood. The Ice Queen did not even falter as he mentioned the vaults hidden in the mountains. Veeshas Tuwan. A hint of recognition played across her icy blue eyes, so brief that most would never pick up on it.
And so the motivation for this massacre was revealed. I had been apprehensively awaiting this day for 12 long years now. I knew the Sith would eventually return for their prize, just not when. Perhaps I knew what this was all about from the very start and just did not want to believe it. There was no denying it now though, these Sith were here for the very secrets we spent so long trying to erase from the face of the universe. "I've no knowledge of these dark vaults you seek. Nothing like that exists on Arkania." My eyes drifted down to Arcanus momentarily.
~He has stared into the depths of time immemorial and seen through the eyes of the one you seek to save. We have seen the door...~
I wondered briefly if the Sith spoke the truth. But how could Arcanus not realize that the darkness had slowly been seeping into his mind? More importantly, how did I miss it? I truly had failed him. __________________________________________________________________________
When I first returned to my place of birth, Arkania - a cold and forsaken world, I thought I would finally be able to find peace. If only I knew what lay in store for me, I might have chosen to never set foot on my homeworld again.
This planet held a tenebrous secret. A past shrouded in darkness and mystery; a past that I actively fought to conceal. I was complicit in the matter and Arcanus was among the very few who were privy to the knowledge that had been discovered. What better way is there to hide the darkness than to light a candle in the midst of it? The Guardian Temple was the candle we lit. The candle that grew and burned so brightly that none would ever suspect what we had done. Our rationale was logical. We did nothing wrong.
Arkania's darkest secret was Veeshas Tuwan.
It would be forever sealed away from all who might seek to uncover its secrets. Even the seductive whispers of power and the lure of the knowledge contained within could not permeate the boundary we erected, imprisoning the voices of temptation for all of time.
The High Council of old was convinced they had destroyed Veeshas Tuwan. From a certain point of view that was correct, but my sight illuminated the truth. The spirit of Veeshas Tuwan had survived. It enticed me into the very depths of the planet itself and slowly seduced me into everlasting ignorance. That was the day I lost myself. The day that my battle to escape the darkness within me was realized, when I was given the ability to see the truth of it all perfectly. What I saw all around horrified me, but what I glimpsed awakening within myself troubled me even more.
In that moment I decided that I could never let another soul ever step foot here. What was once only Arkania's secret now became one Arcanus and I shared too. Our burden to carry together. __________________________________________________________________________
As Varro turned his attentions to Arcanus, Arhiia panicked and grabbed at his vulnerable form as he was torn from her protective hold, but her efforts were proved futile. She slowly rose to her feet to meet the encroaching darkness, midnight blue robes cascading over her lithe figure as they settled. Part of me wanted to throw caution to the wind and allow my anger at these Sith to drive my actions. A primal urge quickly rose within me as I came to the conclusion that revenge would feel so sweet, so satisfying. However, the more logical part of me prevailed and I instead chose to wait until the time was right to strike.
Alone against one of the Sith, the Ice Queen perhaps stood a chance, but taking them on together was suicide. She stood resolute in the face of the storm even when confronted with her own mortality. Inhaling sharply as Varro ignited Arcanus' lightsaber and made quite clear that it was he who held the power over life and death, Arhiia jolted forward as her hand flew to her saberstaff, her self-control the only thing stopping her from striking the man down where he stood. Murder reflected in her eyes and even as Ahriman called off his dog, she still fought back the desire to act and it reflected in her body language.
Now was not the time to let my anger get the better of me, I had to get it under control otherwise it may very well cost me a price I am unwilling to pay. Taking a deep breath, her gaze shifted as the cultist leader joined the warrior and addressed her.
"Even if I submit to you, I know you won't spare my people or my planet." Arhiia spoke vehemently as she began making the calculations and her mind raced through the options available to her. I was not as gullible as I might otherwise be had I been like the other Jedi I encountered when first I began my training. They grew up learning the ways of the Jedi, sheltered and safe within their temples. It was all they were raised to know. I, on the other hand, intimately knew the opposing side of the coin. My family was the dark side.
"My dear lord," Arhiia spoke in a dramatic fashion, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain, "you speak as if you know me intimately." She paused, eyes briefly flitting over to Arcanus' prone form before her attention was focused solely on Ahriman. "You know nothing...It is difficult for one to be blinded by a faith that is absent, but all too easy for a fool to misinterpret the illumination of clarity as truth." Stepping forward, only metres separated her from the stairs up to the altar, as she stood defiant in the face of the Fateweaver. "You should have done your research better, my lord." Her expression took on a new ferocity like that of a cornered animal mixed with the sensual smirk of a seductress. "Then you would know you were not dealing with a naive little Jedi." The Ice Queen was young in age and looks, but it was quickly becoming apparent that she possessed the knowledge of a dozen generations.
"I have not been a Jedi for a long time now, I think.." Her voice was forlorn and a bit uncertain as if this were the first time she had ever voiced the notion aloud. "Therefore I do not play by their rules any longer.." It was silent for several long, drawn out seconds before she spoke once more and looked Ahriman straight in the eye. "That should terrify you."
Without warning, she sprung into action, using the force to pull Arcanus' lightsaber to her outstretched palm before disappearing without a trace. She was just gone. Nowhere to be seen, no longer existing within the force. "Do not mistake my youth for foolishness, Sith. I will not be swayed by your fanatical rhetoric." Her voice did not seem to be emanating from any one place, but instead appeared to assault the senses from all directions. "You cannot force me to bend the knee and if you think for one second that I will go down without a fight, then you are sorely mistaken." Seconds, that felt more like hours, ticked by until suddenly a large blast of telekinetic energy was released in the small of Varro's back and she reappeared. Her murderous intentions reflected within the depths of her icy blue eyes as she steeled herself against the void of the darkness and brought Arcanus' saber to bear down on Ahriman.
To fall is such a quiet thing. The darkness seeps in so slowly that you are not even aware of its presence until the light has been entirely extinguished. By then it is too late to turn back. There is denial before there can be acceptance as you cling to shadows of what you once were while your very being slips away into the ether of the unknown. The fall of a Jedi is a quiet rage..
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Alpharius
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Affiliation: The Rebel Alliance
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Post by Alpharius on Oct 25, 2013 17:25:53 GMT -8
To know is to know that you know nothing. Ancient words spoken by an ancient man, the vagaries of time had all but lost his name but its meaning was sound. It was a paradox, one that did not mean he truly knew nothing, but that he could not know something with the absoluteness of certainty yet still remain confident in the knowledge he had attained. From the dawn of time until the ending of the stars, a being gripped by certainty would prove to be the most dangerous and enigmatic of foes. Such was evident upon Tython when the followers of Bogan had learned the absoluteness of certainty, for they had become the first of their kind. A wisdom like no other, knowledge of the truth hidden behind the galactic veil. Thus the origins of an eternal order had been founded, a gathering of mortals that dealt with the absolute truth of the universe. Guarding it from those that sought to destroy it, and strike down those that fought against the changes the truth had wrought. Ahriman was one of those Guardians, one of the ancient ages old sect that sought to bring the truth to the galaxy by force if need be. He was Sith, absolutes were his bread and butter. It was through that realization alone; he had come to know the true power of the force. Lacking the restrictions placed upon him by the Jedi and their foolish notion of control, he had risen to heights unsought by the deluded masters of the Order. Worlds trembled wherever he stepped and, nations bowed before his martial might. He was a god amongst mortals, and the defiance of a single woman gripped by the realization of certainty would not stop him from claiming what was rightfully his. She had merely adopted the darker path, returning to its embrace after a lifetime of slavery. Ahriman was born in the dark and had let its powers fester within him until the appointed time. He was the chosen champion of change! Nothing would stop him. Not the Jedi or their Republic, not this temple or the sealed vault of Veeshas Tuwan herself. The prize would be his for the taking, that much was certain. He willingly wasted his powers to garner yet another prize, one that would sate the aging frame his soul was bound to.
A confident smile came across his lips as he listened to the shouted insults. Words were wind, yet they could shape the destiny of entire worlds. They were a power all to themselves, and she was a master at their manipulation. It was a shame that the Sith was immune to her derogatory pleas, he would very much like to believe that he should fear her wrath. Yet as his eyes drank in the lands about the altar, it was his wrath that she should fear. Arhiia stood alone against a tide of darkness, the single flickering candle within a vast lightless room. Yes, the candle would burn the darkness that sought to engulf its flickering flame. It would banish the evil and illuminate all that was good and pure of the room, but in time the candle would flicker and fade. Consumed by the own darkness within its core, letting the shadows without bathe the candle until there was nothing left but a pool of smouldering wax. The Queen of Ice and Snow could be as defiant as she wished; it would not stop the relentless advance of a determined adversary. Ahriman’s confident smile did not last long, as after she had spoken her lithe figure vanished from sight. A parlour trick of a youthful woman, but it had incurred a gasp of surprise from his foolish acolyte. Should the boy survive this encounter, he would be sure to punish him accordingly. Stripping Varro of his very soul should do the trick, as it would teach him never to be so foolish in the face of adversity ever again.
The Son of Calistarious swiveled his head from left to right, panning the horizon for sight of his prey. Arhiia had gone, yet her words assaulted his mind from all sides. It was foolish of him to give into his hubris; the lifelong hunt of the strider of suns had finally come to an end! He held the betrayer in his grasp and could end his life without a moment’s notice. His family, his city, nay his entire planet would be avenged with but a single stroke of a lightsaber. Arcanus would have been dead by now, if it were not for Ahriman and his web of lies and plots. Glittering emerald eyes bore down into the half dead corpse of a man, feeling nothing but contempt for what he had become. All the lives wasted; all the potential that had been snuffed out at Arcanus’ command. The Emerald Jedi Order, the people of Anobis, scoured from the face of the galaxy in a single moment of thunder crackling from the sky. The planet had cracked under the ferocious lightning of the orbiting Republic fleet, atomizing all that stood in the wake of its fury. Flashes of green turned the once thriving city into motes of ash and dust, killing millions of people within a blink of the eye. Varro was there, watching as the life he had loved was taken away by the one person he had entrusted their safety too. With his blood beginning to boil, the ashes of the past began to stir. His mind slipped into the darkness of the memory and forced him to remember his purpose. Why he had become Lord Ahriman’s second, of why he had scrambled all this way to stand upon the parapet of destiny. He would kill Arcanus, of that there was no doubt, but doing so now would lose his master’s trust and enrage the prize his master sought to collect.
Such a horrid thought almost became reality when his mortal foes lightsaber had been torn from his hands. Cursing himself for lacking the vigilance to foresee such an event, Varro began pulling the wayward knight’s frame closer to his. If she were to strike him down, at least he would go; knowing that Arcanus would not be far behind. Narrowing his eyes as he felt a presence flicker into reality behind him, the Sith acolyte prepared for the end. With his lips hanging in the air beside Arcanus’ he silently whispered. “It is a shame that your friend has come to claim our lives, at least we go to the void together. Where we may battle until the ending of time, where I would claim your soul and avenge the family you took away from me.” Malice dripped from every word as Varro spat the whispered oath of vengeance from his lips. Yet he found himself shocked and somewhat disappointed in what occurred next. Energy drawn from the dying world around them had swiftly built in the space behind him. Varro knew Arhiia was there, but would not dare submit to his primitive desires to see what she had down. A heartbeat later, both he and Arcanus were thrown into the air and tossed into the milling crowd of mechanized dead below.
Ahriman’s smile widened. He knew this would happen, as it had hundred times before. When the lithe figure of Arhiia had appeared behind him, tendrils of darkness tore themselves free from his form. Each one shot out with inhuman speed towards the enraged Jedi, wrapping themselves about her body, engulfing her form with invisible threads of the force. A rasping laughter began to build within the sorcerer’s chest, filling the flattened square about them with his rasping cackles. His arms began to rise, lifting the hoodwinked woman into the air. Floating above him upon shrouded tendrils of aetherized thought, the Sorcerer thrust his fists towards the surface of the altar. His robes billowed about his as the energy poured from his body in waves, crashing against the Jedi trapped in his mind’s embrace. The tentacles of pure will had follow the example set down by his fists, slamming the woman down upon the pedestal. Such was the power of the move that the marble cracked under the force of the blow; small splinters of rock were tossed into the air as her form crashed into the chiseled surface of the dias.
“You cannot hope to defeat me, as I have defeated you, Arhiia.” The sorcerer spoke; his tone calm and measured. It was the sound of a threatening lions purr, personified by human vocal chords. “There is a fire burning within you, woman. It is the fire of hubris and defiance. You may tempt fate to resist me and the gospel truth I bring, but in the end you will be mine. I am the unstoppable tidal wave that seeks to engulf your coastal town, no matter the size of the wall you build… I shall penetrate it by force. It is the way of life; you cannot change what has already happened! We have done this dance for thousands of years, you and I. Thousands of times you tell me that I cannot break you, that I am the one who is blinded by his own beliefs.” He took a step forwards, his mind barely feeling the strain of keeping his prey bound in place. “Yet thousands of times, over and over again, I find you bound and chained beside me. Begging for forgiveness for being so blind, shackled by the morality of the order you had left behind. You may claim not to be bound by their rules, but the sightless indoctrination of your Jedi masters has been seared into your very soul.” Without a thought, the sorcerer ripped the thrumming lightsaber from Arhiia’s hands. “Such a civilized weapon, for an uncivilized time.” Ahriman whispered. His tone had taken on a hue of melancholy, as his he began to drift into the madness of his own history. It was the crack in his hard exterior that had shown itself, a weakness to be exploited by those that were able to drive the blade home. Knowing of this flaw in his being, he steeled himself and tightened his grasp upon the Jedi he held in his iron grasp.
“I will not force you to bend the knee. In that regard you are correct, but in time when you see what comes of your choice… you will call me Master.”
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Ghost
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 17
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Post by Ghost on Dec 22, 2013 21:19:14 GMT -8
Just as the valiant warrior-queen was moments from striking down the vile man standing before her, her eyes widened in surprise as she regarded him with her icy cold stare. Invisible tendrils swiftly entwined themselves around her outstretched wrist, breaking her concentration and averting her from her true goal as she attempted to break the hold of the unseen enemy. Cold numbing sensations shot up her arm as the Ice Queen tried in vain, to carve her way through the darkness and escape the inevitable. Alas, she resigned herself to succumbing to her newfound blindness lest she was able to clearly see the world around her.
Momentarily closing her eyes and drawing upon the currents of the Force violently swirling around her very being, around the path her actions were carving within time and space itself, she harnessed the power and opened her eyes, finally able to see the world as it truly was meant to be perceived. Surprise quickly turned to fear as the oily shadow-esque tendrils suddenly materialized, revealing their impregnable nature as they continued their everlasting pursuit, and wrapped around her lithe form with a fervent pace.
The sorcerer’s laughter was lost on deaf ears. The winds fiercely whipping around my body were all the sensation my auditory system could process. Feet leaving the ground, I looked to the sorcerer with an air of contempt plastered across my delicate features before my struggle began anew. Arhiia jerked her limbs this way and that until finally the tendrils tightened to the point where her muscles no longer obeyed her own command. She was entirely at the sorcerer’s mercy and that did not sit well with her, considering this strange obsession or attraction he seemed to possess towards her.
I could feel the raw energy flowing from his body as it wafted across my skin, causing a tingling sensation to rush through every nerve in my skin. Straining to take a breath, Arhiia suddenly found her lungs bereft of any and all oxygen as she was unexpectedly slammed into the stone pedestal with a loud crash. Shuddering, she stared blankly up at the darkened skies, lit only by the fires of the tempestuous destruction surrounding her, and groaned as fire burned through her veins, the pain finally registering with her brain. I saw stars in my vision as my sight blackened around the edges before sluggishly clearing. Attempting to regain control of my shaking muscles as the darkness held me in place, the sorcerer began to address me and inadvertently allowed a respite in the action so that I gained a chance to recover.
His calm tone lulled me into a false sense of security before my senses returned to me and I began once more to struggle against my ethereal bonds. Arching her back, the Ice Queen screamed in frustration at her inability to gain any headway against the malevolent tendrils, Ahriman’s whispers causing the skin of her neck to prickle as his voice caressed her ears.
And then, surprising even myself, I laughed. Not because I found this situation funny or hopeless, but more because the sorcerer’s madness was beginning to rub off on me. “Do you want to know the most important reason why you will not get me to call you master anytime soon? Fear. Genuine fear. Stomach-clenching fear so intense it makes your blood run cold." Pausing a moment to catch her breath, she resumed speaking in an arrogant tone. "That is what you need to provoke in order to successfully train a slave," Arhiia's icy blue gaze flicked to Ahriman as she emphasized the word slave, one corner of her lips curling up into a lopsided grin, "and one thing that you already ought to know is that I am not afraid.." Licking her lips, she smiled to herself in triumph as her eyes momentarily flashed with an iridescent sheen. "I was a different woman in my past and admittedly, I opted for flexibility in favour of survivability, but now…….now, I no longer kneel to men like you.”
Arhiia was no fool, or perhaps she was for what she had done when first gaining entrance to the vaults of Veeshas Tuwan, it mattered not. Even if she had breached the inner sanctum, her mind would not have consciously remembered what she saw, for she would have found herself gazing into the very folds of time itself. It could never have hoped to process what was, what is, and what could be all at once. Perhaps, the spirit of Veeshas Tuwan itself shielded her from this very fate. Nevertheless, the information held deep within the vault had the potential to create gods among men and the truth was that there were endless possibilities to the way the future could branch off from the now. Sometimes her chains possessed a very physical nature as she stood next to Ahriman on the brink of it all. Other times they were metaphorical in nature as her fate intertwined with his own. She was both willing and unwilling. She was a slave to his will, and yet not a slave. Sometimes even the roles were reversed. The endings were infinite, but there always remained a constant after a certain point in time. She was always by his side, and that fixed point quickly approached whether she knew it or not..
The venom dripped from her words as her lips settled into a sneer and she indifferently turned her gaze back to the sky above her, entirely ignoring the man before her. Ceasing my struggles as I suddenly found myself weaponless, I held deathly still as my expression took on a haughty appearance and I began to conserve my energies, slowly curling them around my body like a protective blanket meant to keep the darkness at bay – both within and without.
“I have not been led to believe that there is anything you can do that will be expected and therefore, you will always have the ability to catch me unaware. However, even though I know you have a perverse enough mind at your disposal to facilitate some horror that would catch me off-guard, I am not afraid of you because we have that shared history.” Voice dropping to not much more than a whisper, Arhiia’s face lost all emotive qualities as wisps of white hair fluttered across her face in the soft breeze and she continued to address Ahriman. “In the end, I have seen you at your most pathetic and weakest points. You are not a god, or a rock, or an unstoppable force of nature, or even Chaos incarnate….You are mortal, blood and skin. Breakable bones and a fragile mind....." Turning her head slowly to regard Ahriman, her arrogance returned to the expression that painted itself across her delicate features, "I can fear some of the things that you will do to me, but fear you personally? .......Never... And that is why you will always fail to break me.”
I cursed inwardly as my body betrayed me, trembling beneath the grip of Ahriman’s will. My pride was wounded, but I resolved myself to never let it show. After considering my options for quite some time, a smirk slowly graced my cherry-coloured lips as I began to approach the tentacles from a different angle. If they could not be destroyed by sheer will, then perhaps they could be repulsed and overloaded. Maybe that would provide a sufficient window of time in which the sorcerer’s concentration would be broken. With that in mind, Arhiia flattened her hands alongside her thighs, applying a mild electric charge across the whole of her body. Slowly the charge picked up and arced around her figure, what only tingled at first quickly descended into an uncomfortable shocking sensation, but the Ice Queen gritted her teeth against it – after all she had experienced far worse.
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Alpharius
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Affiliation: The Rebel Alliance
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Post by Alpharius on Jan 7, 2014 17:53:35 GMT -8
Part One: Varro Calistarious Throughout time immemorial, the frosted dish of revenge has been re-imagined in new and innovative ways. From the destruction of entire solar systems or a simple dueling foil through the heart, the acts of vengeance have evolved alongside the emotions of sentient life. Yet, like the act of war and love, retribution was one of life’s many paradoxes. The way in which one avenged a grievous wrong may have changed as time progressed and technology evolved, but the act had very much remained the same. Despite all the facts that point towards the ever changing state of the galaxy, a balance of stability must be drawn in order for life to thrive. It was the fundamental truth many sentient beings sought to ignore, as they lived out their incredibly short lives; believing that change itself was the only driving force behind the continuity of the universe. Varro pitied those living in blissful ignorance, bound and blinded to what they knew was true - rather than what was the truth. They merely saw the universe in blacks and whites, a severely stark contrast between what is right and what is wrong. It was the same concept applied over and over again throughout the lengthy history of the known universe. Creation and Destruction were merely the two faces of the truth, each right in their own way, however both wrong in others. With his eyes opened to the truth of the galaxy, the blatant fact that balance governs all rather than the forces of good or evil, everything had taken on a shade of gray. To every mighty Sith Warrior, there was a valiant Jedi Knight. To every galaxy spanning Empire, there was an ocean of souls willing to fight for their freedoms. It was an endless cycle that could never be broken, as no matter how hard one side sought to destroy the other, fragments survived only to blossom elsewhere and begin the eternal dance once more.
Ahriman had sought to change that never ending cycle, defying the reality he wallowed in and subjecting it for one more akin to his own tastes. While Varro had agreed to pursue his master’s goals as his own, the Sith warrior believed that his master would fail in the end. The balance of the universe had its own ways to restore what it had lost, and every attempt to change such a truth has and had utterly failed in one way or another. Whatever lay beneath the mountain fortress of the Jedi may make his master more akin to a god than ever before, but the seeds of doubt had burrowed deep. Varro knew that someone just as powerful would come along and usurp the power his master had garnered, thus continuing the cycle of the eternal struggle. The butcher had surmised that if his master were to alter the cycle, forever changing the face of the galaxy, then reality itself would had to be destroyed. If there was nothing left to be balanced by the force, then the cycle could no longer continue upon its present course. A new reality would have to replace the old, given life and shaped by the primordial creator. Though as a servant of the equilibrium, the cycle would merely begin anew as this new reality replaced the one sundered by the will of a single man. Thus to achieve his goals, Ahriman would have to destroy all life in order to control the galaxy and become the master of fate he truly wished to be. Shaking his head at the very paradox his master had pursued, Varro let his mind return to the reality playing itself out before him.
With his augmented arm clasped around his mortal enemy, Varro tilted his head out of vaunted interest. He had been admiring his work, the suffering and agony he had inflicted upon his nemesis’ body as a result of their last encounter some years ago. Burned alive after surviving the crash of his prized Corvette, there was little left of the man whom bore the name Arcanus. Basking in his hubris of superiority, Varro’s grip began to tighten; slowly crushing the metal clad throat of the man he hated most. The sound of metal buckling under his enhanced strength resounded in his ears, driving him ever closer towards the uncontrollable edge of rage. This so called Jedi had slaughtered his entire family and the city he dared to call home, why should he live when his father does not? Why should he lash himself to his master’s desire of ascending to godhood when the man feared someone so broken? Anger began coursing through his system as Varro’s blood began to boil. He wanted to tear the defeated Knight apart with his bare hands, to feel the steaming blood of his mortal foe gush all over his clothes. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to kill this man, but as he watched the Jedi awaken and writhe between his grasp, the warrior’s reason began to reassert its control. The red haze that had begun to shroud his eyes lifted away as he had blinked, leaving nothing but the chaos and fury of nature behind.
Tossing the broken form of Arcanus to the polished surface of the dais, Varro eased the fires raging within his breast and let his blood simmer with a heavy sigh of relief. His master wanted Arcanus for a purpose, and having spent the last few years at Ahriman’s side; He knew that whatever point it would reveal itself to be, would benefit the both of them in the end. The warrior only wished that end would come soon, as he could not restrain himself forever. Turning his gaze away from the pathetic corpse of a man, the warrior closed his eyes to garner a moments respite in order to regain control over the beast residing within his chest. The momentary lapse had proven to be a wasteful expenditure of energy, power that could have been easily directed to tearing the information of the temple’s whereabouts from the fallen Jedi’s mind. It was true that Ahriman had learned of the secret hidden temple located somewhere upon the frozen artic tundra’s of Arkania, yet he could not divine its true location. He knew it was built atop a mountain that obscured the site of Veeshas Tuwan, yet in true Sith fashion its location had been left out so that future generations of both Jedi and Dark Ones would not be able to delve deep and learn the secrets within long thought forgotten.
A rictus grin creased his lips as Varro thought of battering down Arcanus’ mind, and ripping the very location of the Temple from whatever had been left over; after he had savaged the meat within. If he could not kill the man that slaughtered his world, then he would ensure that his last days were most uncomfortable. Moving forward and dropping to a knee, the warrior removed his glove and placed his bare frost touched flesh upon the seared skin of his enemy. Direct communion was established, as Varro’s mind began forcing itself through his arm and bashing at the mental barriers Arcanus had erected. They were the simple blocks he had encountered many times before, fragile surfaces forged from subconscious willpower that defended any and all Jedi from outside forces. Forming the projection of his thoughts into an enormous spiked ball, he battered his willpower against that of his Jedi foe. For what seemed like days, the battle of wills had taken place in the purple miasma of their communion. In the end, as Varro was the more powerful of the two, the barriers protecting the sweet meats of the fallen Jedi’s conscious mind collapsed; letting the Sith through unhindered.His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his essence had invaded that of Arcanus, flickering about in their sockets as the warrior plundered the supple flesh of the fallen Jedi’s mind. Picking through the tattered memories, Varro had found the connective synapses he was looking for. Ripping the information from his mind with such force Arcanus’ body began to submit to the icy grasp of death, it was then that the butcher let the communion shatter by withdrawing his hand from the frigid flesh of his enemy. “That provided me little challenge, Arcanus.” Varro’s words rolled off his tongue with silken venom and the trademark Panathan accent. “My assumption that your mental prowess would fester if your body was broken was proven wrong. You make me sad, Jedi.” It was then that the fallen guardian had stopped groaning in agony, and opened his damaged eyes; defying the death that sought to take his soul. What were once pure blue, like the oceanic coastlines of Anobis, have become milky white and faded azure. Varro watched on as the man tried in vain to turn his gaze upon his mortal foe, biting his tongue in the hopes to stifle a sudden bout of laughter. With a rasping breath, from a throat that was bereft of any moisture, the fallen Jedi spoke. “I am… sorry, Varro, that I caused you… so much pain. You were a child, and deserved… to live your life out with your family… in peace. I -” The fallen Jedi coughed as the cool winter touched air assaulted his vulnerable throat. The simmering anger in Varro’s veins began to boil as he had heard the words spilled from Arcanus’ mouth.“Don’t you even dare, Sunstrider.” His calm and venomous demeanour had faded, as the crimson haze of anger began to take hold. “You were the one to authorize that bombardment, thus you were the one that killed my family. Are you really naïve to believe that I would forgive you, that apologizing for an apparent mistake will bring me back what I’ve lost? As always, Arcanus, you're a damned fool.” Varro snorted, verbalizing his deep seeded disgust for the broken man lying prone before him. “Were it up to me, I would see you thrown to the beasts below. To be eaten alive by the very people you saw fit to protect.” Tearing his gaze away from the fallen Jedi, the warrior shot a glance towards his master. “However, Lord Ahriman needs you for another purpose. The secret vault, that lies beneath your precious and beloved temple.” Varro finished his speech by glowering at the living corpse, gauging his reaction to the revelation. As the broken man’s life preserving mask had been shattered by the surprise attack the warrior had delivered earlier, almost the entirety of his pathetic face was revealed. Nothing but healing and seared flesh dotted the man’s skull, taking on the hue of a pallid and lifeless grey. He looked strangely familiar to someone else he had seen in his dreams, but Varro couldn’t put his finger upon a name.
Hefting the Jedi to his feet and placing Arcanus’ arm about his shoulder, Varro suppressed the flash of revulsion that flooded his system. He hated the concept of even assisting the man in standing; let alone placing his mechanical arm atop his shoulder blades. Yet, swallowing his pride and the hatred that threatened to overthrow his reasoning, the warrior carried his nemesis across the second level of the dais only to move towards the third and final level; where his master now held court…Part Two: Lord Ahriman Behind the metallic veil of his horned mask, Ahriman did everything he could to stifle the bout of laughter threatening to burst through his aged lips. Arhiia’s defiance in the face of death incarnate was admirable, but it was utterly foolish. She believed that fear was the only way that a sentient being would become a slave, though she was right from a certain point of view, there were other ways of garnering a source of genuine free labour. Fear was but the strong man’s tool to keep the weak in line, much like how a shepherd herds his flock by the use of a large wooden crook. There were other ways to garner the supreme loyalty of another, and many weren’t as pleasant as causing the other feel utter terror surge through their system. As his wily foe was a former Jedi master with no doubt a supreme command of the force, drugging her system and forcing her to become an addict was out of the question. She would simply detoxify her blood as soon as the narcotics entered her veins. Thus such a plan would’ve been nothing more than a waste of time, simply due to the powers of the opponent placed before him. So he decided to follow through with a tried and true method of war, one used almost exclusively by the Sith and anyone whom deigns to ally themselves with the bearers of the primordial truth. To the Order of acclaimed darksiders, the meaning of victory was not merely attributed to defeating ones enemy upon the field of battle; but to utterly annihilate him. Victory to the Sith was completely eradicating their foes from the pages of history; scouring the very remnants of their enemies endeavours and achievements. Delivering a true version of defeat that no enemy could ever recover from, thus garnering an absolute victory. Palpatine had fallen short of such a feat being accomplished, as the Jedi Order and the fledgling new born Republic had beaten his trans-galactic Empire. Lord Ahriman would not let such an embarrassing defeat occur upon Arkania, thus he had been prepared for almost every outcome that would take place.
Through deception and trickery, the Fateweaver had struck at the planet with such haste; its defenders had little knowledge they were under assault. Carefully placed pawns within the defense network had learned of the safety nets placed about the sector, an early warning system of the most intricate designs, that would alert the sovereign system of Arkania to any that thought to sail in its waters. Disabled through a series of simultaneous explosions and diversions, the flotilla that bore Ahriman and his following cult slithered into the system with none the wiser. The rag tag fleet that hung about the frozen system in high anchor had been caught off guard and destroyed, while the double agents already in play had disabled the sensor networks effectively blinding the planet. Hypercomm buoys were destroyed by advancing swarms of starfighters, long before a plea for help could be issued and Arkanian reinforcements brought into play. Utter chaos spread throughout the ranks of the Royal Arkanian Navy, as ship after ship was bore open to the void and terrors from the darkest of nightmares had spilled forth from tears seemingly opening in reality. As the flotilla bearing Ahriman and his forces to the planet edged into their allotted places, what remained of the Arkanian defenders had fallen silent, their empty vessels now devoid of life. The army had fallen not long after, as a series of strikes from two fronts had deprived the Arkanian’s of the protection they so desired. Nothing but mounds of corpses dotted the approach to Adascopolis, opposite of the direction in which our intrepid heroes had made their stunning entrance. Each Royal Arkanian soldier had their corpses defiled as the cult of Ahriman made its way into the city, generally unopposed. Flesh was torn asunder and the maddening symbols of the primordial annihilator had been cut into their figures. When the Lord Ahriman had made it to the city centre, leaving behind him a trail of debased bodies of fallen Arkanian citizens, construction began of the ivory dais. Lovingly crafted by the skeletal remains of the victims that have been preyed upon by the Fateweaver‘s followers, and of previously sculpted blocks of stone holding an alabaster colour; the large circular dais began to take shape. It was from there that the man behind everything had begun a ritual that would spark the end of life as the universe knew it. Ancient Sith magic’s were pulled from faded antiquity and thrusted into the present, causing the defiled bodies of the dead and dying to rise again and walk amongst the living once more. However they would do so not as their previous or undead selves, instead they would be mindless automatons of living metal bearing an infection that would never be cured by modern sciences.
This style of waging a war had been an attempt to emulate Darth Sidious’ purge of the Jedi order and Republic thereafter, but as this one-sided war had begun to play out, something else happened instead of what was planned. They had struck fast and suddenly, according to those left alive for questioning, attacking without warning and securing victory before the defenders were even aware there was a danger. Ahriman had smiled then as he did now, when he recalled those words. Arhiia was beaten, and all that remained was her hidden bastion located within a secluded range of mountains. Whilst the woman deigned to flap her mouth and speak of how she would never bend the knee to no man and mouth her oath of defiance, Ahriman’s attention turned towards that of his favoured acolyte. Through the mist of intent he had felt that such a mystery, the whereabouts of this shrouded fortress, had been revealed in the most unsubtle of ways. While the master had approved of such a method, Ahriman would have preferred that the information was drawn out a different way; one that involved plenty of devious trickery. It was then that his menacing eyes turned back towards the prone form of the former Jedi master. Her words, while he believed she intended them to shatter his resolve and cause him to doubt himself, were nothing to him. Ahriman had seen a great many things and listened to even more, having a woman blinded by her hubris decrying his rightfully earned status as god was as commonplace as taking a breath. He knew of the frailties that his body suffered throughout the ages and, that the essence of who he truly was begun to eat away at his soul every time he transferred. Such was the price he had paid in his quest for immortality, even though it was bastardized from the common concept. He could not effectively replicate the nameless Sith Emperor’s ritual, the one that had seen an entire planet of people devoured in a soul stealing tornado. Instead, each and every vessel his soul had been bound to slowly wither under the relentless assault his powers brought. He needed whatever secrets were hidden beneath the planet’s crust, for even though he had stared into the fallen corpses of the beings once considered gods, their clockwork designs held little he could use to sustain his aching and venerable soul. It was after his return from far beyond the outer rim that he began to plunder the treasures of the gods in search for an item that would lead him beyond the shadows, a place he had glimpse into once before. A place that was denied to him in all but fleeting glances, by an unseen being that had once threatened the very fabric of reality and corrupt the balance for her selfish designs.“I have walked among men and angels for thousands of years, Child. Time has no end, no beginning, nor purpose. I have stalked the void between stars; over the corpses of those you call gods, seeking forgiveness for my crimes against the universe itself. Thus was greeted by nothing more than death and destruction. It was then that my eyes were opened, Child, that the veil of what I believed was true was nothing more than a lie.” He stopped his rant, not only to breathe, but to focus less of his concentration upon the binding hold he held over the former Master of the Jedi Order. His heavy robe lifted with his arms as his hands rose towards the stars, arresting their ascent as they came level with his shoulders. However this plan to finish had gone awry, as a jolt of energy surged through his thoughts, utterly shattering the tentacles comprised of pure malice and will. Ahriman faltered slightly as his aged knees parted in an effort to balance his frame. Breathing heavily as the last arcs of the electric jolt had faded from his mind and, serenity was once again established within his conscious thoughts; the Fateweaver chuckled. The sudden attack had been unexpected and the elderly man could do little but laugh at the irony. As fresh air laced with the icy grasp of winter filled his lungs, the Sith lord began anew in a hushed tone.“I thrive upon death and destruction, living only to see the forces of evil triumph over the light. But the balance created before humanity evolved from apes and this galaxy was created, holds the universe fast. Neither side can truly win in this eternal struggle, for the dark can never extinguish the light; nor can the light cast aside the dark. I live in a prison of another’s design, forever cursed to bear witness to another being pull at my strings.” The eerie greenish glow emitted by his masque had faded slightly as he spoke, his eyes drifting away from the prone Jedi and towards the approaching figure of his apprentice. “It is an endless cycle, destined to forever repeat until the very ending of time itself.” He chortled. “And we both know that such a thing will never happen in our or any lifetime. Thus I ask myself, when time seemingly stands still, will the circle be broken? Will I, the supposed Herald of the primordial annihilator, be able to carry out my appointed task and finish what others have worked towards?” With the emerald haze spilling from the slots about his eyes, a small hidden smile splayed across his ancient lips, cracking the venerable flesh in the motion. “With what hides beneath your temple, I believe that I shall truly ascend to godhood. Rather than be consigned to the simple fate of being a powerful abuser of the force’s will, I shall destroy the very fabric of reality with but a thought. Ending the cycle this universe had danced along too since its creation in such a way, that the mythical throne of balance itself… will be split asunder.” As his favoured son and the enemy he had foreseen reached the final level of the dais, Ahriman beckoned the two men closer with a gesture offered up by his extended arms. “Come closer, my son. I have need of your strength.” His tone had taken on the hue of a loving father, hell bent on showing his offspring that an unbreakable bond of love had existed between the two beings. Like the dutiful son, Varro had approached his father like figure and let the living corpse of Arcanus crash to the ground. A gasp of pain was spat from the fallen Jedi, but swiftly shifted into pained but laboured breathing as he tried to turn his head about to gaze upon his companion. The warrior had approached the sorcerer and bent the knee before him, letting his master use his strength to straighten his posture. Even with the heavy cloth forcing the elderly man to slouch, the use of his favoured acolyte’s power was intoxicating. Ahriman had found his control slowly starting to slip, eagerly taking more of his ‘son’s’ life force than he needed. Biting his tongue and drawing blood, the ancient sorcerer breathed heavily and mentally lashed his animalistic nature back into its cage. “Thank you my son.” He said as his hand slowly began to lift from the youthful warrior’s shoulder. The wizened man shifted his gaze back to that of Arhiia and her fallen companion, a pair that was bound together by ties stronger than fate. Using the power of his mind and will, the Sorcerer opened a channel upon his masques internal communicator. “Captain, send a shuttle to the ritual site. Our brother Varro has found the co-ordinates of the temple, and our assault upon this pitiful world shall be complete. You may begin your landing.” Through the speakers built into his helmet, the following words could be heard through the cold and, bitter bite of the wind. :: Understood sire, Shall we cleanse the city to halt the infection's spread? ::Ahriman paused, taking a look at the droves of technobeasts and their larger cousins slowly starting to shuffle towards the dais with menacing slowness. If he and the troupe of cultists he had left behind waited here for much longer, the control they harboured over such a devastating virus could wavier. Resulting in the gathering of warriors, sorcerers and Jedi being devoured whole by the insatiable hunger of the monsters Ahriman had created. He couldn't have that happen, atleast not yet. Well, well, Lady Arhiia. It seems you have a decision to make for us. Shall we be guests at your mountain home, or shall we die as wave upon wave of these creatures devours our flesh whole?” Snapping the fingers of his padded gloves together, the sorcerer donned the appearance of a man beset by an extreme lack of patience. “Chop, chop, my Queen. We haven’t much time.”
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Ghost
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 17
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Post by Ghost on Jan 9, 2014 22:59:07 GMT -8
That Ahriman, an exceedingly clever man, as evidenced by his claim to title and rise to supremacy within the narrow confines of the Sith power structure, would underestimate her could quite possibly be the most foolish and unfortunate choice he had ever made. Or was it that, by some chance, the roles had been reversed when she had not been looking and in fact, it was now she who underestimated he?
As currents of electricity arced brilliantly across Arhiia’s now pale blue skin, she lay prone atop the altar beneath Ahriman’s will. It was not until this singular moment that she finally understood the nature of the vile being fate had chanced to match her up against. The Arkanian had only ever heard the legends weaving epic tales about the few individuals who dared defy the laws of mortality and all of creation for a taste of eternal life. Even as corrupt and misguided as the Sith were, she had been so sure that exaggeration was the driving force behind such accounts.
It was then that the dark foreboding influence of doubt crept in, imposing itself upon that of her own will and confidence. It is that very darkness, which slowly creeps into one’s mind and situates itself at the seat of the soul. It is let in unnoticed and unknowingly, consuming and warping the reality of perception. It feels right in a way that you know it should not. It is as if you desperately need it, regardless of its previous absence, for it is the one thing that makes you feel as if you possess true power and a modicum of control. What remains unrealized until too late, it is the darkness that controls you, your impulses and your desires. The soothing reassurance of darkness descends like a thick fog, bathing you in the cloistered ambiance of protection. So wrong, yet so right. The gentle caress of the darkness, patiently hovering, in the back of your mind makes you feel so incredibly, remarkably alive. . .
Ahriman thought her defeated though and as much as Arhiia did not want to admit it to herself, she wondered briefly if accepting such a fate would not destroy her quite how she imagined.
Her people had either already passed into the force or were not long of this world. Adascopolis was in ruins; the skeleton of the once booming metropolis had become devoid of all meaningful life and ceased to hold significance any further, with the other cities likely meeting Adascopolis’ very fate as well. It was a very real possibility that small pockets of resistance existed beyond the devastated city centres, but they would meet their matches soon enough because she was powerless to help them. The Sith’s attack had come without warning in the middle of the night, so she could only assume that the Arkanian Dominion fleets on stand-by in high orbit had been decimated, reduced to molten slag as the soldiers of the navy cried out in a single voice at the culmination of their lives. She had no doubt Valin gave the Sith a run for their money though, he was never one to go down without a fight and that much brought her a little comfort in this sea of despair. However, it did not change the fact that they all were caught unawares and worse still, no one was coming to their aid, they were utterly and unbelievably alone.
The silence was almost deafening.
But out of that silence rose new sounds more appalling still; a strange ventriloquism of which you could not locate the source, a smothered moan, as if a thousand discords were flowing together into a single key-note. Weird, unearthly, terrible to hear and bear, yet startling with its nearness; the writhing concord broken only by cries of defiance and mourning of lives yet lost. . .
Ahriman may have defeated the once great Jedi Master and former Arkanian Queen, but she was not conquered yet. As long as her heart beat a steady rhythm in concordance with the drums of war, as long as she still had the strength and capacity to draw breath, and as long as she still yet thrived in the realm of the living, her purpose had not been realized to the full extent of her capabilities. If Ahriman wanted to see what her defeat looked like, then Arhiia would be more than delighted to demonstrate for him. Where he had a select few prizes to garner and more than ever before to lose, she was left with nothing. Nothing to lose, but so terribly much to gain. He had made her desperate and she was fairly certain he was not going to enjoy the consequences. Desperation is what made her more dangerous now than ever before; this feeling of defeat, of hitting rock bottom.
Arhiia had not expected her words to have much effect on the Sith before her, so it was no surprise that he merely appeared to shrug them off before continuing with his irrational rhetoric. She was nothing; uncontested and absolutely nothing to him, no more than a mere inconvenience in his eyes, like a buzz-beetle to a ronto. Arhiia was entirely fine with that and intended to use it to her advantage. She would take pleasure in employing Ahriman’s own ignorance against himself.
It is not always the strongest, most intelligent, or the most prominent individuals who make the largest of differences. Every now and then it is the ordinary people who get caught up in the whirlwind of heroism; the quiet, unassuming, unnoticed, and unacknowledged. On such occasions, it is the smallest, most insignificant individuals that influence such variation in outcomes to a greater extent than others. It is they who have the ability to change the tides of fate.
As the electricity streaking through the neural pathways of her body reached the point of convergence in which the dark tentacles of Ahriman’s will were shattered, Arhiia felt a rush of sensation return to her lithe body. The numb coldness of despair slowly melted away in the face of the warmth that bled into every facet of her being, courtesy of the Force. Where she wanted to shout in triumph, it was but a small victory to win her freedom from the relentless advance of his will incarnate and Arhiia knew full well that luck was the only reason she prevailed. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her body as she twisted it sideways and pulled her legs beneath her, shifting to a semi-upright position to rest on the palm of one hand. It took every ounce of her strength to accomplish that which she proceeded to do next whilst the Sorcerer recovered to continue his senseless rambling, his attention momentarily occupied elsewhere and not concentrated solely upon her or her actions. Keeping her mouth shut, Arhiia wasted no energy on attempting to talk some sense into the Sith before her, it was exceedingly clear now that he would never see reason. Strands of white hair had escaped from the braid that trailed down her back, drifting in the wild abandon of the biting wind as she leveled her icy blue gaze upon Varro as he entered their intimate conversation. For all intents and purposes, she appeared a woman defeated. Dirt and grime seemingly blended with her complexion, smeared across her skin and marring her otherwise delicate features. Her usually pristine midnight blue robes were spattered with blood that was not her own, the silken material tattered, scorched, and torn in various places. Yet she somehow retained a regal air about her and no matter how much dirt or blood covered her, it could not conceal her hidden splendor.
Arhiia’s eyes momentarily drifted as she followed Arcanus’ inevitable collision with the ground, her lips briefly parting as if she were going to call out to him before they narrowed into a thin line instead and a resigned look of sorrow reflected in her gaze as his armour clattered against the stone upon impact. Behind such sorrow though, her eyes briefly lit up with a fire barely contained, burning with such intensity that made clear she was not as defeated as she otherwise appeared to the Sith around them. Not daring to break the eye contact between her and Arcanus, thereby allowing him to perceive the world around him as it truly was rather than how it appeared, Arhiia’s attention remained riveted upon him until Ahriman spoke her name.
The moment her eyes snapped to the Sith, she was suddenly and inexplicably standing right there before him. Her face mere inches from his own, she drove a small jagged shard of metal, about half the length of her forearm, upward between his ribs. Arhiia’s irreconcilable actions and the shimmer then following dissipation of her form seated on the pedestal appeared to occur simultaneously to the untrained eye, such was the case with elaborate illusions. The young Arkanian woman’s face remained frighteningly emotionless as she looked up into the Sith’s eyes, her pupils dilating within the icy depths of her irises. Twisting the shard of metal into Ahriman, having spent the moments before retrieving it from a fallen technobeast when his attention had been elsewhere, her control finally slipped as her face contorted in a wide range of emotions.
Anger, the most potent emotion driving her actions, resonated from the former Jedi Master as she stood toe to toe with the Fateweaver and stared him down. Internally, Arhiia rationalized her anger in such a way that it began to resemble justice; Ahriman brought this upon himself and she could no longer be held accountable for her actions. She took no pleasure in harming another being, perceiving this as merely the means to the end. Anger was not the sole emotion steering her towards this inevitable end, there was something more profound, more forbidden than even that. Love, a powerful emotion in itself, provided ample motivation to action and afforded the Arkanian woman a dangerous edge. Ahriman had destroyed all that comprised her identity as an Arkanian in one fell swoop, everything that gave her life meaning was suddenly gone, and she was not about to allow him to take Arcanus from her too. For the longest time, he had been the one person who always stood by her side no matter the consequences. Something stronger than even fate itself brought them together in the most peculiar of ways and while Arcanus had, more oft than not, been her salvation, it was her turn to repay the favour.
“Let’s see you thrive upon your own death and destruction.” Arhiia hissed as she narrowed her eyes, giving the shard of metal one final twist as the Sith’s blood slowly trickled down over her hands and arms, its warmth penetrating the thick leather of her gloves before dripping onto the pristine white stone, the brilliant red colour stark in comparison. “Come, show us how immortal you truly are, Sith..” She spoke in an arrogant tone, her Arkanian accent thickly resonating as she taunted him.
The deed completed, she unconsciously took a few steps backward to examine the results of her actions before tossing Arcanus a furtive glance, as if she knew she was on a suicide mission from the very start. Quite suddenly, flashes of sapphire and silver quickly blocked her from sight as she was smothered by nearly a dozen of the unoccupied cultists that were milling about atop the dais. Throwing a punch and snapping off a single kick, Arhiia was only able to repel two of the men that had swiftly descended upon her before she was overpowered and thrown to the ground. It was not much of a fight nor was it meant to be, she suspected the Sith were growing weary of her constant defiance.
~Your stubbornness... you know, the reason that you always got into those situations that required my healing... that came from your father~
Hitting the ground with a large thunk, Arhiia groaned in pain, assuming that a few ribs had been bruised in the mad scramble to regain control over her. A small smile slowly spread its way across her lips as her father’s words echoed in her mind. Under normal circumstances, Master Coral would have been more likely to scold her for her stubbornness, but she thought he would have approved of it just this once.
Several of the cultists hauled Arhiia back up to her feet once they gained a firm grip on the upper part of her arms and wrists. The former Jedi Master was not on her feet for long before she once again found herself making acquaintances with the ground when one of the cultists kicked her legs out from beneath her, forcing her to drop to both knees before the two Sith looming over her.
~You get that strength from your mother you know~ It was plainly visible to her father, so why was she having so much trouble summoning the strength she desperately knew existed within her? Where had the confidence disappeared to, that she seemed to have in overabundance only moments ago. In this singular moment, Arhiia finally understood what the Sith were doing to her – they were systematically breaking her – one piece at a time. It was not enough to just annihilate her homeworld, to wipe her civilization off the map, and murder everyone she held dear – no, to break her, to truly ruin her – they had to quietly deprive her of control and force her to comprehend the fact that she was incapable of destroying a monster without being consumed by the very force that drove these Sith. Only after she understood her fate, was Arhiia able to accept it. She was powerless to stop these Sith, they were going to break more than her will; they would completely destroy her in such a way that she had no hope of ever recovering, but what they could not influence were the series of events they just set in motion.
The young Arkanian woman’s expression shifted to one of amusement as a smirk painted itself across her flushed lips and she finally turned her hateful gaze up towards the two Sith before her, strands of white hair messily hanging in her face. “It matters not that you know the location of the temple.” Arhiia spoke in a quiet tone, one side of her mouth still curled into a smirk. She was taunting them again, but this time she truly did have a piece of knowledge they had yet to possess. “I’ll die before I open that vault for you...” She knew if Varro had pulled the coordinates of the temple from Arcanus’ mind, then it was likely that he also now knew of the only means by which they would be able to secure what they sought.
The security layers that surrounded and protected Veeshas Tuwan were nigh impregnable, secured tighter than a twi’lek dancer’s slave collar. Arhiia and Arcanus were the only keys that would grant access and she knew that neither of them would willingly provide it to these Sith. And it was not as if the knowledge that enabled them to pass through the vault unharmed, could be extracted from their minds much as the coordinates of the temple were from Arcanus’. Idly, Arhiia pondered the ramifications of opening the vault for these Sith. She and Arcanus had only ever traversed bits and pieces of the outer sanctum of Veeshas Tuwan and that, in itself, was quite the adventure. Time and time again, the two lost Jedi found themselves challenged by the very vault itself, daring only to barely step foot into the inner sanctum before deciding they valued their own lives over satisfying their curiosity. Arhiia did not know precisely what was contained within the inner sanctum, only that whatever lay within was tainted by death -- a darkness so vile, she needed no evidence to know it was hidden for a very good reason -- and the path therein would be the end of any mortal being.
Arhiia suspected that she knew only a fraction of the dangers that awaited all who entered the inner sanctum of Veeshas Tuwan, but after Ahriman's rant, she had an idea of what he thought was hidden deep within the confines of the mountain and what he sought to accomplish. The Arkanian woman did not believe what he proposed to be possible and briefly considered the consequences. She and Arcanus were nearly killed when they unknowingly stumbled upon the vault, so surely death would follow such an extensive exploration of it, there was no way the Sith could survive such a thing. So truly, would it be such a crime for her to open the vault for these Sith if it would surely lead them to their deaths?
Arhiia Concordia, she who had made the philosophers of the Order cease questioning. She; who fanned the madness of emperors, toppling the dominion of several who claimed the right to the title of Sith’ari, and who solemnly stood watch while their lands, fleets, and armies burned at the stake. She, who had defeated Sith Lords and overcome her own family’s treachery. She had killed millions and resigned the minds of just as many to the internal confines of their eternal prison. She is bitter and twisted and broken and brilliant, yet somehow fervently grasping and unwilling to relinquish her last shred of morality. A soldier with a vengeance, a rose with sharp thorns, a heroine seeking revenge. Yet, despite all she had been able to accomplish in her short existence, she still remained powerless to save all she held dear.
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Alpharius
Member
Posts: 400
Affiliation: The Rebel Alliance
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Alpharius on Mar 2, 2014 16:26:02 GMT -8
Like the forgotten son of a false deity, the Lord Ahriman was pieced by the bitter cold sensation of steel. The jagged piece of scrap that this Jedi woman held within her grasp had surged through the heavy cloth of the Dark Lord’s cloak, breaching the gnarled flesh beneath. Rivulets of blood began pouring down the length of the scrimshawed blade; sharing the warmth and passion of Ahriman’s lifeblood with the very woman he sought to destroy. The pain surging through his system was like no other, as he was certain that he would forever be doomed to live out the rest of his days in the immaterial realm that many considered the afterlife. He felt as if he was dying, for the energies flowing within his veins had begun to simmer and subside. It was a sensation that he did not desire to experience again, yet as he sought to alter the natural balance of things – Death would become his forlorn lover. Suddenly accepting that fact and letting the world around him fade into various shades of black, the Lord Ahriman’s eyes suddenly flickered open. The powers that the mortals had labeled as the driving force behind the veil of reality, had bequeathed unto him a vision of the future. One of the many paths he would walk in the pursuit of the forbidden knowledge hidden beneath the Temple in the mountains. Letting a sneer cross his aged lips at the experience this otherworldly boon had given him, the Dark Lord began formulating a plan so devious – he knew that it would drive this Jedi Queen into a fit of uncontrollable rage. When such an event had occurred, that was when his men would find themselves bringing her into their violent embrace. In one way or another, Arhiia of the House Concordia, would finally bow down to him in supplication.
As he spouted his religious rhetoric like a preacher of old idolatry, the Dark Lord had begun summoning the power flowing freely within his veins and bending it to his will. The force was a malleable thing, forever more to be shaped by those sensitive enough to influence its currents. Thus behind the veiled metallic surface of his helm, he secretly began to mould the energies within himself into a corporeal form. He knew that the Jedi Queen would take advantage of this apparent weakness, using his supposed disinterest with her mortal flesh as an opportunity to take up arms against her fate. When this woman had taken the jagged piece of one of his monsters into the palm of her hand, a sad remnant of a being whose fate was to be nothing more than chaff before the scythe of obsession, the Dark Lord had released his powers in the most subtle of manners. The energy coursing through his veins poured into the realm of reality, drawing back the curtain of obscurity and forcing every sentient being to witness the death of Lord Ahriman. Easily confused for the shimmering surface of the dais, as the sun broke through and bathed those standing upon its surface in Olim’s warm embrace; the illusion took hold. A corporeal clone of the Dark Lord stood his ground as the Jedi woman surged forth, ramming her scrimshawed blade into Ahriman’s heart. The clone began to bleed, exactly as the vision had shown the Dark Lord himself bleeding. The manufactured vision of his crimson vitae spilling across the very real edge of her blade filled the thoughts of everyone surrounding the two. Its warmth too; was created by the culmination of past experiences surging through the unguarded sections of the woman’s mind – left unprotected by the sudden tidal surge of anger.
Ahriman himself walked free of the deadly embrace as the Icy queen spat forth her venomous oratory, demanding the clone of the Dark Lord to reveal just how immortal he would truly be, before his cabal jumped at the chance to avenge their master. Sending a single dominating thought pulse throughout their minds, they reneged upon their sudden outburst of anger- channeling it into an effort that brought the Jedi queen to her knees before the falling illusion of their master. It was a great shame that his newest acquisition felt obliged to deny him the answers he sought, in regards to opening the vault beneath the mountain fortress. She was stubborn in the face of adversity, he thought to himself as his figure flickered back into existence behind the coughing form of his shadow clone. Standing tall as the arcing energies of the force trailed across the surface of his cloak, the Dark Lord began to laugh –dryly. It rose in octaves as the fleeting moment of realization passed through the gathered cultists, resulting in murmured praises of power and gasps of awe. He could only imagine the feeling of hatred coursing through the Arkanian offshoots veins as the illusion began to fade. While it still retained any solidity within the mortal realm, Ahriman grasped onto his clone’s horned helm and tore it free from his formerly positioned self’s embrace. Throwing the metallic mater to the ground, it made no sound as it impacted with the stone; instead the helmet vanished in a puff of transparent smoke. The dry laughter had culminated into a raucous roar of triumph, as the figure that Arhiia impaled was revealed to be none other than her closest confidant; Arcanus Sunstrider.
His seared flesh glistened as the light began to fade, swallowed whole once more by the broiling tempest. The silvered eyes, damaged by the inflicted flame of vengeance, stared out through the lidless eyes flecked heavily by betrayal. The Illusion spoke with his voice, damaged by the fire and pained by the impaled dagger planted within his chest, but resonated with his infamous Courscanti inflections. “Arhiiaa… Why… Why did you betray me?” The moulded flesh puppet spoke, mimicking the pain inflicted upon him by the jagged blade. “After all we had been through… After the moments of... connection we had shared… Why?” The damaged eyes of the meat puppet had welled with pools of mercury, the treachery of her act laid bare for all to witness. The mirage lowered its head as if in a solemn prayer, letting the tails of mercury spill from his sunken eyes and mix with the crimson liquid of his blood. “I thought we were the best of friends Ari… Now I know what you truly thought of me…” The venom in his dying throat became apparent as the image of Arcanus’ kneeling form summoned what remained of its strength to enforce the finality of its existence. “Nothing more… than a simple puppet,” The illusion began to fade, dissipating as any being tied to the malignant realm of the force did when their mortal lives had come to an end.
“To be discarded whenever you pleased.” Ahriman had finished, when the illusion had finally come to an end. His bought of laughter had echoed throughout the broken city, long after he had finished generating the bombastic tune. “While it is a sad fact that you will die before assisting me in opening the doors of the vault, I can promise a painful and shame-wrought end for everyone within your mountain retreat. There will be no survivors, as your students and trusted brothers are assailed from without as within.” He smiled, letting his tongue slather the vellum of his lips with ancient spittle. “Yes, my Jedi friend, I have sowed the seeds of corruption within your occult temple – turning students to my cause with nothing more than simple nightmares. I pity those that deny the truth I bring, for they shall die a thousand deaths as the heretics of old idolatry did. Burned at the stake in the fires of illumination, then they will then know the errors of their wayward ways.” With the Jedi queen bound in place by the strength of his inner cabal, the Dark Lord turned his attention toward the swirling tempest swirling above. Breaking through the skies, casting back the clouds as if they were nothing more than a minor annoyance, a shuttle began its descent. The vessel was remarkedly imperial in its design, sloping alabaster plates draped over a simplistically human designed hull. It carved a pre-determined path through the atmosphere, slicing the molecules in the air asunder as it roared towards the pearlescent dais. Within minutes, the shuttle craft began hovering upon gravity defying streams emanating from its respulsors; the yawning mouth underneath the cockpit opened in anticipation of boarding passengers. Varro and the broken, yet living form of Arcanus were the first to accept the blatant invitation, whilst the others began to slowly withdraw into the belly of the beast. The men holding down the Jedi Queen forced her to her feet, using the ever shifting tides of the force to strengthen their grasp upon her corporeal form; they boarded soon after the favoured son of Ahriman and his arch-nemesis.
When they had entered the metallic mouth of the Lambda-class shuttle, Arcanus was secured within one of the flight couches, bolted into place by the crash harness. Several cultists were secured upon the very same couch, relishing the rancid smell of the Jedi’s necrotic flesh. One of the men had taken the liberty of running his gloved hand across the seared skin of the Jedi Knight, savouring the stink of fetid decay made manifest. The Dark Lord had little choice as to who fate had decreed would live within his organization, a fact made apparent by the personalities and fetishes adorning each member of his cabal. Ahriman allowed such transgressions to take place, however, as it fostered the mirage of loyalty from each and everyone within his Cults embrace. The venerable sorcerer had been the last to board the vessel, letting the trailing curtails of his cloak flicker about as the cabin began to pressurize. When the frigid air of Arkania’s surface had been dispelled by the warmth of the shuttle’s reactor, the elderly Sith removed his horned helm to sit comfortably within the padded couch. His face was bound by a cloth wrap, as if to shroud his features and assist in combating the icy tendrils of the planet’s surface. Placing the massive mask upon his lap and turning his mummified gaze towards the womanly figure –bound in place by the crash harness and the stern hands of two muscle clad Cultists- across from him, his silvered eyes burrowed deep into his enemies gaze. She hated him, that much was clear, but to what depth did this seeded anger descend? Surely it could not be to her very core, for that would simply be too easy for him to hold a measure of emotional power over her.
Brushing the question off as the ion engines of the shuttle craft ignited into a thunderous roar, the Dark Lord let the ghostly echo of a smile splay across his aged lips. As the smile parted to make way for what was to come, he felt the sensation of triumph flutter through his veins. Ahriman had won this battle, but while the future was still uncertain in every mutable sense, he would relish the chaos he had inflicted this day. Several seconds of silence passed them by, as Ahriman’s jaw began to click wide. He was dancing with the ideas of how to phrase his next speech in a form of rhetoric that the Jedi would appreciate. When the words had been found among the purple miasma of his mind, the elderly man’s tongue slathered his lips with spittle in anticipation for her reaction. “Nearly seven years ago, this broken knight and you had found yourselves upon the embattled surface of a farming world- known as Anobis. The most costly battle between our two organizations in recent years, ending thousands of supplicant lives upon both sides. It was reported that the resurgent Republic was the one to end the battle, a swift and decisive victory at the cost of an entire city.” He paused to turn his eyes towards the towering behemoth that bore the name of Varro Calistarious. “It was also known, though whispered in the darkened annals of the Jedi temples, that the man known as Varro –birthed by the fires brought down upon the surface of that peaceful world- would one day bring forth the truth that I bear. In words that can easily surmise what he should mean to you – he is the Sith’ari in our tongue and the chosen one in yours.” Venom began coating his words as he carried on, his tone becoming more and more acidic with every word that eclipsed his aged lips. “It is by that right he had hunted down the Strider of Suns, casting him down from his pedestal of hubris and breaking the puppet upon an anvil of war. Now, as it pertains to you, Varro shall one day become the penultimate being. That path, much like how the power of Arcanus began to wane, will begin with three simple words.”
“Commence the bombardment.”
In the span of a heartbeat, the colossal mass of the Favoured Son sprang into action, tearing the Jedi Queen from her restraint harness and forcibly slamming her face onto the shuttlecrafts viewport; forcing her to witness the benediction of a man bereft of mercy. Beyond the expanse of the vessel, there lay the city of Adascopolis, broken and battered by Ahriman’s devastating assault and the ruinstorm brought down upon the surface by his ritual. In the shattered heart of this city-husk, a divine beam of light struck down from the heavens, tearing the rising tempest asunder with its thermo-nuclear energy. The city of ice and steel melted under the thunderous impact yet was not spared the mercy of a quick and expedient death. Several crimson bolts followed swiftly after, pounding the surface into rivulets of windblown ash. The bombardment from the heavens had lasted several minutes, ensuring that all life and the remnants of the city itself were turned to molten slag. Whilst the act of desecration took place, Varro’s fingers pressed Arhiia’s supple flesh further into the surface of the viewport, ensuring that she watched the display of fireworks and death. However the acolyte felt as if she would shut herself off from the debilitating sight and flee to the gentle tides of her mind. He had to find a way to keep her consciousness from receding in upon itself. The behemoths free hand snaked its way across her lithe figure, silent clicks and whirrs of his mechanical augmentations announcing his pleasure in enforcing the dominance of his gender upon the weakened form of the opposite sex. There was something about her womanly frame that enticed the Sith warrior to explore her body further, thus prompted him to slip a trembling hand beneath her robes. His pattern of breathing became almost animalistic, as his flesh spare fingers ran along the silken textured parchment of her torso.
Whispering softly into her ear, the Sith let the pastel colour of satisfaction paint his every word as they slipped passed his lips. “There is nothing more intoxicating than the scent of death, Jedi.” He said, letting his tongue flicker through the black iron chips that replaced his natural teeth. The saliva coated muscle licked the emptiness of the air beside her ear, before retreating back into the safety of his punctured orifice. “It’s cloying stench hangs heavily upon your form, Arkanian, and were we not in the middle of a crowded shuttle upon a dying world, I would make you mine.” His intrusive adventure beneath the torn remnants of her soiled Jedi robes had ended as his skin clad digits trailed towards the peaks of the mountain ranges. “However, that’s not to say once we have brought your fortress walls down I shall leave you to your devices. I am but a man, and have need of many desires to sate; in order to strengthen my resolve as a Warrior. Your lithe figure entwined with mine shall suit the purpose well, Arhiia Concordia…”
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Ghost
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 17
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Post by Ghost on Mar 17, 2014 18:39:02 GMT -8
The taunting smile quickly faded from the Ice Queen’s rosy lips as they pulled into a crisp line, her expression hardening as the realization dawned on her. She had been denied her desire to see the Sith before her left bereft of life. The dehumanizing gaze of her icy blue eyes traced over Ahriman before attention was drawn towards the epoch of his illusive cleverness and the moment his revelation swept over her, Arhiia’s heart broke at the mere sight.
Face paling, she felt the tears brim in her eyes, but not spill over as the ice of cold determination sealed up the fresh wounds in her heart. The Arkanian felt it in her throat, her vision blurring from the tears held back. She could no longer breathe, yet all she wanted to do in that moment was scream, there was only silence. Stomach heaving, she leaned forward in the grip of her captors, bowing her head – they were all that held her upright any longer. Not even her pride could save her now. Arhiia’s body went numb as she slowly raised her head and looked upon the figure of the man who had encouraged her to experience, to embody, to become so much more than others were allowed to be in these grim times. The once delicate features of her face twisted in agony as she looked at her friend before her. She had done that.
"Arcanus," she forced out, her voice not much more than a trembling whisper. Closing her eyes, she spoke to him in a thousand silent ways because she could not bear to witness the vengeance that reflected in his gaze. His words tore into her very being, searing her soul with daggers of betrayal. Her lips formed two singular words before she turned away from the gruesome scene, "I’m sorry.."
This was apparently the price she paid for her love, as forbidden as it was.
From one illusionist to another, it was often difficult to hide the imperfections of one’s craft. Out of the corner of her eye, Arhiia caught the tell-tale shimmer and uncanny movements as Ahriman’s illusion dissipated, immediately sobering upon recognition that her heart-strings had been tugged like a mere puppet. She could feel the Sith’s influence all around her, the tangled brambles of him invading every crevice of her mind – seeping into her senses and scrutinizing the memories that had been left unprotected by her rage.
A soldier looks down between her feet and sees she is millimeters away from a mine. She looks up and into the distance. More mines. Every step between here and now would be a silent battle against the quiet rage that burned within her. It was the rage that kept her strong, the rage that kept her going, but also the rage that destroys her from within. She’s in Chaos battling demons she will never defeat; her rage and her darkness will always be a part of her.
The Arkanian woman inwardly struggled against her pride and arrogance, fighting back the venomous words she wished to throw in the face of the Sith. There was no point; it would never be to her advantage. “You underestimate my students.” She said proudly, losing the battle with her Arkanian blood. Then again, she never did mount much resistance. It was always easier to give in to the inner dissonance. “If there is one lesson I’ve imparted to them, it’s how to survive when the odds are infinitely against you.” With her pride satisfied, she turned her head from the dark-sider and allowed her gaze to wander off to an undefined point in the distance, indicating that she was done speaking with him.
Idly, Arhiia wondered at his words and the truth they concealed. She had not sensed the planting of such seeds of corruption within her temple, but then again the temple was meant to be the shining light to blot out the darkness that was Veeshas Tuwan, so would she have even noticed? In its brilliance, her plan appeared to possess several fundamental flaws – and now she, as well as anyone else who stood in Ahriman’s path, would pay the price.
Turning her eyes towards the swirling nimbus of the sky, the Arkanian warily regarded the shuttle as it descended upon the dais. She had a feeling she was not going to be overly fond of what followed. Rough and calloused hands pushed her forward and crudely pulled her to her feet, her boots dragging on the stone as she fought for purchase. Her momentary struggle against the anonymous hands driving her forward earned her a reprimand as a boot connected with the side of her knee, very nearly causing her to topple over as she bit her lower lip in effort to hold back an exclamation of pain.
As the former Jedi Master was paraded past her once student aboard the shuttle, she glared at those taking pleasure in his suffering with disdain in her eyes. Secured separate from Arcanus, a small smile graced Arhiia’s lips. They were fast learners. The smile quickly dissipated as the Arkanian woman found herself face to face with the elderly Sith. Unconsciously, she leaned forward against the strength of her captors as she balled her hands into fists, earning herself yet another reprimand as the cultists serving as her babysitters slammed her back against the flight couch and placed their hands at her shoulders to ensure she learned her place.
The sunlight, which had been driven from her face over these past few days, now was replaced by the dampened ember glow of a fury barely kept in check. It was clear Arhiia was seething with hatred for the man sitting before her, she abhorred him. However, such anger did not anchor itself within her soul. To hate so intensely, so fervently, would have indicated that she had once loved deeply. She had shared no such feelings for this man, though the irony did not elude her – a Jedi is encouraged to love all unconditionally, even those that would forever remain strangers in their acts of heroism. To allow her hatred to become so deep-rooted would be akin to allowing him a measure of power over her. Arhiia would never permit that.
“You’re going to lose.” The pale-skinned Arkanian said in an even tone as she met Ahriman’s gaze, appearing the polar opposite of the passionate rage swirling within her very being, resembling the tempest of a hurricane. Outwardly, Arhiia regained her composure and adopted a tranquil expression. “You deceive yourself if you believe your meagre group of cultists will remain loyal in your stead. They lack conviction of heart and while you possess such in abundance, they will easily bend whichever way the winds blow.” She turned her gaze towards Arcanus. “I will do everything in my power to protect those I love… and you’ve no idea the nature of the enemy you just made.” She whispered softly, her voice taking on a melancholy tone as an uncomfortable silence settled across the passenger compartment once more and momentarily left her to the machinations of her mind.
Later, when she attempts to pinpoint the exact moment where everything went off the rails, Arhiia thinks it might have occurred from the beginning. It started innocently, but innocence is a thing to lose…always.
The Sith’s sudden break from silence parted her from the prison her mind had quickly become. As her vision slowly refocused, Arhiia regarded his appearance of amusement with a cold expression of defiance. She remembered Anobis quite clearly – the world she had once embraced before setting it alight, forever in denial of the proposed lesson it was meant to impart. Turning her silvered eyes, she gazed upon Varro, the Sith warrior had finally been named. She studied him intently as Ahriman’s words flowed over her without resistance.
However, the Arkanian woman’s breath hitched at Ahriman’s last declaration: “Commence the bombardment.” Pupils dilating, Arhiia’s body tensed as her head darted over to the viewport, desperately seeking the truth, yet vehemently hoping to whatever deities were listening that it never materialised. A look of panic briefly flitted across her visage before being stifled from her penetrating composure and in the midst of it all, she was taken by surprise as the Sith warrior violently tore her from her reverie.
A soft groan of discomfort slipped past her lips as Arhiia collided with the transparisteel viewport, bracing with her hands against the sudden weight of the man pressing into her from behind. Bouncing once against the viewport from impact, the Ice Queen threw herself back into Varro, but was met with naught but staunch resistance and only forced further into the viewport. Choking back a sob, she watched with a forlorn and defeated look in her eyes, as the first turbo laser bolt bit into the ground, atomizing any being unlucky enough to be caught in its path, sending detritus – and other various debris from the buildings struck – flying into the air. Without delay, the once glorious city was shrouded in clouds of dust as the heavens parted and the fires of Chaos reigned over all, sowing devastation and ruin as the city met its end with thunderous applause.
This was how it would begin, how the Sith would finally begin to ruin everything she was and ever would be – so commenced the deterioration of her will.
Closing her eyes and turning away from the ghastly scene, Arhiia retreated inwards as her heart broke in two and she fought to maintain her strength in the face of such desolation. Even this would end and Olim would rise once more on the morrow, but it brought no comfort to her weary soul. With each strike of the orbital bombardment, the Arkanian woman swore she could feel the destructive power resonate within her very being and it only reinforced her perception of weakness and subjugation. She could feel them – the suffering, the confusion, the eventual resignation and acceptance of their fate – each and every one of them, all of them; her people were dying and here she was, powerless to protect them. Or was her powerlessness merely an illusion, laced with malevolent intentions, planted by the very Sith here before her? Were that the case, then she was nothing more than a coward who chose to pretend a lack of influence over this situation rather than take responsibility and fight for what she believed in. The wandering of her mind was brought to an abrupt end as she found herself suddenly confined and surrounded by the Sith warrior. His foul smell lingered in her nostrils and she swiftly became aware of his proximity to her. The Arkanian woman shrunk away from his touch as his fingers ghosted over bare skin where her discarded cloak had once offered protection, causing a shiver to descend over her body as goose bumps followed in its wake. Pressed further into the viewport, she was painfully aware of what he was doing as her attention was divided between his movements and the death from above, searing the reminder of her failure upon her consciousness. The goal was to keep her attention on the here and now – and Varro was doing a marvelous job.
Arhiia shifted to look over her shoulder at him as an involuntary shudder swept through her lithe figure upon contact with the coolness of his metal mechanical hand. Her breathing hitched once more as he pressed into her, making it quite clear where he believed her rightful place was as he whispered into her ear. “I find it hard to believe that a crowded shuttle would stop such a powerful man as you from simply taking that which you desired... No, it has to be something else.” She paused, eyes locked in a callous gaze as she spoke rather matter-of-factly in a mocking tone; her expression deathly serious as she not only played with fire, but also strutted through it. “Your impotence, perchance? Or perhaps you merely lack the proper equipment to get the job done.” The Arkanian woman said pointedly as her eyes drifted back over her shoulder to his prosthetic hand before meeting his gaze once more, a look of challenge shared between two opposing forces, and casually brushed his wandering hand away as if he were merely some romantic interest rather than the powerful Sith she knew him to be.
Arhiia knew full well what she was doing, but she also knew that she was safe with the knowledge that Varro could not yet harm her beyond recovery lest he wished to incur the wrath of his master. The Sith needed her intact and entirely sane to open the vault for them. Truly, she was not as powerless as she first perceived herself to be for what had she to lose now?
“Touch me again and I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible...” There are those who mean to do us harm. To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. There was something dark, vile, even perverse, about the way Arhiia addressed the Sith warrior; alluding to her inner turmoil, destroy what destroys you. Beneath the rage lies a broken woman, destroying planets in her wake, patched together from so many mismatched parts. Calm and quiet lies beneath the rage, passion and desire, a soul on fire. Lifting her chin, Arhiia slowly brings her eyes to his and smiles, softly but cynical. Her smile widens, as if threatening to eat him alive and her eyes soften with madness...
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Alpharius
Member
Posts: 400
Affiliation: The Rebel Alliance
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Alpharius on Jul 22, 2014 20:37:28 GMT -8
Anger surged through his veins like a noxious tidal wave. She not only refuted his near violent advances, but mocked his very manhood! Lesser women had died painful and agonizing deaths for such repugnant remarks. Oh how he wanted plunge his augmented fists into this woman's chest, to make her watch as her very life began spilling out before her. Would she then use her virulent and vile tongue to lash out at him when she lay there dying? No, it was doubtful she would. Varro mused that she would scream in her torment, most likely an inhuman shrill at the sight of her raw and bleeding essence beating outside her lithe and ashen form. The sound she would make as her life had struck its final chord, the mere thought of it had given rise to something all to familiar within the barbarian's breast. It was something akin to pleasure, yet upon an entirely different level. He wanted to enact upon his fantasy, to coat these lusterless bulkheads with her vital crimson fluids, yet something at the back of his mind had slowly began to dissuade him from such barbaric deeds. Almost instantaneously he knew who it was, and turned towards this siphoning presence. How dare he take this moment away from me? Varro silently raged, subconsciously feeding more of his anger into the mindlocked channel. His fiery wrath was soon torn from the incumbent form of the soiled Jedi master, and fixated upon the emaciated form of his master. His augmented face contorted into a bestial snarl as their eyes had locked, yet soon after the Lord Ahriman's eyes pulsed a vivid emerald, an uncharacteristic sense of tranquility soon over took the warrior's titanic frame. His taut muscles, hidden by the bulk of his ebon sapphire cloak, loosened and relaxed under the bright and blinding aura created by his master's influence."Sit down... Whelp." Lord Ahriman hissed through clenched teeth. "You are not to touch her again, until I tell you so. She has to remain pure of thought for the next phase of my plan, I cannot have you muddle her thoughts with anger and ecstasy just yet." The Dark Lord paused for a moment, tearing his gaze from his newly restrained hound and placing it upon the violated form of the Ice Queen. Though he was only partially envious of his favoured son getting his paws all over her silken form, Ahriman could not help but feel a small measure of pride for what his apprentice had done. Had Varro not intervened, she would have looked away from the chaos he had wrought. However, as it had turned out, she was assaulted two fold! He couldn't have thought of a better plan of attack himself. Well, technically he had already done so, it was just he had no desire to watch his favoured son defile this woman whilst she still retained some use. "Do not think that you are safe from Varro, Lady Concordia." His tongue had slowly began to engorge upon the power taken from the Barbarian, adjusting within his diminished mouth and refining the hoarse words he spoke with. Instead of the aging whispers that spilled through the slit of his helm, his voice had become more vital and filled with a loving admiration. Though the voice was almost entirely alien to the Lord Ahriman's lips, it would prove to be very familiar to the Ice Queen."Don't fret, Arii." Ahriman had said, rising from his place upon the crash couch and slowly advancing towards the window in which his favoured son had forced Arhiia to watch the destruction of Adascopolis from. "Though I don the cloak of the enemy, it is only to ensure that you are safe and sound." He turned his emerald gaze away from the Ice Queen and looked back towards his Cabal that decorated the interior of the shuttle's cabin. "You know me," He said, with an almost too familiar tone. As those words had slipped from his revitalized lips, the Dark Lord reached up and reverently removed his horned helmet. Those that had claimed to be of Ahriman's cabal pretended not to see what their Master was doing, acting as if they had no clue who the man beneath was or how he had come to fool them all. Looking back to the former Queen of Arkania, the face of her lover had given his infamously crooked smile. "I always had a flair for the dramatic." His accent was notably Corellian, and the smile was genuine in ways that could never be falsified. The face that the Dark Lord bore, was that of the Jedi Master, Kel'Al Ragenella, the lover and soon to be Husband of the woman he stood before. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue, and a mane of short chestnut hued hair adorned his scalp. From the very memories of the broken man situated within the shuttle's compartment, the Lord Ahriman perfectly reconstructed this man's visage. Including the very confident aura that shone with an almost emerald luminescence."Listen." He said, his voice edged with rising concern. "I can't hold their attention for long. The Jedi Council tasked me with infiltrating this Coven of Sith Sorcerer's to determine how far their corruption has spread." Looking back at the seemingly frozen occupants of the vessel's cabin, Kel'Al's voice slowly began to lower into that of a conspiratorial whisper. "It's worse than any of us thought. Lord Ahriman is but a pawn in this game of galactic dejarik. His masters seek what is behind the vault. You must resist his influences. It will only be worse if you don't fight back against him. Make his men suffer, then once you have lead him to the heart of whatever it is they seek - kill them. End their lives in within an arms breadth of their goal." Internally, the Dark Lord hoped his words would strike a chord within Arhiia's mind, resonating within her thoughts for when the time would come. He hoped, that when they were spoken by her lover, they would strike deeper than ever. If his transformation had suited his needs, then donning the mask of a nauseating self proclaimed champion of the light would have been worth the effort. "I cannot tarry, they will soon regain control of their minds and all will be lost. Please, Arii, for me, just do as I say. If you do, I can assure you we will see the children again. I'll retire from the Order and live out the rest of my days as your loving Husband, just please - do as I say." Moving forward and locking his lips with hers, the embrace loving but swift, Ahriman had sealed his deception with a kiss. It was a shame he could not steal more, but alas he had an appearance to keep up with.
Donning his mask once more, letting the visage of the Corellian Jedi fade into nothingness, the Lord Ahriman turned away from Arii, letting her stew over the words her psuedo-Lover had said.~ * ~ * ~ It was the thunderous roar of the orbiting guns that had drawn the Wayward knight from his enforced slumber. The anguish of thousands of voices, suddenly silenced by the terrifying powers of a single man, resonated within the broken Jedi's mind. It brought him back to the day he watched the planet of Anobis burn in the cleansing fires, a symbol that had haunted him for the rest of his life. Both literally in the hulking form of Varro Calistarious, and figuratively in the darkened recesses of his mind. Would he ever escape the sins of his past, was he forever cursed to bear the guilt of that single holocaust? It seemed the answer was made apparent to him, as he awoke to find himself eye to eye with the man who hunted the very fringes of the Galaxy for him. He could not speak, as the frigid air had assaulted his scorched vocal chords, yet if he could Arcanus would have verbally lashed out at his captors. He despised the feeling of being bound to the shuttle's crash couch, and wanted these bastards to know just exactly how he felt. But, before he could summon up the will to move any of his damaged limbs, an augmented fist violently collided with his damaged ribcage. Rivulets of blood were coughed up as contact was made, and rage began to well within his cataract clouded eyes. Now at his captors mercy, Arcanus sorely wished he had control of his limbs so he could throttle the life from this lingering ghost. Yet, as the thought stirred within his aching mind, the towering form of the Barbarian lumbered past and vanished from his sight. Curious as to what would make his destroyer shamble off into the darkness of the shuttle's cabin, Arcanus began peering through the blinding darkness in order to have his answer revealed. Finding that a man, shrouded in a cloak dyed in the dark hues of a lusterless obsidian, had come before him with a gloved hand outstretched, the Wayward knight tried once again to struggle against his powerful metallic bonds. "It is of no use, Sunstrider. Those metal bonds will keep you in place, even if you channeled all your strength to break free. My magic is more powerful than you can imagine." The whisper thin chords of this man's voice had seemed oddly familiar, yet for the life of him the Wayward knight could not place it. A dry chuckle emanated from within the darkened cowl of the shrouded figure, further cementing that he had heard this man before. It was upon the tip of his reattached tongue, yet no matter how hard he dug through his memories, this man's identity had eluded him. "Try all you might to reveal my true face, Arcanus, you will find that metal is not the only thing my magic affects. Your mind was pliant in it's dormant state. Like a stilled pool of water, I poked and prodded through its meat to ensure you would never know the truth behind my identity. Such acts were undertaken to see to it that I could work within the light, and guide you along the Master's anointed path." That dry chuckle had come once again, eating away at the back of Arcanus' mind. "And what a path it was, eh?" The wayward knight once again struggled against his bonds, trying to force himself to speak. Once again no words had come, yet the intent was a razor sharp as a knives' edge. The blunt brutality of it had caused the shrouded man to halt his hoarse cackling. The figure's posture sagged slightly, as if he was disappointed that the Wayward knight had difficulty breathing, let alone speaking his mind. Letting his covered hands vanish beneath his all encompassing robes, the man withdrew a hyposyringe filled with a vibrant azure elixir that left Arcanus wondering what its purpose was. As the needle thin tip began slowly slicing apart the air in it's approach towards his exposed neck, the former Jedi struggled once again - this time with an urgency he thought impossible with his cybernetic enhancements. "Shhhh, my friend. This will do nothing more than ail your afflictions for the time being. The Master and I wish you healed enough to utilize that death dealing tongue of yours." The cloaked figure once again chuckled as the tip punctured through Arcanus' charred flesh. Once the activator switch was depressed, the effects had taken hold of his body almost instantaneously. He felt its soothing balm wash through his veins, and heal his scorched vocal chords. Though, as soon as he felt the drugs beginning to take hold, he knew that these were not simply medicinal in nature. The Republic had access to the best medical equipment and healing salves that were available, yet no matter the method they tried - they could not ease his pain anymore than the hermetically sealed Iron Lung could. Thus, as these were devout followers of a Sith Lord, the Strider of Suns suddenly realized that he was injected with a serum made from the darkest of magics."You bastard!" He cried, his voice sounding once again healthy and young. "How dare you give me back my voice with such vile fluids." The shrouded figure smiled as he took his seat opposite of the wayward knight and crossed a leg over his lap. "Since you have injected me with gods know what, tell me your name. Your manner is familiar and I know I have heard your voice somewhere. Tell me, or I swear -" The man interjected before Arcanus could finish. "You'll swear to do what, exactly? Kill me? Gods know you have already tried, Sunstrider. Within the halls of the Temple we now fly towards and within a secret Republic facility on Coruscant. Both times, in your slumber, your subconscious mind lashed out at me in anger." Now, the pieces were beginning to fall into place. He definitely knew this man, but his name had escaped him. Yet the further down the rabbit hole he went, the more shards of his fragmented memory came together. After his battle against the Sith on Mustafar, he was brought back to Arkania and stitched back together by a pair of the Temple's greatest healers. The same had happened when he fell from the sky and burned in the fires of Varro's revenge, though his destination was Coruscant at behest of the Republic. Yet only two details were the same, despite the Wayward knight going through ungodly amounts of pain.
A man by the name of Silas."Silas..." Arcanus had whispered in an almost dream like trance. The shrouded man threw back his cowl and revealed the once youthful face of the former Arkanian doctor, though now it was remarkedly different than he had remembered. It had aged considerably in the amount of time he had last seen the man, and his flesh had taken after the hardened leather of an elder of his kind. Few patches of white straw clung tightly to his kidney spotted scalp, yet it was the eyes that he recognized despite the fading features. "Yes. That was but a moniker." His fleshspare lips moved in tandem with his jaw, yet there was a fractional delay as if the flesh no longer embraced the hardened bone beneath. "I am the immortal sorcerer, Mephistion, and it is by my design that you have lived thus far. Your blood courses with years worth of study and sacrifice, be thankful I was able to salvage what was left of your body after the Butcher of the Sands had set you ablaze." Arcanus was yet again without words, though not because he could not speak. He was bereft of words, finally realizing that all along, he was nothing more than a puppet dancing along to this Lord Ahriman's will. His heart was crushed, and he wanted it all to be over. Tears began to well within the corners of his eyes, as the former Jedi no longer had the willpower left to hold back the tidal surge of despair. "Shush now, my son." Mephistion had said, his tone taking on the reverent hues of a fatherly figure. "It will all be over soon." ~ * ~ * ~ Soaring through the frigid aerospace of Arkania, the shuttle had finally arrived at its destination. Its exterior wings slowly began to rise, pointing in the direction of the cloud capped skies. Concealed landing gear removed themselves from their housing, and gently slid into the embrace of the compacted snow below. Jets of hydraulic steam melted the top most layer of snow, creating small patches of ice around the metallic legs. With the bulk of the craft now supported by the extended digits, the boarding ramp departed the shuttle's embrace and followed after the errant landing gear. Like the maw of a yawning beast, the craft had opened itself up to the biting frost of the snow flecked tundra. Exiting the craft first, were the faceless members of Ahriman's cabal, with the rest following suite after. it was nothing more than simple protocol, as the remaining Dragon could have flown through the skies to chase after it's master. Though, as it had been forced to fight its corrupted kin, Ahriman doubted that they would be seeing the beast anytime soon. Now ensconced within the safety of his army's guns, the Sorcerer Supreme looked towards the Arkanian Jedi and lovingly tilted his head - knowing he had to keep up his appearances in order for the Illusion to take full effect."It's almost time, my love." He said, his voice once again taking hold of that revolting pompous ass. "Soon, we both shall be free of this evil."
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Ghost
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 17
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Post by Ghost on Jul 30, 2014 9:50:52 GMT -8
Arhiia Concordia The Ice Queen
Her lips, pale as the snow scattered by the desolate wind outside, remained curled into a maddening smile far longer than Arhiia realized. Perhaps she was truly losing her sanity because of all this? Standing stock still, the Arkanian woman never wavered under the intense gaze of the Sith warrior behind her. She could almost see the gears grinding within his head, the sudden tensing of his muscles – while she could not actually see the tension, she could feel it in the way he gripped her and his violent energy transferred through their contact. There was viciousness in his touch, he was dangerous and an incendiary waiting to explode. All it would take was time. But time was not enough, he wanted to take her life right then and there, she could see it reflecting in his eyes. Almost as quickly as she had realized Varro’s intentions, Arhiia noted the shift as his rage almost seemed to be siphoned out of him and redirected altogether, to the one thing stopping him from making a move against her.
The sudden removal of his presence from her side invoked the raising of an eyebrow as she turned slightly to see him stalking back over to the Sorcerer. "Sit down... Whelp." They had a curious relationship, though one she had not quite entirely puzzled out just yet. It would seem that it was the master who stood in the way of the student and certain… satisfaction. Veiled amusement twinkled in her eyes as she watched him, almost to the point where she had entirely convinced herself the amusement she thought she felt truly did exist.
However, there was a world in which it did not… __________________________________________________________________
With Varro’s absence, Arhiia felt as a newborn child taking its breath for the first time; oxygen rushing into her lungs as the pangs of adrenaline-instilled energy began to dissipate from her body. Drawing her arm above her head and leaning her forehead against the transparisteel window, Arhiia’s breath began to create a fog on the glass, momentarily obscuring the destruction she had just witnessed. The coolness of the window relaxed her muscles as her lithe body heaved against the viewport before she sunk down against it and curled into the wall, her eyes glazed over with the pain she endured at the loss of so many innocent lives, fixed on the snowy expanse whipping by outside.
The conversation between the two Sith barely registered with the Arkanian, "You are not to touch her again, until I tell you so. She has to remain pure of thought for the next phase of my plan, I cannot have you muddle her thoughts with anger and ecstasy just yet." There was a pause of silence as Arhiia felt the eyes of the Sorcerer upon her, scrutinizing her every move as she turned her head to meet his fierce gaze. "Do not think that you are safe from Varro, Lady Concordia." It was not only what they had done that weighed heavily upon her shoulders, but the fact that she now realized the only thing that stood between her and Varro having his way with her was the Sorcerer seated before her. She felt so incredibly powerless.
“I ceased to assume safety the moment I laid eyes upon you.” She retorted sullenly, knowing that he would keep his word to Varro and eventually allow him to have her as a reward of sorts for acceptably playing his part in all of this. Instead of embarking on some foolish tirade like she may have done in the past, the former Jedi Master rose to her feet, accepting her fate – her subjugation. Arhiia could see no other way out of this, defy the Sorcerer and lose everything she had left. But truly, what did she have left but her life? Was that valued enough that she would bow to pressure and join the Sith? Defiance would surely be more costly in the long run, but at least she would have retained her dignity and held steadfast to her values. But values? Those did not matter, not in a time of war, not when she had already compromised everything else – right?
Casting her eyes downward, Arhiia turned toward the Sorcerer after he had risen from the crash couch, causing him to pause in the centre of the craft. All eyes in the room regarded her with great suspicion, waiting in anticipation of her submission or a display of attempted dominance; it mattered not as muscles quivered with the eagerness to act. Instead of striking out, Arhiia’s gaze slowly drifted upwards to look the Sorcerer in the eye as her hands drifted down to the ties that held her robes in place – her Jedi robes. If she was to accept this Sith’s rule and embrace his role in her fate then it was decreed that she be reborn in the Master’s image. Her slender fingers continued working at the ties as she stepped out of her boots and pursed her lips as she traced a finger across her collarbone, discarding what little fabric was left to cover her upper torso.
“Let me save you the time…” The Arkanian woman spoke in soft tones as she made a show of her actions, her hands drifting down her waist to unfasten her pants as she stared the Sorcerer straight in the eye – her last action born of defiance, before that too was discarded with her clothes. Finally shrugging out of her robes, dropping all articles of clothing to the floor – Arhiia thought that perhaps if she showed submission and acceptance of him, then maybe she would be shown mercy. Gracefully walking the remaining distance, she stopped a hair’s breath away from him and dropped to her knees, icy blue eyes looking up at him pleadingly – she finally realized this was not a war she could win. “…Master..” She said in not much more than a whisper, her voice wavering as she folded her body over to bow to him, placing her face between his booted feet and gripping them with her hands. _________________________________________________________________
Shaking the thoughts from her head along with the situation she imagined, Arhiia shoved the depression and desperation aside as her mother’s words came to head. She had to assume strength even when she had none left, lest her enemies begin to view her as an easy target. She could show no signs of weakness, no matter how bleak the situation appeared; she just had to hold on to hope for losing that hope would only invite madness to take root within. That madness came from pain when you had nothing to distract you from it. When you could never imagine it stopping, when there is no hope left; that was when an individual would slowly start falling apart – something Arhiia could not allow to happen. She just had to remain optimistic that a solution would present itself – was that not what they had always taught in the Jedi Temples anyhow?
Arhiia felt the eyes of the Sorcerer upon her, scrutinizing her every move as she turned her head to meet his fierce gaze. Everything about the way she looked at him spoke of the myriad ways her cunning intellect would effortlessly tear his plans to shreds were he to not take the utmost care around her, but it was easy to see that she was on the path to destruction – and it was not that of the Sorcerer’s, but rather her own. "Do not think that you are safe from Varro, Lady Concordia."
Arhiia regarded the Sorcerer a moment and questioned if he thought her so daft that she did not already realize she was no longer safe the moment they set foot upon her planet. She wondered idly if there was a right or wrong answer to this paradox placed before her, what she would say if she could say anything but the truth. The Sorcerer clearly reveled in those around him cowering in fear, but she speculated that he may perhaps afford a being some semblance of respect – not respect in the common sense, but more the respect that exists between one warrior and another – were they not to recoil in fear before his very presence. Pursing her lips as if to speak, Arhiia offered a look of sheer dumbfounded incredulity, “My Lord, I hadn’t the slightest suspicion my safety lay in peril.” Playing the shocked damsel, the Arkanian clutched her hand to her chest as she dramatized her reaction to his comment, milking it for everything it was worth. Finally, rolling her eyes, her expression returned to the seriousness the gravity of the situation had imposed upon her. “You are like a force of nature, one of the life-claiming blizzards I have oft had the unfortunate experience of here on Arkania. I will never be safe until I hold the tendrils of the arteries from your still beating hearts in my hands.” She sneered as her lips twisted in irritation, “Because you are a force of nature, I fear you the way a spacer fears a solar storm in the distance. I cannot outrun you. I cannot hide from you. You may devastate me, you may recharge my power cells, or you may pass over me entirely…” Protectively wrapping her arms around herself, the elongated sleeves of her upper robe wrapping themselves around her bare midsection, Arhiia turned back to the transparisteel viewport, “But there is very little I can do to influence the outcome. All I can do is brace myself and hope for the best.” Gazing contemplatively out the viewport, she sighed as she recognized the mountain ranges they were crossing over. The Sorcerer was not lying when he claimed that they knew the location of the temple, as much as she had been hoping to call their bluff.
"Don't fret, Arii." Arhiia’s blood ran cold, her blue skin paling as Ahriman spoke from behind her. Only two people in this galaxy called her by that pet name before the Sorcerer soiled it with his vile voice, Kel’Al and Arcanus. However, it was not the Sorcerer’s voice she was hearing it in, which caused her to once more question her sanity. “What did you just say?!” The dread entered her voice as much as she tried to avoid it as she whirled around to face him. “I don’t know you at all!” She practically screamed as she lost control. Her face contorted, expression shifting between horror, disbelief, and fury. It was as if she could not decide which emotion she should be feeling as Ahriman’s appearance remained that of the Sorcerer, but her lover’s voice – Kel’Al’s voice was all she heard. “Who the fuck are you?!” She yelled as she approached him just as he was removing his horned helmet. Pausing in her step, the Arkanian slowly scanned the room; no one was reacting and neither was she until she turned back to stare directly into Kel’Al’s face, her expression softening. That smile…the Corellian accent was flawless, but that smile – how did he know about the way he smiled at her every time they were able to take time away from their duties as Jedi. That smile was the smile that always greeted her with open arms, that was where she felt at home. She almost lost herself in the uncanniness of the illusion, almost forgetting where she was and what was going on, almost reaching out to touch his cheek. Shaking her head free of the Sorcerer’s influence, her visage turned grim as she screamed at him again, hands balled into fists at her side, “Tell me!”
Arhiia’s chest heaved with rage as she listened to him spinning lies, attempting to draw her back into his false sense of reality. The more she resisted, the stronger his influence became. But if his influence over her mind grew two-fold each time he attempted to assert his mental dominance, then her resilience and resolve to make him pay grew thrice over. She already knew they wanted whatever was hidden in the vault beneath her temple and by this point, she was sorely tempted to let them in and lead them to their death, even accepting her own death if that is what it took to end their reign. Regaining her composure, the Arkanian woman took a deep breath and her mind fought to process all of this, taking considerable effort to keep Ahriman’s influence at bay. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she struggled in this battle of wills while also trying to make sense of everything. The question still remained, how did the Sorcerer know all of this information? It is not as if her relationship with Kel’Al, much less the fact that she had two children, were public knowledge. Even amongst the Jedi, very few possessed the knowledge. As it dawned on her, she turned her icy blue eyes upon Arcanus and her expression fell; the Sith were in his mind and now knew everything he knew. Arhiia wanted to be furious with him for more than a split-second, but could not bring herself to be as the Sorcerer’s prodding of her own mind reminded her just how powerful their foes were.
In less than the blink of an eye, the Sorcerer was upon her, wrapping her in his tight and disabling embrace before pressing his lips to her own. It happened so fast that Arhiia was unable to react at first, taking a moment to get her bearings before spitting in his face as he withdrew from her. About to spring forward after the Sith, who had turned his back on her, several of his acolytes scurried to his defense and held her back. The cultists’ grip on her arms tightened painfully as she attempted escape. “I will ruin you,” She growled, her voice subdued and quieter, lacking its usual dignified qualities. “I will not stop until you have fallen. Whether figuratively or literally, I care not. But you do not belong here.” Arhiia’s voice rose in intensity as she struggled out of the grip of the cultists surrounding her. She was not free as they were still within arm’s reach of her, but she could at least move freely. “You are not welcome here. And I will be damned if I don’t ensure you lose your foothold here. My race, my people….my students…are nothing, if not tenacious. You may think you have won, but subjugation does not mean acceptance…” __________________________________________________________________
Dahlia Jax The Unseen
Confidently striding through the halls of the once glorious Guardian temple of Arkania, Dahlia inhaled deeply, savouring the smell of victory – the stench of burning flesh, ozone, and smoke. They had not won yet as there were still a few pockets of resistance fighting her forces. The halls were littered with broken marble architecture and scorch marks, from lightsabers and other weaponry; the temple barely resembled its original form. Gracefully stepping over several bodies, the Shi’ido woman in Zeltron form hardly glanced down to appraise the streaks of blood staining the pale stone floor as several of the Master’s cultists under her watch dragged bodies out of sight to do who knew what with them or to them. Flanked by four of her top ranking officers, she kicked open the now-defunct door that led to the outer landing pads located on the North side of the temple, one of the few areas that was entirely secure.
Dahlia had long since been a friend to House Concordia, serving in Arkanian intelligence during the rule of Rhyiianna Alderra Concordia, Arhiia’s mother. House Concordia ruled peacefully for 40 years until they were overthrown and the Arkanian military was thrown into disarray. Lacking purpose, she departed Republic space in search of a new adventure and not long after leaving Arkania, she was picked up by the Imperial military. Imprisoned on charges of piracy, murder and impersonation of an Imperial Officer, Dahlia found herself at wit’s end. However, it appeared she was not to die that day and rather than face the firing squad, the Shi'ido took a deal the Imperial prosecutor offered her, selling her soul to the Imperial military and effectively becoming property of it. Once Arhiia regained her birthrights, Dahlia returned. However, the gap of approximately 20 years between the rise and fall of the Dominion’s dynasty – time in which she was conscripted by Imperial intelligence – saw a change in the Shi’ido woman’s loyalties. One could say she had been shown the truth of her fate and that of the universe itself, others may spin tales of extravagance and fantasy. Either way, Dahlia served a new master and he was the architect of fate.
Outside, blackened smoke drifted up into the sky from the solitary tower of the temple, tarnishing it purple-grey in colour as Olim’s rays strained to break through the bleakness of the clouds. The tall woman strode across the landing pad as her master’s shuttle descended, long legs accented by the knee-high boots she wore. Her cape drifted on the stale breeze, attached to her shoulders by two electrum pauldrons connected to an equally impressive breastplate; she brushed the purple hair from her eyes – bright amethyst gems rendered more mysterious still by the bright red veil covering the lower half of her face – electrum bracelets on her upper arms shimmering in the faint light. As the boarding ramp came to rest on the ground, Dahlia dropped to a single knee and bowed her head, placing one fist over her heart as Ahriman’s cabal exited and walked around her.
“Master.” She finally spoke, in luxurious tones as he acknowledged her. “The siege has gone according to plan. The supports to the living quarters were destroyed and the remains lay in ruin at the foot of the mountain, if you wish to see for yourself.” The Zeltron rose to her feet and peered over his shoulder, meeting Arhiia’s gaze knowing she was most likely seeing crimson right about now. “Only a few pockets of resistance remain, but rest assured we shall have full control presently.” She spoke more to Arhiia’s benefit than her own Master’s, seeking to rile the woman up – though she had once considered her a friend, her foolishness was long past.
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Alpharius
Member
Posts: 400
Affiliation: The Rebel Alliance
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Alpharius on May 25, 2015 19:08:27 GMT -8
The future is never set, and always uncertain. Yet, despite the many variances one may perceive when looking into the depths of time immemorial, there are some certainties that present themselves. Aspects of the continuum that remain the same no matter which way the spiral spins. It was this very fact that had drawn the Architect in the great game between the two essences of life itself.
Long before mankind had taken their first breath as a fully evolved upright ape, those that came long before had borne witness to the birth of the gods, a cumulative collection of emotions within the force that garnered sentience. Each facet that had given rise to the birth of humanity, had taken shape within the realm beyond the veil of reality. Those feelings that exemplified the very foundations of order; love, joy, and tranquility, had copulated into the very being, that in their primitive ignorance, have as labeled as Ashla; the primordial creator. The very same had been done to the negative sentiments one feels, anger, sadness, jealousy. All had come together to create the being that the ancients, in their blind arrogance, had dubbed; Bogan. His true name, was something that no mortal mind could comprehend. Instead, the more educated and evolved scholars had taken to calling this necessary aspect of the force, the primordial annihilator. In time, when the ancients had fled the galaxy to sow the seeds of their ilk elsewhere, those that were left behind had a limited understanding of the knowledge their masters had left behind. From what our fore-bearers could discern, the moons that orbited the birthworld of the Jedi Order, were named after the dual aspects of life, and thus accordingly built their understanding upon this mystical power upon the ashes of what the Celestials had left behind. It was a step in the right direction, however it would not be until much later that a more enlightened minds began tackling the very fundamental values of the force. That was when Ahriman, a youthful Jedi whose name had been long forgotten by the pages of history, had come into existence. He had garnered the truth of the universe, and such a revelation had opened in eyes in ways he couldn’t imagine.
The truth had not come easy to the former Jedi. It had taken nearly a century of divination and meditation to garner the smallest fact laced with any honesty. The Gods were jealous of their secrets, and never parted with them lightly. Something grave had to be given in return, and when the price was paid, something equal was given in return. For the Former Jedi, after he had spent nearly a century in a meditative trance, this price was the one currency only the annihilator had cared for. The Blood price. Thus, after he had risen from the dead, sparking a religious fervour amongst those that had followed him into the void, the former Jedi put entire worlds to the blade. Rivers of blood had flowed freely through the streets, as each city had become an ritualistic offering to draw the gaze of the sinister being beyond the veil. Constructs of the fallen souls had come to life, giving those present what they had asked for in return for the libations of the dead. Many of those that had asked the hardest questions, had gone mad with the answers they were given. The secrets of immortality, the preordained future that none could ever escape, and finally; the truth. When the being, composed of ashen smoke and the stolen voices of the legion dead, had given the man who would later become the Dark lord Ahriman what he sought, he too was not immune to the whispers of madness infecting his mind. The truth had taken everything from him, and now he was nothing more than the Architect - a man destined to warp the future to his master’s will and ensure the coming of the Mad Titan.
An so, throughout the ages, the Dark Lord had watched, and waited for the stars to align. Empires had risen and fell. Republics rose to take their place, only to be sundered by the darkness awaiting them at the edges of the galaxy. Jedi had believed themselves to be victorious over the ranks of the Sith, only to be proven wrong when a Daughter of the Annihilator had made her presence known. Such delicious turmoil had afflicted the galaxy in such short a time, and yet the Architect knew that his time had not come. There needed to be more at play before his master’s will could be done. Thus, as the One Sith had fallen from grace and the Jedi Order had become resurgent once more, did Ahriman make his move. For the years that followed, he had taken and broken galaxy and tugged at the strings of fate, remaking it in an image his master would be proud of. Orders of both Sith and Jedi had fallen into obscurity, whilst Empires of every stripe continued their path of rising from the ashes and crumbling once more into dust. The fluidity of the cycle would continue, and with the Architects careful touch, so too would the preparations for the end game.
As the foundations were set, did a vision come unbidden. At first, he had believed it to be a message from beyond the veil, his master showing his mortal vassal that he was pleased with the work he had done. Instead, the Architect was shown a vision of hope. A taunting collection of vivid images brought forth by the creator herself. He had seen the darkness, at the very moment of it’s victory over the light, beaten back by the spark of defiance. Knights of the Order, brandishing blades of emeralds and sapphire, stood triumphant when all seemed lost. Bodies of men and women, lay beneath their feet. Each one struck down by the barely contained fires of righteous warriors from either side. Yet, it was the man at their head that had interested the Architect most. His face was unfamiliar, but as the vision poured forth into his mind, he had seen the truth beyond that haloed mane of bronzed hair. This was the man that would see his master’s plan fail. He was the Champion of Ashla, and the Son of Suns. Whoever that man was, he could not be allowed to rise to such glories. His life, was now measured in days, as the Gods whom sought to frighten the Champion of Bogan, had just given him a target. This man, this Sunstrider, would die - or be sacrificed upon the altar of war to ensure the gateway would be opened. Yes, he had mused to himself, that would seem a fitting end for such a brash, and foolish mistake.
Thus, when everything had led to this crucial point, Ahriman could only smile. His will had seen the very stars themselves move to his own design. Although he had such power at his command, the body that his soul now resided in, had begun to deteriorate with alarming speed. Despite the untold knowledge that had been bestowed upon his by the construct of the force, and the serum of immortality that he had helped create, he was unable to save the wretched shell he called a body. Like Mephistion, his frame had become withered. The flesh hung loosely from his body, whilst it began to harden and flake. It lost it’s earthly vigour, and became spotted and yellow. Time, and the truth thereafter, had ravaged his body - so much so that even the completion of Darth Drear’s dream meant little. Immortality, meant nothing when your body began to fall apart. So, when he had garnered enough strength from the elixir to move, he had wrapped himself in cotton bandages, and adorned himself in the accoutrements of a sorcerer. Even his if body had failed him, atleast he would be able to die as he had lived.
His mind had become a torrent of timelines, meshing together and splitting apart in the very moments they seemed to connect. With a subtle shake of his aging bones, the ancient one’s thoughts began to clear. The shuttle had begun it’s final approach towards the Guardian’s Jedi Temple, and even from this distance he was able to feel the reverberations of his actions. Assaulted from two angles by the agony suffered by those that called this world home, Ahriman felt some feeling akin to joy pool within his belly. He had done the impossible, yet again. Arkania was a world torn asunder. The system would go down in history as the birthplace of the New Galactic Order, one that would see the works of the Primordial Creator cast down from the Throne of Balance, and every world remade in the image of the Destroyer. Or, at the very least, it would become a graveyard for the last bastion of Jedi Knights. Either result was favourable to the Dark Lord, yet, as always, he preferred them both. The less Jedi there were trotting about the galaxy, the easier it would be to reshape the universe in his master’s vision. Or his own, provided how ambitious he felt.
Never the less, a hoarse cackle erupted from his weathered lips as the shuttle touched down upon the landing pad. When the door had parted, the scent of death and smoke became suddenly overpowering. It brought dried tears to the old man's eyes, but his smile could only widen as he felt the discordance resonate within the force. Such divine power was neutral in the great game, a living entity that either side bent to their will or harnessed for the greater good. The act of taking a life had always soured the sweet music, leaving a bitter taste in one's mouth after the deed had been done. The feelings invoked by such a heinous act, rippled throughout the force. Giving the life that was taken a new form, and thus continuing the existence of the Gods and their endless titanic struggle for supremacy. Turning about and facing those within the shuttle’s compartment, Ahriman felt a small measure of pride bristle through his constricted veins. The Ice Queen had saw fit to threaten him with her ferocity, of how she would ruin him and of how her brave companions would rise to meet his challenge. With the billowing trails of smouldering ash wafting into the compartment, his wretched eyes had taken on a more triumphant visage.
“I do not wish to subjugate you. I wish to break you, as my armies have broken your temple home.” He paused to let the words sink in, before resuming his haughty taunt. “Your students. Your people. Many now lie dead at our collective feet. Their blood stains our very soul, and yet you seek to defy my power, and that of my Master? Fool.” He nearly spat the word, yet lacked the bodily fluids in which to do so. “If I were you, Arhiia, I would hold my tongue for now. Save your words for when they truly matter. Like when we descend through this blasted ruin of a Fortress, and enter into that place you sought to keep from me. Then, and only then, may you speak.”
Turning his head towards his vassal, Ahriman spoke once again, his voice now stern and rife with command.
“Varro, my son. Ensure that she remains silent during our trek. Gag her if you must, but be warned. Should any harm come to her, be it intended or not, I will flay what remains of your flesh and wear it as my cloak.” He paused, catching his breath. “Do I make myself clear, boy?”
The Juggernaut nodded as he grasped Arhiia’s shoulder tight.
“Crystal, my lord.”
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Betrayal was the blade that always bit the deepest, and in knowing thus to be true, Ahriman had ensured to play his cards right. He had told the Commander of his forces to see to it that the messenger had come in person, and it was his newest convert. Only then, when the proverbial dagger had slid in between the ribs, could the Dark Lord relish his small victory. Arhiia would not take kindly to seeing a confidant standing before her, and praising the enemy as her master. No doubt she would seek to slay the woman where she stood, but with a glance over his shoulder, he ensured that she would struggle fruitlessly in Varro’s arms. Turning his gaze away from the Ice Queen and the entourage that had begun to file past, the Architect gave his full attention to the Shi’ido woman prostrating herself before him. He had found it amusing once, how she chose to masque herself as a astonishing Zeltron woman adorned in all the finery of a noblewoman, rather than embrace her chosen - and true form. Now, as his plan had come to fruition and he no longer cared for the pleasures of the flesh, something his transit here had suddenly revealed, Ahriman was displeased with her appearance. There were no doubts about the time and effort she had put into crafting her figure, as the care could be clearly seen in how she had moved, and the way she had talked. Had he not known beforehand that she was a shapeshifter, he would have foolishly believed that this woman was a Zeltron through and through.
She was merely a pawn of Ahriman’s in his own version of the God’s great game. A tool to be used and discarded when she had outlived her usefulness, and as she had played the messenger as well as being the blade of ice that would pierce the heart of her former Queen, that time would come sooner than she had expected.
“You did well in bringing me this news from Omegon.” He said, tossing a glance back at the restrained Jedi. “Now, I know you’re just dying to have your way with the Queen, be it with words or violence. However, I must warn you, my dearest, Varro has been ordered to keep her safe. Much to his chagrin, it seems. I know during the ride over he sought to have his way with her as the bombardment begun. Something about his past coming to the fore, making him ‘stronger’ in more ways than one.” Casually he tossed his hand into the air, as if dismissing the topic entirely. “Now tell me. Has the path below been cleared, or are we to expect heavy resistance from what remains of the Jedi?”
The answer would matter little, as Ahriman knew that he could not be stopped. He was so close to his goal, now more than ever, and something akin to a defiant last stand would not last forever. Not if he let Varro have his way with those that still stood. While he could use both Arcanus and Arhiia as bargaining chips, something to lure the last defenders of this mountain fortress out, he knew that it wouldn’t work. These two were wiser than they appeared to be. It was because of their shared history, and all the battles they had fought alongside one another. They trusted only in their experience, and as the Temple had been built over such a holy site - no avenue could not be covered. If he had purused such a route, the Jedi would merely laugh at him as the words had left his mouth. It would be a waste of time, something Ahriman could ill afford. Not because he was running out, per say, more so that he desired to be rid of this mortal shell and adorned in another.
No, instead, should the Jedi enact their final defensive protocol, the Architect believed that he could end it quicker than sending Varro into the fray. Yes, they would be butchered, as he doubted any one of them had proven to be a better Swordsman than Arcanus, but it would take time. Within moments, should he desire to show off to his gathered Cabal, he could steal the souls from the valiant Jedi and consume their essence by adding it to his own. That would give him more than enough strength to carry out his final deeds, and possibly leave him with enough power to traverse the mists beyond the veil. Yes, that would be better suited to his needs. Not only would he slay the last of the Jedi whom were not already dead or captured, but he would feel invigorated for hours longer than he had expected too.
Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
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Ghost
Retired High Councilor
Posts: 17
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Post by Ghost on Nov 9, 2015 21:03:44 GMT -8
Arhiia Concordia The Ice Queen
This is not a tale of tragedy or a lamentation of loss and heartbreak, nor is it a glorification of war or a proclamation of peace, or even an accusation of wicked peoples who encouraged this devastation. Arkania had become the ultimate battlefield in just a few short days.
The cold wind swept the land, howling through the structures rendered derelict from the bombings earlier in the week and it seemed as if the world itself moaned in protest as they bent backwards. Snowflakes glided mournfully through the air before they came to rest on the cold, hard, bloodstained ground. The rivers ran red and thick, filled with the stench of death. Bodies, both complete and disfigured lay covering the ground. A blanket of death. War had taken place here; the great equalizer had done its job, almost all too well it seemed. Sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, Lords and commoners, it did not matter – all were equal. Only the wind now spoke over the land that had seen both happiness and hatred; maybe in the future, after all was forgotten, it would see happiness again. But maybe not. Because the scars were not just on their bodies or their hearts, but all around them.
{ “What does it mean to you to be a Jedi?” } This was the first thing Arhiia had asked her children once she had started training them to join the ranks of the Guardians.
Corellia. Carratos. Coruscant. Ossus. Arkania. They had all been Guardians, Jedi from all reaches of the galaxy working together toward something greater than themselves. And they had all perished here.
Contemplating the state of the universe – its frenzied pace, the woe, the warnings of even worse things to come – seems like the perfect prescription for unhappiness and spiritual unrest. But if the counsel of Masters long past were to be examined, one would realize that things have never been easy for the Jedi. The predicaments of current times mirror the predicaments throughout all of time. Finding one's path and purpose in life, the universe even, the relationship of our separate thoughts to one another, how to be true to oneself despite outer chaos – to not lose who we are as Jedi – these are the same dilemmas the Jedi of the past have faced since before the great Hyperspace War.
Though differences in time, place, and circumstance seem to divide us, the words of wisdom from across the ages and planets in this universe assure us that we stand on common ground; seeing with the same eyes, feeling with the same heart, and facing the same difficulties – for we were all once Jedi here. The common solution? It might be best summarized as ‘gaining a sense of perspective’. Contrary to what most Jedi believe, true peace of mind does not result from the absence of suffering or the neutrality of unfeeling. It stems from an abundance of wisdom.
{ My planet is a jewel. From deep space it looks like a sparkling diamond surrounded by darkness trying to encroach in from all sides, yet still it shines in the midst like a glowing beacon of light for all Jedi to come and learn from. It was our sanctuary. I opened my Temple to all types of Jedi because a Jedi is supposed to be open-minded and accept the unacceptable. I would have died before I saw my people, my family, my fellow Jedi hurt, my world destroyed. But am I choosing the right way to protect them all now? I know a Master must never question her strength aloud. She must assume strength, even when she feels uncertain for others will look to her for their own strength to be replenished... }
Given that Arhiia had been drawn away from the viewport of the shuttle as they made their approach and descent, she had not the chance to witness the horror, writ large, which had befallen her beloved Guardian Temple. For if she had, her remaining silence may not have been so deafening. Be that as it may, she was not rendered blind to that which permeated throughout the living force.
Through thine eyes, she has seen death and she has seen life, birth, and rebirth. Through thine eyes, she has seen battles and she has seen wars, blood and gore. All these harrowing experiences, these disquieting situations could not prepare her for what she was about to face. Ultimately, nothing could spare her from the sins of the enemy she would soon come to witness.
The boarding ramp shuddered and groaned as the sound of metal scraping against metal pierces the silence of the air, and it is terrible to hear. More terrible to bear is the sensory assault that follows as smoke wafts into the shuttle compartment, bringing with it the tangy iron-like smell of blood. Arhiia shudders as a shiver escapes down her spine and she closes her eyes, concentrating on the rise and fall of her breast as she fights to steel herself against the onslaught of emotion outpouring through the currents of the force as they wind their way around her psyche, invading every crack and crevice. It is not until she opens her eyes and glances up from her musings – meeting the Sorcerer’s gaze, his pride resonating through her bones – that she realizes this outpouring of emotions leaves a sour taste in her mouth. There is something appalling about that which echoes through the force, a strange ventriloquism of which she cannot locate the source. It is then that she recognizes the fact that her Guardians are no longer present within her conscious awareness as they have been in her mind for so long. They have been silenced and the tidings of the enemy have been amplified.
The Arkanian’s distaste is palpable as the Sorcerer looks upon her triumphantly and speaks. She listens patiently to him taunting her and an eerie feeling of calm realization washes over her very being, her icy blue eyes refocusing as her visage takes on a solemn hue. “You will never break me…” She speaks so softly, her once regal voice is almost inaudible and a stillness descends upon her form as she fights to maintain eye contact with the Sorcerer. He, my best friend, had once been everything I had ever wanted for myself. I resisted my feelings for many years, too many years, hid them away from him and denied the fact to his face that one fateful night on Coruscant. My misplaced faith in the Jedi code had held me back. Strange….that such memories would come rushing to the fore of my mind at this point in time. I had not thought of those nights spent on Coruscant with Arcanus for many years.
Another memory came unbidden to her and it felt like it had happened in another lifetime. The streetlights twinkled before burning out in the darkness of the night. I slipped off my heels at the edge of the commons and blindly tossed them away. Somewhere in the distance wind chimes jingled. Hunger burned in my eyes, we were playing with fire. The soft melodies of a live band drifted on the cool breeze as it howled between the eves. He pressed his forehead against mine as he took me in his arms. That night we danced beneath the light of the stars, pretending as if there was nothing holding us back, we were invincible; in a different lifetime, on a different Arkania.
{ “Ever since I met you.. I fell head over heels for you. But in the end.. you’re the one thing I can't have, and I'd like to keep it that way. You’re like family to me. I tell you things I wouldn't even tell my own wife, and I love you like a Sister. And because I love you.. I have to leave you... Thank you for everything, Arhiia...” }
The Arkanian purposely avoided looking over at Arcanus, fighting to retain her stoic façade. “Someone already beat you to that.”
Ultimately, Arhiia refused to hold her tongue, the Sorcerer held no sway over her, for he still needed her to open the vault and see them safely through Veeshas Tuwan. She is untouchable in this moment, completely unfazed as she looks down her nose at him and continues with a renewed strength, a newfound confidence, and perhaps a touch of arrogance, “The blood of my students…my people, it stains your soul, Sorcerer, not mine. It is you who wear your guilt like shackles, which keep you forever chained to the unrelenting will of your master. In this case, it is not I who is the fool, but you… You, who are content to serve and prostrate yourself before a master that sees you as nothing more than an expendable pawn.” Her pale blue skin flushes with life as her lilting regal voice returns and her icy blue eyes flash amber for the briefest of moments.
One of the many reasons she had formed the Guardians of the Jedi Order, in the first place, was in honour of those that had been lost in wars past, wars of the Force, but also to seek forgiveness in the names of those she had personally lost in this unbridled battle of the fates. She knew that was what had hit home with her and the Guardians had sprouted from those tragedies, good coming forth from the bad, like the ray of light amongst the dark.
“True power,” Arhiia interrupted, “is having something someone else wants… You have nothing I want. There is nothing you can give me except my freedom and that of Arcanus, and I am sure that in due time, I will be able to conquer that myself. Therefore, you have no power over me.” The Arkanian’s pale blue lips curled into a smirk, her arrogance nearly tangible and more prodigious than ever as she stood toe to toe with the Sorcerer. “I, on the other hand, have something you want more than anything else in this universe. My will. My desire. My acceptance. My destruction. So while it is true that you have me right where you want me and can do as you please with me, I get the small satisfaction of knowing that there is not much you can do to harm me right now, no matter what I do. Because you will remember this, you will know you are not getting everything you could out of me and never will." She stands with her shoulders back, her hair windswept, treason falling from her lips... and she is resplendent in her fearlessness, an effervescent beauty in her defiance, and for the briefest moment, she is frozen in time.
Something had changed, I was sure of it as my chest heaved with each breath I took, the soot heavy as it hung about the air that filtered into the shuttle. The dark power hidden within me, suppressed in the deepest recesses of my mind and soul, was awakening. I had but to bend the knee and grasp the hand of fate to answer its call. A whisper at first, I could feel its call slowly intensifying as clear as day, and it caused my heart to race. It excited me, but not in a way it should excite one who called themselves Jedi.
Ahriman’s stern voice broke Arhiia’s reverie and she quickly brought herself back under control, banishing the tempting lure of power the darkness promised back from whence it came. The Arkanian involuntarily flinches as the Juggernaut places his hand on her shoulder, momentarily reminded of the events that took place in the shuttle wherein his lips brushed softly against the outer shell of her ear and his hands wandered her body as he whispered of that which he desired to do to her. She can feel the heat of his body radiating from behind her, her hair standing on end with the electrifying excitement of the situation and her nails dig into the palms of her hands as she clenches them into fists, actively forcing herself to not fight back right now.
It is useless, I try to tell myself. He will catch me before I even make it out of the shuttle, that if I did make it out onto the landing pad, I have no plan and even if I did manage to come up with one in the next few seconds, I could never hope to take on the whole of the Sorcerer’s cabal outside. Releasing the breath I was not aware I had been holding, I reminded myself that my best chance was to reconnect with Arcanus and do this together. She hated being this close to Varro, though. Hated the way he smelled, the way he touched her, the way that both those things were too familiar to not hurt.
It was not long after that the Juggernaut steered Arhiia down the boarding ramp and outside into the waning light of Olim’s gaze and reluctantly, she allowed him to guide her footsteps as shards of glass and stone crunched beneath the heels of her boots. The skies were grim, a distasteful grey that lurked in the depths of fading crimson, mirroring the ground upon which they now tread. A bone-chilling gust of wind swept across the landing pad like a foreboding omen as what appeared to be snow cascaded down from the sky and Arhiia turned her gaze upwards. A snowflake landed on her cheek and she reached up to brush it off. That was when the Arkanian realized, much to her own horror, as she looked down at the dirty smudge on her finger, it was not snow that fell from the sky, but ash. And the crimson that stained the sky was not Olim casting its last rays of light across the horizon, her temple had been set ablaze.
Arhiia’s expression remained one of solemn reflection as her gaze was slowly drawn down toward her temple, a single tear slowly carving a pristine path through the dirt and grime that coated her cheek.
“I wasn’t ready to kill you back in Adascopolis, but I am certain I am now.” The Arkanian remarked to no one in particular as she looked upon the remains of her temple and frowned at the bitter taste of ash, bile rising in the back of her throat. Even if Olim had still hovered in the sky, there was no way it could have ever pierced the black clouds that poured forth from the fires that licked up the sides of several towers. Those very fires burned in her eyes with primordial and wicked shapes as they regarded the cracked and blackened landscape.
The solitary spire that rose to meet the sky in the middle of the temple grounds appeared to be all that remained untouched and unmolested by the darkness that had descended upon this most sacred ground, stirring the atmosphere into turmoil as the air almost palpably crackled with puissance. The residences that had surrounded the temple were nonexistent, as if that whole area of the grounds had completely vanished. My heart ached with sadness for I knew in all likelihood that this section of the temple had been swept away in the rushing torrents of the waterfall and now lay at the foot of this very mountain.
Legs threatening to buckle beneath her, Arhiia’s eyes wandered the devastation that dominated the landscape as she faltered in her steps. It was not until she met Arcanus’ gaze that she gave pause and bowed her head slightly, aching to reach out to him – at this point, any kind of physical contact would provide her with reassurance; reassurance that they would get through this, reassurance that they were not the last of this once great order that had been touched by destruction and laid to ruin.
{ Is this the bargain we make with life? Does every pleasure have a pain embedded in it like a stone at the heart of the fruit? The trick is to hold two contradictions at the same time. Pain and pleasure. Exhilaration and sadness. The fruit and the stone. }
As Arhiia’s attention was finally drawn back to the Sorcerer, her eyes widened a fraction and mouth dropped open as she regarded the scene that lay before her. Struggling for words, her breath caught in her throat as she clenched and unclenched her jaw, the irritation plainly written on her face. Prostrating herself before the Sorcerer was one of her oldest friends, Dahlia Jax. Dahlia confirmed her fears about the fate of the residence halls and she felt as if she had just taken a knife to the gut as this final loss registered with her fatigued mind. Now Ahriman had truly taken everything from her.
{ “So I ask you once more, what does it mean to you to be a Jedi?” }
Dahlia Jax The Unseen
Half of the art of revenge was in twisting the knife before sinking it in, prior to going ahead and strangling it before it had a chance to breathe.
Dahlia’s eyes drifted back to her master and she could sense his displeasure with her. It puzzled her because his words did not match his countenance. However, she bowed her head slightly as Ahriman conveyed his praise, “Thank you, my lord.” She intoned before following his gaze back to the Arkanian. “Master, it is hardly my place to desire anything other than that which you freely give. You will have no defiance on my part in regards to the Queen, she is beneath me.” The Zeltron’s lips curled into a snarl, barely visible through the veil that covered the lower half of her face, as she glanced over to Varro, “…and hardly worthy of him.” She nearly spat, jealousy toward the Arkanian radiating from her.
It was clear in the way that she gazed at Varro, an uninhibited hunger reflecting in her amethyst eyes, that she greatly desired him above all else. At Ahriman’s dismissal, she snapped back to attention, her eyes narrowing as she regarded his question. “Heavy resistance? No, my lord. Few Jedi endured the initial siege since we took them by surprise and the survivors are currently being hunted down. One small group has barricaded themselves within the upper room of the central tower and the rest remain scattered.”
Dahlia remained standing there, obediently awaiting the Sorcerer’s dismissal with her head bowed for his temper was not a gentle thing and she had no desire to be on the receiving end of it. It was there where her jealousy toward the Arkanian Queen ended; she would get what was coming to her for keeping this secret from her master.
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