Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Aug 18, 2013 19:46:15 GMT -8
The voice came faint, a dull, if familiar whisper.
"Where it all began. Where angels lose their way, and demons walk." Zechar knew where he was next bound. Alkor had told him, once - it seemed like ages ago now - about his story. He was a Corellian by birth, and an exile by law, just like Zechar. He'd brought blood to his own land in darkness and anger, and he'd been stopped and cast away. Zechar's slitted eyes watched Ragnar turn and run towards the canyon, his mind laughing. I will find you on Corellia then, brother? And you will not recognize the broken boy you knew. But first, I have an insect to crush.
"Confident enough to send your friend away, boy. You know how to use that thing, do you, you little prancer?" Zechar's single red beam flicked and indicated Caius' weapon. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest as he began to walk forward, wind and darkness gusting around him. "I used to know men who would fight with weapons like that. They all thought that their skill with two blades was enough to overcome my skill with one. They were all wrong. Do you think you're different, boy?"Zechar stopped his advance and coiled himself for a moment, grinning and wrapping both hands around his saber hilt. He gnashed his teeth as he took two steps towards Caius - then he attacked, a short leap propelling him forward as he stabbed at Caius' face. |
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Post by Sakri on Aug 18, 2013 20:44:09 GMT -8
There had only been two survivors of the slaughter; she could tell by their auras that one was Force-sensitive, while the other one clearly was not. She felt a tingle on the back of her neck as she became, briefly, the center of attention of the former, before she felt the latter wandering her way. Her eyes closed as she stretched out her awareness, probing its mind for as much information as she could glean from it.
It was male, and used to taking orders, used to combat. He had his fair share of battle scars, and that was simply his mental state; she had no doubt that it was reflect in his physiology. Obviously, he was a mercenary of some sort, and she knew that he was dangerous for one very simple reason: he was still alive, even after all the scars she had sensed on his psyche.
She opened her eyes again, not that they would be of much help at the immediate moment, due to the unnatural blackness surrounding the valley. She had not intended to get involved, but it would seem that one of the parties did not share that relatively peaceful intention. She spread her arms, gripping her cloak in the Force and pulling it off of herself; the garment was good for traveling, but in combat it would only serve to slow her down. Underneath, she wore a black form-fitting garment, with a weapons belt around her waist that held another nine throwing knives, as well as the hilt for another blade. Hidden in each boot, as well, were holdout blasters. All of the weapons were handcrafted from lightweight materials; her stature and preferred style required that she be fast and agile, and heavy weapons on her waist would simply slow her down.
However, she knew that there was only so much that one being could do with that attitude, so she had adapted. Each of her throwing knives was dipped in a special venom that she had crafted herself, a mixture that included wasber venom and ground-up coma-bloom, and would spell utter debilitation if not outright death for most humanoid species.
Even her discarded cloak could be used in combat. She began walking to her right at an angle towards her soon-to-be assailant, keeping her footfalls light and steady, slowly moving around him. At the same time, she grasped her cloak in the Force again and began slowly dragging it along the ground towards the mercenary, as if she were still wearing it and was walking towards him to meet him in battle.
It would be a distraction, and could be used to tangle him up if she got the opportunity.
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Ishmael
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Affiliation: The Way of Lapay
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Post by Ishmael on Aug 20, 2013 16:31:39 GMT -8
*The saberstaff came up into a vertical position and swept to the right, the uppermost blade intercepting Zechar's stab and carrying it off to the side. Sliding his right foot back, Caius yanked hard on the weapon and levered the bottom blade up in a diagonal arc toward the beast's right hip. 'He's fast,' Caius realized, gritting his teeth. 'Faster than I am. This is going to be rough.'*
"Aye, different," *The Echani laughed.* "Special too."
*Ragnar was in a significantly worse mood than his boss. His almond eyes were squinted as he sought his quarry through the unnatural darkness, fists tight around the hafts of his axes. He caught sight of her when she was still a good distance away, but the fact that she was advancing on him sent a chill down the big mercenary's spine. The air in this place had an unnatural feel to it. At first, he'd just attributed it to being near the Echani, but now it was obvious this entire place held some kind of corruption.*
*Giving himself a shake, letting his building rage quash his fear, Ragnar roared a challenge at the girl and charged, to taken by the heat of the battle to notice the slightly unnatural way her cloak was draped about her. It would prove to be his undoing.*
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Aug 20, 2013 17:16:46 GMT -8
Zechar was a swordsman, and always had been. He had grown up accustomed to the weight of a wooden or blunted steel training sword in his fist, feeling the clash and vibration of the weapon in his hand. The sight of blood spilling under a sharp edge was second nature to him; the techniques of dismemberment as routine as the motions of eating. His weapons were his kin, his flesh, his allies and his friends.
Yet, this fiery weapon in his hands - the Corpse's Candle, lit and blazing brightly - was a joy to wield. Light, deadly, and wickedly fast for a man trained on more corporeal weapons. He felt quick and almost absurdly maneuverable with this weapon in his fist, and it translated into his combat. Zechar spun to his left, laughing, as Caius deflected his stab. With the wind whispering its secrets in his ear, Zechar turned and thrust his weapon low, beneath the Echani's blade, catching Caius' counter-attack on his own blade. Releasing his right hand's grip on the hilt, Zechar put all his left arm's strength into a mighty heave, ripping his blade towards the sky and presumably knocking Caius' guard in a similarly aerial fashion. At the same time, Zechar spun and dropped to his right knee, putting Caius at his back, keeping his left arm lofted, and opening the claw of his right hand. The air billowed at his command, and the wind in the valley paused as if waiting.
As he made his counter and knelt, Zechar laughed, "You haven't learned the main thing about your weapon, boy."
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Post by Sakri on Aug 20, 2013 18:54:03 GMT -8
She tensed slightly as the Togorian roared, then smiled as he charged straight for her cloak. Her ploy had worked perfectly. She could feel his fear, the rage overwhelming everything, and she knew that she was already in a prime position to act. She was off to the side, about a dozen meters away from the charging feline, well out of the path between him and her cloak.
She ducked down into a low crouch with her right arm across the front of her body, her eyes tracking the vague shape of her opponent, her mind already opened to the Force. She saw the lazy drift of her cloak, the raging current of the Togorian's charge, the tide of combat from afar. And she acted. She moved forward, running with her body low, still keeping her footfalls as light as possible, aided by the mysterious energy field she had long ago learned to tap into. Her right arm came forward, her hand flicking out once, twice, three times, each time letting loose one of the poisoned knives she had held between her fingers, aiming them along a steady path with the aid of the Force, nudging them slightly along their deadly currents, one aimed high, one aimed for his chest, and one aimed for his legs.
Her path would take her right behind the charging cat, as long as his speed stayed constant, and at that moment, her shoto would be activated, slicing through the backs of his legs..
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Ishmael
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Posts: 134
Affiliation: The Way of Lapay
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Post by Ishmael on Aug 25, 2013 19:15:35 GMT -8
*Teeth gritted, the Echani whirled, tracking his quarry. The crimson blades of his saberstaff spun in a lazy circle between them, warding against a strike that never came. At the dragon's words, Caius grinned broadly and lightly hopped backward, riding a surge of force energy that carried him several feet. Dust puffed around his booted feet as he landed and sank into a crouch, saberstaff held in his right hand, out to his side. One of the wavering blades pointed at his foe, the other at the valley behind him.*
"Well then, enlighten me." *The Echani's left hand came up in a 'come hither' gesture, his eyes glittering with the rising tide of anger in his heart.*
*Several dozen feet away from where the Sith faced off against the Dragon, Ragnar continued his charge. He was nearly upon the cloak before he realized it empty. He planted his right foot, bringing his advance to a sudden halt, and that saved his life- for the moment. He drew back as something whizzed inches in front of his muzzle, whirling in the direction it came from, and roared again as a second knife scarred his breastplate. Throwing himself into a roll as the third knife was thrown, the Togorian came up into a crouch and hurled the axe in his left hand. It tumbled end over end toward the woman, the glint of its deadly blade lost in the gloom.*
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Aug 27, 2013 9:59:49 GMT -8
Wordlessly, Zechar stood and turned back towards Caius, a snarling smile shaping his maw. His left hand held the Corpse's Candle out straight, level with Caius' eyes, and his right hand still stretched skyward. He began advancing, his steps long and mockingly elegant, each motion flared and exaggerated. He was posed like a fencer on the offensive. He continued advancing until he was only a few feet away, and then the Candle leapt from his hand, stabbing at Caius' eyes and then returning to Zechar's hand as if pulled back by an elastic band. The attack was repeated, aimed at his throat.
A faint sound, as of grinding stone, began to fill the valley.
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Post by Sakri on Sept 3, 2013 11:30:40 GMT -8
Her move hadn't worked quite as well as she'd hoped. That was alright; no plan survives contact with the enemy. She was reorienting herself to face towards where she sensed the big cat to be, when her danger sense lit up like a jet of boiling water. She couldn't see the danger, but she knew it was coming towards her, and fast. Her forward charge had been slowed by having to adjust for the mercenary's movements, and now it practically ground to a halt as she threw herself into a sideways roll. A sudden lance of pain shot through her arm as the thrown axe managed to graze her upper right arm; she winced, but did not allow herself to favor the wound.
Instead, she pushed the pain aside, planted her feet and stood, then threw her hands out. Her left hand, still holding the inactive shoto, was facing her cloak; her right hand had not released the knife, but rather was facing towards where she felt her opponent to be. She clenched both her hands into fists, gripping the targeted objects in the Force, then brought her left hand together with her right, throwing the cloak at the Togorian in an attempt to trip him up and confine his movements.
Then, she brought her right hand in quickly, to yank the hopefully-entangled pair towards her, her left arm still extended with the shoto facing forward, her thumb brushing the activation stud and triggering the crimson blade to life.
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Ishmael
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Posts: 134
Affiliation: The Way of Lapay
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Post by Ishmael on Sept 6, 2013 22:12:52 GMT -8
*Any trace of humor had left the Echani youth's face. It now held a smoldering glare and lips pulled taut with a feral snarl. The dark side coursed through him, surging, primal, maddening, and every muscle was tense, coiled, ready to strike. Not that it mattered- not that any of it mattered. As the demon stalked closer Caius brought his weapon up in in front of his midsection, blades horizontal. A standard guard to meet a foe that was anything but. Sending the blades into a frenzied spin as Zechar's lightsaber left his hand, he was able to deflect the first thrust, slapping it off to the right. But the blade retreated and struck again too quickly- before Caius was able to bring the other blade up to ward against it. Gagging as his throat was pierced, he dropped his saber and fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. His eyes raised to meet the demon's...*
*And then blackness.*
*Ragnar fared no better than his employer, though he lived nearly a full minute longer. A satisfied chuckle had escaped the Togorian's lips, but it died away as he felt an invisible hand suddenly seize him. He knew what it was, what it had to be: the force. This knowledge made little difference. He collided with the cloak midair, its fabric tangling his arms and obscuring his vision, and then he was yanked forward, yowling like a kitten, toward his doom.*
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Post by Sakri on Sept 6, 2013 22:41:13 GMT -8
Her grip was solid; her aim was true. The Togorian mercenary, wrapped in her own cloak, was pulled towards her, yowling, as her blade ignited..
She braced herself, both physically and in the Force, as the big cat landed square on her blade. She halted his forward momentum with the Force, but it was still a large impact against a small stature, and if she knew one thing about mercenaries, it was that they knew how to take a lethal hit. So, she was left with no choice but to whirl around, dragging her blade through his flesh and armour in the direction of his heart, knowing from the currents of the Force the moment she hit his most vital of organs.
She completed her turn, taking a step back as he fell to his knees and toppled forward. Another gesture with her hands as she deactivated her blade and clipped it to her belt, and a minor effort in the Force, and he was flipped onto his back. In his final moments, she knelt down beside him, speaking to him as he breathed his last.
"Rest well, warrior. Your story ends; your song lives on."
She brought her hand over his face, closing his eyes even in this darkness, then stood and extricated her cloak from his lifeless body, wrapping it once more around herself as she faced towards where she felt the only other living soul to be. Her left hand shot out, searching in the whorls and eddies of the omnipresent energy field for the knives laced with the poison she had bonded with, calling the three thrown blades back to her. They would need a good sharpening and a reapplication of the poison, but if a weapon was recoverable, she was not one to leave it behind unnecessarily.
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Sept 9, 2013 17:02:20 GMT -8
The monster's grin was twisted. The boy had died so easily, it was almost disappointing. As the rumbling still grew to fill the canyon, he quenched the Candle and slipped it back into his belt. He had wanted to crush the boy, watch his arrogance flicker out in the instant before he dropped.
"...you couldn't even live long enough to learn the lesson that might have kept you alive." Zechar sniffed. "But I suppose you're fortunate."
The rumbling culminated in a sudden crack as Zechar lifted both hands. The unearthly darkness lifted like a curtain, stars resuming their piercing gaze on the valley. He turned and walked back to the rocky outcropping, standing over a lump of shattered stone. A flick of his hand swept the debris aside, and the huge blade beneath leapt into his hands.
"Astaresss," he hissed, "would have been your fate, else. Be glad in your death, boy. You would have been the first; the first of many. This blade will bring sorrow and pain - you have evaded it." Zechar chuckled. "Perhaps, in your evasion, you have proven yourself wiser and stronger than us all."
Zechar, now carrying his bane, slipped into the night. It was time to meet this intruder; the presence that had drawn away the boy's kitten.
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Post by Sakri on Sept 9, 2013 19:52:49 GMT -8
The darkness had lifted, replaced with natural night, and she could make out the silhouette of the other presence, illuminated by four of Korriban's seven moons. Her ultraviolet vision did nothing to aid her in making out features, but even from this distance, she could tell that he was massive. The thrown knives flew hilt-first into her left hand, and her fingers closed around each one, before she hooked them into their holders on her belt.
There had been a call sent out in the Force, and there was only one other being left alive here. The logical assumption would be that he was the one who had sent the call: however, it could also be assumed that his intention was to kill anyone who showed up, or at least those who were not worthy. That was what the evidence pointed to, at any rate. Her right hand came around, latching onto the hilt of her other weapon; as she did so, she winced slightly, feeling the minor injury she had received from the Togorian's throwing axe. It was already well on its way to healing, however; her kind didn't stay injured for long. Once more ignoring the pain, she grasped the hilt and drew it out from within her cloak, holding it loosely off to her side without igniting it. She didn't know what this being's intentions were, so she would not provoke him by activating her blade; but she was no fool, and to wander near him without protection in hand would be asking for death.
The being moved, slipping into darkness once more, and she tensed, her nictitating green eyes narrowing as she scanned the valley. Slowly, she began her approach to where she had last seen him, reaching out into the currents of the Force with her mind and probing its depths.
There.
She turned towards the massive whirlpool of darkness that could only be the mercenaries' killer, and renewed her approach.
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Sept 10, 2013 18:28:08 GMT -8
Trudging up the canyon's sloping side, Zechar sent his mind questing out ahead. The black wind gusted around him, whispering threats and promises to anybody with the ears to hear. Reaching the very crest, Zechar stopped - they were near, but hiding. Attempting to sneak up on him. He chuckled and the huge sword rang as he pulled it free, wrapping both hands around the hilt and resting the blade on his right shoulder.
"I know you're out there. Stop trying to hide from me. The others tried to kill me, and you know what I did to them. Don't fool yourself into thinking you could do better. Come and speak with me."
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Post by Sakri on Sept 10, 2013 21:04:09 GMT -8
She had never expected to stay hidden for long -- or at all. She had followed him through his journey up the side of the Valley; he had the high ground, so she would be at an immediate disadvantage had she chosen to provoke him. But he was inviting her up to speak; surely that was a good sign.
Still wary, she approached, standing on the crest a mere three meters away, her two-toned hair -- fiery red with blonde streaks -- glistening in the moonlight. She did not put away the hilt of her weapon yet, but she did not take up a battle stance. This monster of a man wanted to speak? So be it.
"You called me."
Her words were short and to the point. Words were power, after all; the right word, at the right time, could prove devastating. She was not going to waste her words on admiring his defeat of the mercenaries, nor on professing her own skill.
And so she stood, waiting, noting the man's fearsome stature and the glint of his blade, all of in silence.
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Sept 12, 2013 13:09:20 GMT -8
"Yes I did, and you came. Now you can either follow me or turn and leave; go back to whatever hole you crawled out of." In the moonlight, Zechar's fangs glittered as he turned his face to the sky and sighed. "If you follow me, you will wade through rivers of blood. You will taste the power in the air, and you will see devastation and domination like nothing you have ever dreamt. This is my dream and you will share it - if you come with me." Zechar's hood fell back from his head, and now the girl might be able to make out more of his face. Crimson eyes narrowed their slits as they turned down to her.
"Decide now."
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Post by Sakri on Sept 15, 2013 21:29:30 GMT -8
Ah. An offer of power.
Many men had tried to tempt her throughout her life, but it was for their own gain, an attempt to get her in their beds. Not one had been able to come up with anything worthwhile to give her, but this.. She suspected that there was a catch. There was always a catch. But this twisted man seemed surprisingly genuine. She wasn't going to question him yet; she suspected that might provoke him right now.
"Okay."
Her green eyes rose up and met his, but the spark that lay behind them was not one of fiery challenge. Her hand made its way back inside her robes, latching the hilt back onto her belt, before she flung her arm out towards the valley, focusing in the Force towards a pouch she had hidden away before she had first approached the battle. In a matter of a few seconds, it had flown through the air and landed in her palm, her fingers wrapping it around it protectively, almost lovingly. Wordlessly, she hooked it, too, to her belt.
The pouch contained what poisons and seeds she had managed to save from her ship after she had crashed on this world. She would be able to resupply with new plants, but it would take a while. A minor inconvenience, to be sure.
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Sept 17, 2013 8:02:49 GMT -8
"Then follow."
Zechar turned on his heel and slid down the hill, maneuvering with surprising deftness for a man of his size. He did not look back once to see if Sakri was following. When he reached Caius' body, he paused.
The first. The first of many.
One arm scooped the limp body up and draped it over Zechar's shoulder. He would bring a gift back for Ishmael.
To tell much of the entirely uneventful walk to the mercenaries' shuttle would be a waste of time and attention: suffice it to say that the moons were full, the sky was clear, and the black breezes around Zechar would have been suffocating to anybody attempting to follow him closely. The story resumes as the Exile and his follower came to the shuttle.
A questing of his mind told Zechar that there was somebody left in the ship - the pilot, presumably. Without pausing, Zechar lit his Candle and stalked into the craft. There was a scream and the report of a blaster, as well as the pinging sound of a bolt being deflected into durasteel siding. Then came that awful hissing noise: the end of a life. The girl would find two bodies sprawled in the main passenger compartment now, and the Sith sitting in the shuttle's cockpit, beginning the launch sequence. Zechar's voice rumbled in the close chamber, though he did not look at her, and he asked, "What is your name?"
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Post by Sakri on Sept 17, 2013 13:08:58 GMT -8
As she entered the shuttle, her eyes fell on the two bodies, and she knew a moment of sorrow in that she had not been able to speak to them in their last moments, to send them into the next life. But there was nothing she could do about it now, and it was something she had learned to deal with. Her left hand came around to feel the tear present on the right arm of her garment, checking to see how bad the damage to the fabric was. The wound had already healed completely before they had even made it halfway to the shuttle. That was when the man spoke, asking a simple question.
Her name. Ignorant people always asked her her name. Everyone assumed she was human, or they simply didn't care enough to make the distinction. Everyone assumed that her name was something to be freely given. She was, again, used to it, and her response never changed.
"My name is my own. What you may call me is Sakri."
The statement flowed out as a well-rehearsed line. She even thought of herself as Sakri, now; her birthname was never on her mind, never able to be read from her thoughts. She would not take that risk. The only ones who had ever known her name had paid the price.. but not before making her suffer for it.
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Sept 23, 2013 13:22:58 GMT -8
"And I am Zechar."
The engines came to roaring pitch, matching the blipping readouts which told him that the ship was ready for launch. Zechar flipped the necessary switches and pointed a scaled finger towards the nearest seat, silently indicating for Sakri to sit down. Whether she did or not was her own concern - it was for her own good. Gravitational forces generated by atmospheric penetration were not kind.
The shuttle kicked upwards, leaving clouds of dust in its wake, and bolted for the stars.
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Thrakk Valinor
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Post by Thrakk Valinor on Feb 26, 2014 0:06:05 GMT -8
* A black robed figure stands at the entrance to the Valley of the Dark Lords, as he looks out at the great tombs of his fallen for-bearers he opens himself up to the planets dark forces. Under his Sith war mask Thrakk grins, for the last time he was here he was the apprentice and now he is the Master. Walking down the great stone steps and into the valley, Thrakk stands in front of the tomb of Tulak Hord. The Dark Lord speaks in a calm and collected tone, his voice unwavering and filled with power.
" This my apprentice is the tomb of Tulak Hord who i am sure you know from your studies....this shall be your final test so see if you are ready to take on the manlte of Dark Lord and take you place at my side"
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