Shadowlands

"The villages are used as staging grounds for their scouts, and the sorties they send against the nearby rebel-held villages. It's been nearly a month since the last large-scale attack from either side." As he spoke, he reached out with his mind and called to the planet around him, slowly churning a fire in its dormant skies. He'd been planning to assault the fortress at the end of the week, preparing the skies and land for miles around as one might prepare the ingredients in a favored recipe, only to be pre-empted by this outside force. The gale he called forth now would not match the severity of what he could have summoned in a few days time, but it would be enough. Or so he hoped. "They're very well-fortified, and with no heavy equipment to bring down their defensive guns, we were forced to resort to less timely measures."

He glanced off over her shoulder then, through the trees in the direction of the descending ships. "Your allies are gathering. I can feel their metal moving through the sky. If you could take me to them, I will call the rebels to join us." A smirk painted his face when his eyes returned to the woman before him. "Unless of course you believe me to be a sith myself."

"It's a shield generator," Rutil Iorek said as he and his soldiers entered the cargo bay, tapping the earpiece on his right ear to ensure comms were functional, "in the middle of a forest.  Safe bet that we'll know when we see it."

As the cargo bay elevator - which composed the entirety of the floor - began to lower, Rutil could sense the unease in his men.  Twenty of the additional forty soldiers that Master Calmcacil had placed under his command, who had not yet gotten used to the Jedi's unorthodox and frankly brutal methodology, had borne witness to this same elevator being used in the execution of thirty-something captured combatants barely an hour ago.  They had been utter bastards, to be sure.  But it had also been terrifyingly efficient, colder than the wastes of Rhen Var, and well beyond any action any of them had seen any Jedi take.  One of them even seemed genuinely remorseful, barking and howling in despair before being left to the whims of gravity.

But on the other hand, Master Iorek was clearly a man that got the job done.  And despite their apprehensions about some of his methods, the men selected for the mission would happily follow.

"We'll be dropping about two clicks from the generator proper, on the far side.  It should go without saying," Rutil began to shout as the winds began to pick up, "that this is extremely hostile territory!  If it doesn't match the description of our alleged insurgent leader or his Hapan friends, I don't want it coming within twenty meters of us!  Is that understood?"

The shout was concise and professional: "Sir, yes sir!"

With a solid nod, Rutil made one final check of the straps on his repulsor pack, prompting his soldiers to do so before he outstretched his arms and let the will of the Force guide him into a fall through the impossibly tall trees below.

----------

The landing hadn't been especially gentle; favoring a quick drop over a steady one, the repulsor packs had been powered down considerably, essentially only being strong enough to prevent bones from being broken on impact with a wayward branch or the soft forest floor.  Fortunately, such collisions were non-existent, and the twenty-one man team made it to the depths of the Shadowlands without incident.  As each man landed, their packs were dropped, each one landing with a small thud as it sank slightly into the mud.  They would not need them where they were going; their extraction point was at the beach, where there would hopefully be a smoldering wreck of a fortress by the time they arrived, and their ship would be waiting with an open boarding ramp and a piping hot serving of protein rations.

But this place felt strange.  Eerie, even.  Barely any light shone from the bright skies above, leaving the team in near-total darkness.  There was a reason, after all, that the Wookiees called this region the Shadowlands, but it went beyond mere darkness.  It was akin to being able to walk on the floor of the deepest oceans.  But to those in the know, such as Master Iorek, it was a place that hummed with the dark side of the Force.  And with the Sith occupation of the planet, that hum was far too strong to simply ignore.  Between the physical darkness and the metaphysical darkness, it was enough for the stoic and fearless Jedi Master to ignite his blue lightsaber almost immediately, washing the immediate area in a calming azure light.

"This way, people."

The Zabrak began to walk, leading his soldiers on a march through the dark forest.  Between the darkness and the creatures undoubtedly lying in wait, eager to strike at any newcomers not yet permeated by the twisted caricature of power that the Sith called the Force, it would prove to be a long march indeed...

The forest teemed with life. So much so, in fact, that even a Jedi whose decades of experience in rooting out an individual's presence in a crowd had trouble discerning one from another. Rutil had spent much of his time in that regard finding darkness in the light, and as such would have been able to spot a Sith Lord easily no matter how hard the demon tried to hide himself. But the Shadowlands were different; each and every creature down here acted on instinct and instinct alone. Attacks were borne not out of malice, but out of a simple need to eat. Predation occurred simply as a matter of course, not as an intentional threat. And as warped as the planet had become with the dark side of the Force, there was ultimately no greater danger than they would have faced on a similar world, with similar creatures.

"Hold."

On his command, the group's individuals all made for the nearest tree, covering down behind it to form a circle of fire, with the Jedi Master standing almost perfectly in the center. The field of light from his lightsaber only barely reached his men, and the casual observer - not that such a thing could afford to exist in this place - would have never noticed them.

Something wasn't adding up. Kashyyyk was a world teeming with life; even in the Shadowlands, one couldn't throw a rock without hitting something either on the run or on the prowl. One kilometer's worth of distance with a blue beacon leading the way should have prompted some kind of a response, especially this deep in enemy territory, this close to their stronghold. But Rutil hadn't felt a hint of fear or an impending attack. The soldiers hadn't seen anything worth halting the group for. It was as if something had been clearing the way ahead, making their march to the shield generator far easier than it had any right to be. Had he sensed any darkness not latent to the area, he would have suspected an ambush. But as it stood, something else was at play. The Zabrak gargoyle had a decent idea as to what, and he took a few steps towards a tree just ahead, walking out of the group's formation to catch the cloaked figure in the corner of his eye.

"Most rebel leaders speak up when allies walk into their midst."

There was a quiet hissing sound as a droplet hit the blade of Rutil's lightsaber, prompting him to deactivate it and plunge the immediate area into darkness. While he could no longer physically see Saris, the few moments of contact they had were enough for the veteran Jedi to parse his presence from the surrounding area, allowing him to trace his new ally's movement and position with the Force. Despite his misgivings earlier, there was no ambiguity to him; social skills and tactical awareness could use a bit of work, but both of the Sakiyan's feet were planted firmly in the light. And with the Hapan commander's signature still casting doubt, it was a refreshing discovery, especially in the darkness that surrounded the men.

"I am Master Iorek. If you know the way, then lead us there."

Rutil didn't like the idea of ceding command, especially to people he barely knew. But he had sorely underestimated just how well the shield would be guarded, and he had no knowledge of the terrain; Saris had both. And if he could get them there safely, quietly, and in a good enough position to tear the Sith apart, then more power to him.

When he opened his eyes again, Rutil beheld the destruction of the shield's base.  The gate was down.  The turrets were gone.  The soldiers flitting here and there were in total disarray.  The Zabrak allowed himself a moment to admire the Sakiyan's handiwork; that display was not one of raw power, but absolute mastery over the elements.  It would make him a devastating foe to the Sith and those like them.  Even now, he was gearing up for a third strike, one that would take the generator out altogether from within the bubble of its own shield.  But after two displays of power like that, their new ally needed time to rest.  To recharge.

And it fell to Rutil and his men to buy him that time.

Two fingers shot towards the two men closest to the Jedi before a thumb and a quick arm motion jerked towards the Sakiyan; those two were to hold here and provide cover for the insurgency leader while the rest of the team handled business inside.  A swift swirling of his index finger high above his head told the soldiers to prepare to move out; one final check of the weapons was conducted, and goggles slid over their eyes, providing a way to see in the new, deeper darkness of the Shadowlands.  And after everyone was ready, with two shakes of a tightened hand with stretched fingers clamped together, Rutil ordered his men to charge.

It didn't take long for the bolts to start flying.  Some of the Sith soldiers managed to see them coming, and opened fire as best as they could in the darkness.  The Felucian men fired back, their vision unencumbered by the darkness, most of their shots hitting their mark as enemy after enemy fell.  By the time they had reached the gate, the entire perimeter guard had been dispatched; nine men stood stacked on either side, ready to breach the threshold.  One man continued to run right through the downed gate.  One man ignited a blue lightsaber, providing a shield for his comrades and a target for his enemies.  One man used his hard-earned mastery of Soresu and his sheer command presence to redirect the fire that came almost exclusively his way, his mind subtly turning the soldiers to fire at the only visible thing in the area, silently commanding them to take a shot that would wind up right back in their throats.  And once they made it through, eighteen men opened fire from cover, laying waste to whatever soldiers remained in their way.

The courtyard was theirs.  Master Iorek had almost smiled when he felt their presence.

Fall back, the Zabrak spoke into his comlink headset, fall back now.

The soldiers in the courtyard didn't need to be told twice.  Master Iorek's tone alone could have made a drunken Trandoshan regret its life choices, but there was more to it than that.  The air around the Jedi Master seemed to chill and the air in the courtyard seemed to dry out, like some observing spectre was simply daring the soldiers to disobey.  In the back of their collective minds, they could hear the low growl of an infernal beast rearing to attack, surging up from the very ground and threatening to swallow the lot of them.  Eighteen men fled the courtyard, reaching the nearest, biggest roots they could find to take cover behind.  Those closest to the gate brought their rifles up, sure to give their Jedi commander some semblance of covering fire.

On the far side of the coutyard, the door to the base's main bunker slid open, and two figures in black cloaks walked forth.  With their every step, the courtyard grew colder and drier, their hatred spilling out from their bodies and tainting the very ground they trod upon.  Saris hadn't been lying; the Kashyyyk Sith had put some of their best here, and Rutil could feel it.  One of them, a Trandoshan - and of course, it would be a Trandoshan on Kashyyyk - moved to the right of the shield generator in the center of the compound, a crimson blade igniting from his right hand.  On the other side, a pale Chagrian bared his teeth as two blades shot out from opposite ends of a long and ornate hilt.  There would be no quick end to this; the pair knew what they were doing, wrapping the Force around themselves like shields, preventing a quick and sudden snap of their necks like Rutil had done aboard the Spearhead.

Rutil said nothing, merely bringing his blade to the ready as the Chagrian - opening with a flourish of his double blade - charged at him.  Rutil stood his ground, and as the pair locked blades, their bodies became blurs of black and saffron, their blades a deadly light show of red and blue, the Trandoshan gliding to the side of the bout, content to watch behind the cover of the durasteel walls of his miniature fortress.  The Chagrian Sith came high and to the right; Rutil ducked out to the left and rolled, parrying the next attack.  The Sith leaped upwards to bring his weapon down in a flurry of horizontal strikes, aiming to cut his Jedi enemy to ribbons; the Jedi himself simply juked inward, interrupting the flurry with a quick swing upward, threatening to bisect the Sith if he didn't intercept the counterattack.  For several seconds, there was a stalemate.  And then, with one swing, their blades locked, their bodies and their minds fighting for dominance.

But Rutil Iorek had been dominated all his life.  Be it by the dogma of the Jedi Order, the commands of Jedi Masters too short-sighted to see the big picture, his own lack of knowledge or training, or the need to hide, the Jedi Master had never been truly in control.

And he had had it.

A strong push sent the Chagrian Sith almost flying backwards.  A mighty Force Push shredded the Sith's mental defenses, leaving him vulnerable.  With that, Master Iorek stretched out and seized the Sith by his throat.  With a mental flick, the elbow of the Chagrian's right hand snapped backwards, eliciting a scream of pain as his lightsaber fell to the ground and deactivated.  Another flick raised the howling Sith Lord above the walls of the shield's courtyard.  A strong mental barrier and an icy cold glare from a pair of yellow eyes stopped the Trandoshan from intervening in his ally's impending doom as the Chagrian was lifted ever higher.

Pull.

On command, the air just above the walls was filled with laser fire, cutting the helpless Sith to pieces and cutting short his pleas for his ally's help.  He fell to the forest floor little more than a charred sack of meat.

Turning to face the Trandoshan now, Rutil faced away from his men, a grim and terrifying smile crossing his lips before the Zabrak sped across the courtyard to face him.  As he did so, the infernal beast in the minds of all present let out a deafening and dominant roar, letting all the Shadowlands know exactly who the new apex predator was.

Rutil barely heard Saris over the sudden downpour, thick enough even to reach the ordinarily impregnable Shadowlands from above. The only things he heard were the beating of his heart and the infernal roar of whatever monster was prowling about. His ears still rang from the mighty crack of thunder that had destroyed the generator; Rutil knew full well that had he not commanded the Force to protect him from the outset of the fight, he would have lost it altogether. But as the sounds of the physical world crawled back to him, Rutil could remember the strange humming sound as gibberish, and then a short moment later as actual words.

"Not a bad idea, friend..."

Rutil pulled his comlink from his belt and chirped it twice, not even bothering to speak into it. As if on command, the two LAAT gunships that Master Calmcacil had put under his command revealed themselves from the treelines above, making their way down slowly and speeding up only as they cleared the massive branches. The old Jedi had heard of the Shadowlands. Branches so thick that most sunlight never reached the ground. Trees so tall that Core skyscrapers could be dwarfed. Getting a single gunship to their location would have taken more time than anybody in their company had to spare. As such, Rutil arranged for their pickup and the gunship's descent before he had ever jumped from his corvette.

"...almost wish I'd thought of it."

The gunships were loaded up and began their long ascent, jerking on occasion; apparently the pilots were less than thrilled about almost being struck by lightning. And as soon as Rutil even thought he would have a signal, he spoke into his comlink.

Attention all hands. Attention all hands. Be advised, the shield is down. I repeat: the shield is down.

*The small freighter makes its way down to the surface, and then starts flying down along the planets surface for a long distance until it reaches the Shadowlands, Ver'metus looks over the scanners as he tracks his way to the destination. He lands the ships in a clear place, he shuts down the ships systems, and unstraps himself from the seat. He stands and starts for the exit of the ship. He looks around his hold at the collection of items his ship now held, it was very different from when he'd first procured the ship many years ago. Then it had been used for smuggling so it had carried many random things, now though it held things of a much greater value. This was what months upon months of planning and preparations had come to. He lowers the ramp and steps down it onto the planet, it had been a long number of years since he'd stepped on this planet. And when it had this area had been in flames. He'd watched as the old Academy had burned and been assaulted. He turned to his apprentice, who'd already started his preparations.*

I assume you have everything already to go. We've discussed many times how it goes, you are ready, Young one.

Ver'metus strides further from the ship, and deeper into the ruins and debris He let his hands run over this spot and that. Climbing when he had to, jumping to other spots. He looked back at his Apprentice once more before he got to far out.*

I chose here for more reasons then just for your benefit, Find me when you've finished, I will inspect your work. I have something I need to retrieve here as well.

*Ver'metus jumps over one last piece of debris and is gone from sight, he knew that the potential of his apprentice was high, he also had gone over the act of what he was about to perform before, as with everything, he gave instruction and his apprentice was expected to learn it, or fail. And he would continue to fail until it was learned. Though each failure came with a steeper and steeper price. Ver'metus however didn't focus on it, he instead once he gets to the general area that he'd thought it would be, lowers into a cross legged position and starts to meditate. He had long ago lived in this place, and when he'd left with his own Master, he'd left something behind, now he would retrieve it. He expands his aura, searching with his mind for the device, he'd known this was a risky place to leave anything, especially after how they left, but where else better to leave something than in a place where you were no longer welcomed. It would be the last place that people would think of to look for it.*

*The Apprentice surveyed the scene and nodded to himself. The old Anzati had prepared him physically, emotionally, and spiritually for this moment. Alchemy having been passed from master to apprentice, he knew that this process was crucial in his training.

The Apprentice stepped up and surveyed the scene before him one last time before starting. Looking at the collapsed and twisted ruins that once served as his home, he was too young to remember any of it. The scene was archaic to him; a story he knew but being too young remembered none of it.

The apprentice walked around the assembled forge. His own ship having been too small to bring the necessary supplies, he was glad that Ver’metus had a freighter at their disposal.

The fire was already well on its way to heating up, and the cauldron was heating nicely. Running his hands over the assortment of hammers and crystals, he prepared himself and reset the order of every item available so it would be easily accessible for the intended order.

The time was fast approaching. For the process and the warmth from the fire brought sheen of sweat to the young apprentice. Removing his cloak and robes, he remained clad in only his light tan pants and boots, while he was now naked from the waist up. Stretching and flexing his muscles, the Apprentice was well defined, but not abundantly muscled. His frame, indicated he preferred speed and precision over raw strength; a trait shared with both of his parents.

As he turned to survey the equipment, a large tattoo came into the firelight. It lit up across the whole of his back. The apprentice bore the crest of the old Kashyyyk Academy with a Firebird rising from the crest, its wings splayed out appearing like flames, coming up and over the Apprentice’s shoulders.

Looking in the direction his master had departed, he gave one last nod as he readied his mind and body for the task ahead.

Suddenly tuning all else out, the Apprentice took the bag of metallic remains from his journeys and dumped out the contents. Clanking onto the ground were a lightwhip, sai, and scimitar. He breathed deeply as he knew that these were the weapons from all three of his blood relations. Reaching down he picked up the Sai. The weapon, a glistening frosty color and décor, much like her namesake; had belonged to his mother. She had been a vicious warrior and one of the most beloved and feared members of the CDDC and Kashyyyk Academy. The Apprentice placed the sai into the melting pot. Next he reached for the 3.5 meter royal blue hued lightwhip. It has been the favored weapon of his half-sister. Though she had not wielded it long, she had proven herself cunning. The force ran deep with her, as it did all of the Apprentice’s family. With a quick twist, he disassembled the weapon and removed the power core and crystal, leaving only the metallic components. Placing the lightwhip into the melting pot, Emerald eyes settled upon the last weapon. The scimitar was unmistakable. It belonged to only one man and was handmade in the very fires of the Kashyyyk Academy. The former Jen’Ari had made it himself as he favored the lighter and faster swords. The sword of the Apprentice’s father would have only been won upon his death. The most treasured pieces of his past were now all placed in the melting pot and began to boil and melt. The Apprentice breathed in deeply as the weapons bubbled and lost their form, fading as his memories and connections to all of them lingered albeit briefly in his mind.

The emotions of his past and present began to swirl around the young man as he closed his eyes and began to tap into the dark side. He flooded the molten metal with his energy and began infusing the metals that would soon make up his Sith Swords with the use of Sith Alchemy.

The apprentice settled upon each of the faces of his family, briefly, but he held onto them. They were his blood; his life. Now however, they were gone, only a memory of what once was, his past. One owed the present to the past, and it was in that debt, from which the young Apprentice pulled his emotions.

New faces now emerged; It seemed ancient, so long ago, but the people were still fresh in his mind’s eye. All of them still fresh as they had imbued him with their own dark energies; ensuring from his very birth, that he would be strong and survive at any cost. They, his brothers and sisters’ in darkness made up what had been his extended family and had given him the strength to get to this very moment.

The apprentice channeled the face of Feral. The Apprentice's green eyes now opened as he held the vision of Feral in his mind. Reaching forward, he used the tools to turn the melting pot and pour half of the molten metal into the mold. The bright glow was now a focus for him, as his body responded physically to the task at hand and his mind focused upon the memories and poured the energy outward from himself into the two swords and imbuing them with Sith Alchemy.

Feral’s wrath and rage had been known to him and enhanced the apprentice with archaic gifts. Feral's face sneered at the Apprentice and then as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. Next was the face of Vitiosus. The clever man had a cool mind and thought things through where others had failed. Vitiosus face helped the Apprentice channel more energy into the swords as he removed the semi formed sword blade. Grabbing the hammer, he raised it above his head and brought it down hard, showering the area with sparks and the clanging of metal on metal.

Next the Apprentice’s mind traveled to Brimstone, possibly the most convicted of the Jen’Ari. Brimstone’s devotion was of great admiration and he too had imbued the Apprentice at a young age. The Hammer raised up again, and struck the metal once more. The process repeated as the Apprentice poured energy into the sword he was forging and the still boiling metal. Sweat started pouring from his brow, but his concentration kept him on task and in the moment.

The hand rose with the hammer, and again struck the forging sword as now the vision in his mind switched to Cimmerii. The Jen’Ari had been rather young and aloof, but his loyalty to those he called friend and ally was without question. The Apprentice focused on this Jen’Ari as he raised his hammer and struck hard, continuing his effort on the forging blade.

Striking again as the sword began taking shape; the Apprentice’s mind wandered now to Sinistra. The fiercest of all the Jen’Ari to imbue him upon his birth, Sinistra like the others had left a lasting mark upon the baby and now young man. Her ferocity and fearlessness was a testament to her strength and skill, strength that she had imbued within him, and now that he poured into the forging of the swords.

Submerging the sword in water, he had formed the base of the first sword and fine tuning it would come shortly, but there was still another piece with which to work.

The Apprentice moved and quickly poured out the rest of the molten metal into the mold. All the while continuing to keep his focus upon the metal and focusing with Alchemy to imbue and strengthen the metal. His mind focused now upon the face of Ansatsu. He was the best friend of his mother and a fierce and loyal friend to his father. Makhai never recalled meeting the man, but he like the others had blessed Makhai and thusly Makhai channeled his energy into the swords.

The cooling metal of the second base was removed, and now Makhai channeled the energy from Rebellious. The youngest of the Jen’Ari, Rebellious had proven himself a vital asset to KA and a trusted friend to his family. Makhai settled upon the energy and face of Rebellious as he began forging the second sword. Bringing the hammer high above his head, he quickly brought it down upon the base once again showering the area with sparks. The process repeated as Rebellious energy and image passed from his mind all the while though he still poured his own dark energy into the swords and his focus upon its Alchemy.

A small figure appeared next in his mind, and the image of Stormacht manifested in Makhai’s mind. The young assassin had been among the closest of his father’s friends and had been curious in every aspect, constantly seeking more knowledge. Makhai settled upon Stormacht’s energy and now channeled it into the blades as he struck again with hammer, and again, and again.

Ferinus’ face now appeared in the mind’s eye as Makhai struck the sword once more. The man had been a skilled practitioner of Alchemy and several other nuances of the Dark Side. For all his subtleties, there were none that doubted Ferinus ability in this art. Makhai channeled the energy from Ferinus into the blades now as he struck again to finish forming the shape of the blades and submerged them into water to cool

Now that the blades had their initial shape, Makhai focused upon the blades fully with his mind while his hands with muscle memory bound the hilts and attached the handle. The pommels were affixed quickly and expertly; as the crude appearance was now complete to call a sword. The process, far from complete to reach its true potential and power needed to edge and finish the weapons.

Fire still aglow behind him, Makhai sat down upon the ground, the two swords laying opposite and perpendicular in front of him. He now closed his eyes and tapped fully into Sith Alchemy as the image of Phantom next emerged in his mind. The energy from the new leader, fueled his emotions as the cooled blade began to glow from the power of the alchemy. Phantom had always been a true friend of Sarian and Si’at, of that there was no doubt. Aside from the parents, Phantom had shown the most distress at Makhai’s infancy demise.

The blades began to fluctuate and shudder in protest as the true power of the Sith Alchemy came through. The molecules themselves began to move and flow as the power from Makhai willed it to form a sleek and fine edge to the blade. His mind now thought of Stormro, the Nagian sith was skilled in swordplay of his own among many other talents, and he along with Makhai’s father had ruled the skies of the old sith empire. Now, it was the energy from Stormro that Makhai used to infuse within the blades. They began to glow blue and sparks started to emit from the blade itself as it took on an absorbent property while the blade thinned and flowed to outline a pair of sleek sith swords.

Makhai's mind next focused upon the image of Argento. The assassin had been far more aloof than others, but he had also been a close friend of the family. His love for Makhai's mother was never hidden but was not to be. He still was dedicated and in that dedication he had also imbued Makhai with energy, the same energy that Makhai now drew upon to edge the sword into a sharp and fine edge. The weapons took on their sleek and deadly shape as the Sith Alchemy transformed them into a twinned pair of swords. 

As the weapons took their final shape, Makhai’s mind flashed to his Master. Ver’metus had been his father’s best friend, and now the one who ordered his father’s death. Makhai understood fully and had done what was required of him. He focused now upon the lessons from Ver’metus. The words of the old Anzati were on the forefront of his mind as he focused his attention to the alchemy smaller and smaller as he focused upon thinning the edge to sharpen and produce the final product of the blades.

As the glowing subsided, Makhai wearily opened his eyes and took a long look at the blue blades before him. He looked slightly bewildered at the color of the swords, but realized the cause after a few seconds. Makhai picked up the blue twinned scimitars, the blades had a fluid and sharp shape to them.

Makhai smiled as he rose and swung the swords around a few times. Satisfied with the construction, he let go of the alchemy. Suddenly he became very dizzy. Stumbling backwards he looked around and realized that hours had passed and he had not eaten or drank anything.

He took a deep breath and laid the swords down on the anvil while he sat down to take a drink a catch his breath. He knew his master would likely be along soon to inspect the work. He took the moment of reprieve to look skyward. The mystery of space was not lost on Makhai even though it was difficult to see from the Shadowlands.

He drank once more as the fire was lessening. He donned his robes to help with the growing cold of the night as he barely moved to conserve and rebuild what strength he had after the ordeal.*